This week after Christmas always feels a little peculiar to me. The house is quieter, the tree is still lit, but the rush is gone. I walk from room to room trying to remember what I was doing, and then I look at the calendar and realize the year is slipping away again. Somehow, we are standing at the edge of 2026, even if my mind is still back somewhere around December 18.
I hope your holidays held something good for you. Maybe it was family or food or a quiet corner of the day. Maybe it was just one moment where you could take a breath. Life rarely hands us perfection, but a few bright spots can carry us a long way.
Over the last few days, I found myself thinking about the store—about the tables, the projects, the laughter, the new stitches, the friendships that show up even when no one planned them. Yarn has a way of bringing people together without asking permission. That is where my heart keeps landing: not on the decorations, not on the to-do list, but on the people.
So earlier last week, I roped Julie and Dianne back into “planning mode.” We sat there talking through the next six months. It makes me laugh every time, because we plan as though we have control. Life can wipe out a calendar in a single phone call. Still—we put weekends on paper anyway, because having something to look forward to matters. A weekend class means you get out of the house, shake off the dust, sit at a table, and remember you belong somewhere.
New teachers are stepping into that circle too. Teresa is freshly retired and ready to spin her way into a new season. She showed up talking about drop spindles and spinning wheels and even maintenance. There is something beautiful about a woman who knows exactly what she wants to share. Teaching is its own kind of generosity.
Crocheters are getting some focused support as well. Pat Crosland has agreed to teach once or twice a month. “Teach” almost feels too small a word—she steadies people. She slows the room down. I have watched confidence appear on a person’s face simply because someone gave them time. We need that at YSB.
I’m also grateful Dianne is stepping back into instruction. Having her in a classroom feels like having an anchor back in the water. She has that plain-spoken way of cutting through confusion, and before you know it, people are laughing again. Every community needs a Dianne.
Before I could blink, January filled itself. We swear we will ease into a new year, yet we never do. On January 3, we’ll be finger-knitting with that polyester yarn I keep talking about. Yes, polyester—but soft enough to fool you. I made a blanket with it, held a little drawing at my house, and Kyle walked off with it. My grown son, the king of dead pan, humorous comments, hauled that blanket to Beaumont like he’d won a trophy. When Kyle likes something, it earns credibility.
A week later, Pat is guiding folks through tiny crochet hearts. Those little things multiply before you realize it. Then comes the Sweater Club kick-off on the 17th. We already passed twenty sign-ups, so we may split it. There will be tape measures, opinions about fit, questions about style, and a whole lot of encouragement. Someone always discovers they’re more capable than they thought—that moment never gets old.
Toward the end of the month, the vendors arrive. Charming Ewe, Chicken Coup, Wanderluck, plus one more I can’t pull out of my brain at the moment. They’ll remind me when they walk in the door. Vendor weekends are never just shopping—they are conversations, hugs, color, and friendship. Teresa will do a spinning-wheel demo during that weekend, and I’ll teach blocking. Those days tend to feel like reunion dinners.
January wraps up with the Squirrel’s Delight Throw kickoff. The title alone makes me laugh, because most of us are operating with a dozen creative ideas swirling around. We’ve stopped pretending otherwise. We chase the projects that make our hearts jump.
Looking a little further out, 2026 will bring a bi-monthly Color of the Month subscription. Six shipments a year—just a small surprise that reminds you that you matter to this community.
So yes—we’re turning the page soon. We’re still learning, still laughing, still doing our best to care for people through wool and stitches. If you’ve ever walked in here for comfort, company, distraction, or joy, you are part of the reason we do this.
As we get ready to cross into a new year, my hope is simple. Keep coming back. Keep pulling up a chair. Keep letting your hands move and your mind settle. Let this be a place where life slows down long enough for you to feel like yourself again.
We will miss a few plans and change a few dates. Someone will run late. Someone else will forget their pattern. Life will keep happening, and we will keep meeting anyway. That is community.
So here is to the next stitch, the next weekend, the next story shared across the table. Thank you for being part of this little family we have built at YSB. It is my joy to walk into 2026 with all of you—one conversation, one project, one warm moment at a time.
