craps & bits, scraps & nips

I’ve always had a habit of lingering over things before letting them go—especially the scraps, the trimmings, the so-called trash. There’s something about the moment before it becomes waste that feels full of possibility. And recently, that instinct turned a pile of wooly leftovers into a quiet little celebration of play and unexpected joy.

It started with a blanket.
Not just any blanket—a massive, California King-sized creation made from chunky wool that’s somehow both warm and weightless. I wanted something soft enough to feel like a hug, yet sturdy enough to last. Over 60,000 stitches later, it was done. And to finish it off? Tassels. Forty-two of them, to be exact.

That meant trimming and sealing over 250 strands of yarn. Each one had to be cut clean, then gently burnt at the ends with a lighter to keep from unraveling. It was tedious, but meditative—one of those repetitive rituals that quietly rewards patience.

Before the singeing, though, came the snipping. And with each snip, tiny strands floated down like soft confetti, landing in a colorful, fluffy pile on my hardwood floor. I meant to clean it up right away. Really, I did.

But as I bent down to sweep it all into one spot, something in me shifted. I paused.

The scraps began to form shapes—accidentally at first, then deliberately. I saw a mop of hair… so I gave it a face. Then came a heart, a ring. I spelled out the word BOY—a word that had been lingering in my thoughts. Just days earlier, I’d learned my niece (for whom I made this blanket for) is expecting a baby boy—news that came not long after my own son became a father to a boy of his own.

As if the fluff had been listening, it mirrored my thoughts.

From there, things snowballed. Bunnies made their way into the mix—it was close to Easter, after all. Then a car, then an owl. I knelt there on the hardwood floor for fifteen minutes straight, completely absorbed in the soft chaos around me. For someone my age, that’s not exactly comfortable—but I barely noticed. The joy of spontaneous creation had taken over.

There’s something profoundly satisfying about turning nothing into something. About seeing potential in the overlooked. About making space for curiosity when you could just as easily be sweeping it all away.

I’ve always loved the idea of finding the pearl in the rough shell, the treasure in the tangle, the story in the scraps. This little creative detour reminded me that not everything needs to be functional, or even intentional, to have value. Sometimes beauty hides in the bits we almost discard.

So next time you find yourself knee-deep in a mess—pause for a moment. Play. Let your hands explore before your mind tells you to clean. You never know what little kind of magic might be waiting there, right under your fingertips. Find the “Beauty in the Beast”.