"Would you like some wool?"

someone asked me. She had stopped me in the street with a sort of accusing glare. I smiled back.
"I want to get rid of Mum's wool," she told me.
"Yes, of course. I know people who can use it."
She nodded.
"I'll bring it round."
That was just before Christmas. Nothing happened over Christmas. I didn't expect anything to happen. Sunday afternoon there was an e-mail. She would deliver it tomorrow morning if that was all right with me. I responded it would be fine.
"It might take a couple of trips," she told me in the second e-mail.
Oh.
All right I had said I would take it. I hoped that she was mistaken.
She wasn't. It arrived in six large plastic bins. Without looking the two of us hastily packed it into twelve large black plastic rubbish bags. She left saying, "Thank you Cat."
There was a glint in her that told me she was very pleased to be rid of the problem. The bags sat accusingly on the floor in the living area. 
Hmm. I phoned the person who deals with such things for the Guild. What was she doing? Fine. She would be up there in the afternoon to collect it. We could sort it out at her place. 
So, instead of doing the things I should have been doing yesterday afternoon I unpacked, sorted and repacked wool. The person who took it in has a wonderful workroom with a very large table and a skylight.  It's a good place for sorting.
Some of it was at least forty years old. It was not moth eaten. It had been well stored. Some of the colours were unexpected - hot pink was fashionable once and I am not sure that bright yellow could be worn by too many people. Nevertheless we sorted it into various packs of usefulness.
It is not the first time I have been through such an exercise. It is rather a sad one. All those knitting hopes and ideas came to nothing.
I really must make better use of my own stash!