Not exactly a Viking's funeral

I went through some knitting bags this evening, after everyone else had left the shop. I was horrified to discover the remains of a shrug sleeve, still lurking, hogging not just real estate, but a 5mm Addi needle. Obviously, something had to be done. This was the shrug I'd begun as a gift for my nutty "ailing" Gran. The one who now slaps people around, can't remember she was married to a spectacularly handsome man for over four decades, or that she had three daughters. She's also added to her list of talents 1.) seemingly deliberate public toileting accidents, 2.) slamming doors and drawers until she requires stitches, and 3.) accusing everyone around her of drinking and playing the piano too loud... and there is, of course, no piano. This sleeve needed to just 'go away', because it just made me too sad to think about the woman who used to be.
The children gathered sticks and we shredded a box, dumped on the lighter fluid, and gave it a light...

but it sort of peetered out once the Ronsonol burned off.

Luckily, "we haz gener8er" and thus a supply of gasoline in the garage. I fed the fire more than probably 'required', owing to wool's self-extinguishing properties, and got this as my reward...

A proper farewell.