#8

Recently at church there was a sermon about not loving things, but loving people and using things.  The priest talked about that the instant that we die, our possessions become worthless.  It’s only the connection of an item to a person that gives it any importance. 

When my mom and my aunt were getting my grandparents’ house ready for an estate sale a few years ago, I went by their house to pick out something to take home.  I was shocked to find the sheets that I always slept on when I spent the night at their house folded in the bathroom closet and ready to be sold.  (I can smell the clean, soapy, hint-of-mothballs smell of that bathroom right now.  I wish I had a Dixie cup full of water to drink, then maybe I could get my hair tangled around and stuck in a round brush.)  They were just sheets to my mom and aunt, but they were meaningful to me because of my memories connecting them to my grandparents.

We’ve been using the pillowcases for awhile, but the sheets have been waiting in the closet.  They finally made it into a quilt, some of the fitted sheet pieced into the top, the flat sheet for the backing.

I finally remembered that for my first quilt, I marked the pieces with masking tape to keep myself organized while piecing.  Rush and Tate were happy to remove all the tape and stick it all over their clothes once the piecing was complete.

And now I’m free from the sewing machine, released to months of hand quilting, better known as ‘hours of guilt free tv watching.’

On *Not* Being A Quitter

I am genuinely surprised every single time I finish a project, which I trace back to the cross stitch I started in elementary school and never finished.  My mom bought two cross stitches, one each for my sister and me to make for our grandmothers.  Casey finished hers and continued on to become a successful embroiderer.  Mine floated through my dresser drawers, half finished and ignored, for years. 

The curse has lifted, I’m free:  I started and finished a cross stitch, un-ironed in the photo to prove to my mom that, yes, I did use an embroidery hoop.

Trent and I have been watching Breaking Bad in its entirety and I like the drug underworld-cross stitch juxtaposition.  I’m looking at an embroidery hoop/thread/needle, but hearing Gus tell Walt he’s going to kill his entire family.  It works to both tone down the show and give an edginess to the needlework.

The trick to this new hobby is that any kit I have found for a reasonable cost looks like it was designed in 1989 and designing my own patterns on graph paper is surprisingly much more difficult than one would expect.  The library, as usual, came through with a book of 500 patterns, alphabets, borders, animals and such, which was just the help I needed to actually design a pattern on graph paper. 

Now that I’ve conquered completing a cross stitch, Trent has proposed a new challenge. 

Eat this whole bag-

I wish.

There’s a strange worry in my subconscious that if I wait until too close to Halloween to buy candy, the stores will sell out and we will have to keep our porch light off.  A simple solution is to buy the candy early in October.  Trent was with me when I picked up the candy on Saturday and seems to think I’m going to start sneaking candy.  He pretty much dared me not to open the bag- dare grudgingly accepted.

I Spy: October

18 days and counting on the cold that waxes and wanes but has yet to go away.  I’m helping my battered immune system along with a steady diet of Taco Bell, Whataburger, and occasionally a trip to Burger King. 

The punch line to the following story has been a phrase in useful rotation for so many circumstances since I first heard it.  A friend of my sister had a very young, probably just past newborn, baby.  Some Jim Rush sort of character was holding the baby at their house while drinking a milk shake, and eventually commented, “This baby sure likes milkshakes!” 

This baby sure likes milkshakes!  Who are you, milkshake drinking baby?

Finally, an excuse to buy some of that shiny, silky fabric from the fabric store- not for dresses, but for Batman capes!

The beauty and reality of the handmade:  Regardless of what you may think you’re making, you’re really just working on the world’s lushest cat bed.