The house is quiet; everyone has gone to bed, and I am preparing now to settle in for a few hours of uninterrupted stitching. I’ve got my Dt. Coke at my elbow, a mini movie marathon in the DVD player (starting with Jaws and ending with Shawn of the Dead), while outside, the soft pitter-patter of rain falling gently against the windows serves to remind me of just how wet I am destined to get when I take my evening walk. So, before I become utterly engrossed in humans being devoured by gigantic eating machines, here’s my latest progress.
Nothing spectacular, but any progress is good progress, IMHO. And now it’s fallen out of my rotation and will have to sit upon the shelf until next week. In the meantime, I have Christmas Flourishes in my lap and a lost needle somewhere in the couch.
How is it that I keep misplacing these cussed things? I’ve looked and looked, even getting down on my knees (and these are OLD knees, as they keep reminding me–they don’t do Down To Floor anymore). At this point, I know that needle is lurking malevolently just beneath the cushions somewhere, patiently waiting to be rediscovered by a misplaced hand or (shudder) bottom the next time one of my sisters tries to sit. I just can’t tell you how thrilled they are with this, the hobby I have brought into their house.
If you can’t beat them, join them as the old adage goes. And I have tried my best to recruit them both. Now and then they’ll find a pattern in my stash that appeals to them enough to gamely make the effort, but somehow they seemed to be able to accomplish the feat without losing quite so many needles.
Ah, well. It’s our differences that make us all the more interesting, right?
Expendable actor #1 has just been messily devoured, so I am off to enjoy my movies. G’night!