Monday, August 22, 2011

A Gorgeous Day

This past weekend was absolutely gorgeous, and today will be too. I, of course, will be at work. This is how I earn that little paycheck that makes my manias possible. Friday afternoon and Sunday afternoon I spent sewing. On Friday I sewed up the last skirt I had cut out and yesterday I finished the bag I started at last weekend's sew-in. Of course I have more fabric to make into skirts but not until I find a different pattern. Not that I don't like the pattern I've been using, you understand, I just crave a bit of variety. I would have looked for another pattern yesterday when I was at Jo-Ann but there was a crowd. I'll go again on a not-weekend day. I'm really enjoying the instant gratification that sewing affords. I'm making fairly simple things and can zoom through them if I have all the pieces cut out ahead of time. That's another benefit of my job. Mr. & Mrs. Boss don't really care if I use the tables in back to cut fabric or sit and knit at the desk, as long as I answer the phone and wait on customers. I really appreciate that.

August 21--Alexander Roux, Cabinet. Grayson ran his hand over the gouge in the top of the cabinet over and over. Carly had been so angry when he'd dropped the heavy bowling trophy on the thing. You'd have thought it was some priceless family heirloom instead of a piece they got in a resale shop. He had tried to tease her tears away but she'd said, "You don't get it, Gray." She dashed away her tears with trembling fingers. "We bought the cabinet when we didn't have a thing. I always felt like it was a goal for us to strive for, something for us to live up to." She smiled at him. "It's like a lucky thing for me. If we take good care of it, nothing can hurt us." He'd smoothed his hand over her hair and hugged her, reassuring her that a little dent in a cabinet wouldn't change their lives. He'd thought she was foolish to think that way. Three months later Carly saw her doctor about a pain in her side. Six weeks after that the cancer had spread from her head to her toes. Yesterday he had buried her. All he could hear was her quivering voice telling him he'd damaged their luck. His fingers caressed the dent in the cabinet wood. Tears flowed down his face unchecked as his finger moved back and forth.

The moral of the story? Take good care of your wood furniture and don't pooh-pooh your wife's intuition. Love you!

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