It’s kind of cosmic, really. If you keep decreasing and decreasing, you can actually make a project disappear. Vanish, just like that! I finished Birch last night and had that dog-catches-car moment: now what?
This morning, after tenderly packing the darlings off to their hi-kwalidy preschool and second grade, I got down to brass tacks. Or pins, or whatever. We have discussed my love of blocking, the hypnotic flow state that comes with sticking pins along fourteen feet of shawl edge. I had to rent out the convention center downtown to get enough room for this thing. Three hundred pins later, I still don’t think I pinned it enough, but my thumb kind of hurts now and I keep yanking the little balls off the ends of the pins.
Reminds me of the days when Granddaddy Allen used to cure coon skins on the side of the barn. Oh, not really. I’m Alabama, but not that Alabama.
The bug guy came through as I was waving Rowenta around in a steamy way, and he did not say a word. Man has seen it all.
I know you’re thinking, Nice, Ann, but I’m still seeing a little Jemima Puddleduck in this project. What I heard from Hubbo last night was even more damning: “Creepy! Very Morticia Addams.”
The heck with all a ya.