Tuesday, December 30, 2008
As I was saying...
Darning is something one does to repair holes in socks and clothing, laying down close (but loose, if that seems possible) rows of stitches going across one way and then another, filling the hole. When I've tried it, which is to say never again will I, it ends up as a hideous wad of thread.
When I spied a hole in Lee's shirt, I realized that:
a) it wouldn't bother him much, and
b) it would bother me.
But I asked him, the experienced bachelor, what he did to fix a hole. "Plug it," he said.
So I did. I plugged it with a worm (pictured in previous post, I think; please excuse cell phone fuzziness). He seemed somewhat charmed with my mending surprise, and attempted to pull the worm out, only to find it firmly attached.
He wore the worm-decorated shirt out for the evening, as we attempted to dine out for a late dessert. We wanted something warm, maybe a pie The first restaurant we went to had cakes and cheesecakes, all made in Indiana, said the clerk, who gave us the impression that Indiana cakes were the best.
The window also contained what she claimed was an apple tart. This item was four or five inches across, an inch and a half high, and just visible in the bottom of the crust were scattered a few dessicated carcasses of apple slices, perhaps a quarter inch deep.
We discussed this pitiful item with the clerk.
"Do you fill it with something?" I asked.
"If you want," she said, looking puzzled.
"Whipped cream?" I asked.
"If you want," she said.
"I'd say it needs apples," said Lee (oh, for the logic of an engineer).
The next place we tried had bready stuff, donut cousins such as cream-filled danish and the like.
The next place we tried was Walmart, where we bought a cherry pie in a box, took it to the condo, microwaved it, and topped it with ice cream. Most satisfying.
It is disappointing, however, to reflect that no one seemed to notice the worm perched on the shoulder of Lee's shirt. Maybe next time.
I was raised to refrain from saying "darn," since it was deemed to be the same as saying "damn." It's close, has been laundered of its worst aspects, but still if someone says "darn," everyone knows what he really means.
In the absence of strong words to express strong feelings, if one were to get really upset in my household, exclaiming "nuts!" was acceptable. I never did. It somehow just didn't seem any better to me than saying "darn," and actually a bit worse in some ways.
All this has nothing to do with the "darn" that I do say but never do.
Darning is something one does to repair holes in socks and clothing, laying down close (but loose, if that seems possible) rows of stitches going across one way and then another, filling the hole. When I've tried it, which is
(oops, internet connection glitch; see next post)
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Photo: Earlier this year, all these Alabamian pots were filled with growing things and sitting on the rail (from whence the weather sometimes knocked them off).
have been immensely enjoying myself reading the Quiltart mailing list on my cell phone via the online archives. It's the best thing to occupy one's mind when beset by the odd hours of jetlag and overabundance of leisure.
I brought my 17-year-old Kenmore sewing machine here, lugged it onto the plane where my cartable sewing machine case, just purchased cheap at Joann's, was just slightly too big for even Southwest's generous allowances, but fortunately the plane was half full, so cramming it into the bin did not raise too many eyebrows. BTW, did not remove the needle in the machine or the tools from the toolbox, and nothing was confiscated, though my carry-on luggage was flagged for manual inspection after going through the scanner.
I expect to be able to sew tomorrow, as soon as I get a table. I should have brought along one of my antique quilts and started work on remaking or restoring. Handwork for a "lady of leisure!"
For awhile, my motto regarding sewing has been, "If I have to sew it by hand, it doesn't get done." I used to love handwork, but the coincidence of eyes needing bifocals and 9-11 put that travel passtime (sp?) to rest. No more crosstitching on #18 or higher count Aida!
But now that I have these two old quilts, each of which have disintegrating red and black fabrics (what causes that in those older quilts? - other colors seem to hold up just fine), I am thinking a little handwork might be fun. I wish I had the quilts with me, because there is a farmhouse quilt shop up in TN that carries a whole roomful of vintage fabrics.
Tonight: Christmas concert.