Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Skating through Winter

That's sort of a joke. In one way,(metaphorically) it means everything is going along lippity lip, but another way, (literally) it means I am putting on my skates and skating on the sidewalks whereever I'm going. The joke  is that if I wanted to, today, I could actually skate everywhere. The slush on the roads have frozen solid. The ice on the roadways is at least 5" thick, most of the sidewalks are at 6".

Today I walked/skated to two different doctors appointments. It normally takes me 12 minutes to get to this building. Today....30 minutes. The Dog Days of Summer are when it is really hot and humid, right? The February blues or blahs is not descriptive enough. What about the Frigid Days of February. Too mild? You bet! Let's try the Crepusant Torments of February. Crepusant isn't a word that I know of, but it sounds sort of pissed off, doesn't it?

Move on Sweetie, life is about more than sidewalks.

You are looking at the bottom of a soft sided container I just finished. Two layers of stiff interfacing are between a top and bottom of pink cotton. Over Christmas I needed some serious colour and chose two strong pinks to fool around with.

It began life as a rectangular thing, with no intentions beyond working with stitches, pinks and that little bit of floral fabric in the curve.

I knew I didn't want a table runner. I don't know why I am not fond of quilty table runners. I love a well woven one and have several. I also have some lovely vintage white ones with hand made lace or tatting. I decided to try adding a base.

It was one of those sewing moments where the hands take over and the brain just agrees, "Umhmmm, that sounds right." and off I stitched. It is 7 inches tall, much taller than I expected. I mean the piece measures 7 inches wide by about 14 inches long but when I added the base, I just thought it would be shorter. I don't really understand geometry, not in numbers anyhow.

Neither does Cleo Belle. She is hissing at pigeons. Because the snow is so high the pigeons are a lot closer to her basket and she is defending her territory. The pigeons, of course, just wander around brainlessly picking up spilt seeds that the chickadees, sparrows and finches chuck out. A certain grey cat, who shall remain nameless, (because we don't know his name) has wandered by, daringly close. The tip of Cleo Belle's tail nearly twitched off. Dusk soon came and we could all relax. See those two photos in the back ground? The furthest one back is my son, Lucas, in kindergarten admiring a parrot brought to the school. The smaller photo is of Steve, a little younger. Same damn forehead, without the adorable cowlick. Steve is adorable in other ways. And now I must go tend to him, for he is, alas, sick. A man cold. I've learned to be sympathetic because if I do a good job of being all "Oh you poor thing" with him, he still cooks while sick. This is important to me.

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