sweetness

There's nothing sweeter than unexpected company on a Sunday morning.

(My camera needs its eyes checked)

the Sordid Tale continues...

"The Error of Her Ways"  (cont.)

Picking everything out wasn't as bad as I anticipated.  Music helped. The base cloth is a sturdy, service weight damask, not too vintage, so it can take a little punishment without falling apart.

But..web research is telling me I am well and truly screwed for using an indelible (hello!) metallic gold ballpoint ink to so arrogantly lay out the lettering. Such chutzpah!

The solution I'm too familiar with is laying in a needle-turned patch of the same base material with the tiniest, most invisible, made by blind Bavarian nuns, stitching and then, getting the damn words right, bless you Beatles.

Relax baby, it's gonna be OK.

ugh and shit

That little badge I've been working on? It took me a week of mulling to decide on the text. Another few days of drawing the letters with my finger before I committed to the gold metallic pen. I was pretty smug about how nicely I fit the words around the perimeter of the design. That should have been a warning.

And in the end, the love you make is equal to the love 

you take.

Did you see the error? Neither did I until I was finished stitching. Sigh.

Scary, isn't it.

Nothing like yesterday, though.

While I was at the park yesterday I scored a few good books from the Little Free Libray on a stick. I owe them a bunch, now that I think about it. Morbid has been the flavor of the day, politics aside.

"A Morbid Taste for Bones" is probably out of print so I'm keeping this yellowed little paperback. I was first introduced to the work of Ellis Peters while I was checking out anything and everything that was unabridged audio back when I had two hour daily commute to the Deathstar.

Imagine my surprise when I investigated the authors backlist to find that Ellis Peters was a little old lady who was dead and not writing any new adventures for Brother Cadfael. Then I stumbled on the BBC TV production of one of her books,  "the Virgin in Ice" and I was reminded of how well-written drama can break your heart wide open.

And while I was doing the dishes this morning, I wrote a scene that has been wanting and waiting to trouble and terrify me. Good day and it's only noon.

practical matters

The sun coming in over the sewing chair is rich in the mornings, strong until 11 almost, but once the trees get leaves all that will change. For now, I'll take advantage of it if I can.

The washing machine heard me boasting about getting a good deal on those lumberjacks yesterday so it decided this would be a good time to up and die. Not if I have anything to say about it.

We jackassed it off the base because I thought we had to take the back cover off. Then I did a little web surfing and found the trixie technique for getting at the works - flipping the lid and yanking off the cabinet from the front. It was nasty in there.

 In search of a clog, hoses were disconnected, but I forgot about the several gallons of dirty water still in the tub, even though we siphoned off most of it. Damp carpets will look cleaner someday. There was NO sock blockage, although I did find an ATM card in the basket that I hadn't even missed yet.

The next part to be investigated/replaced is the timer. Part ordered and an excellent tutorial found. All I need is a strappy t-shirt and crack-revealing jeans.