|Grenny Bored With Sewing|
Todd's mom makes beautiful quilts like the blue calico one she made for our wedding 26 years ago. It graces my hope chest in the guest bedroom beneath a smaller quilt she made for my youngest daughter with triangular patches that form two cats. Her daughters are equally talented with fingers, material and visions.
As for me, I might have picked up the practice had I lived closer to my mother-in-law or Todd's sisters. Instead, I happily receive the gifts of their hands. To my own children I passed down such skills as duct-tape and staples.
One night, not too long ago, my youngest daughter calls and says, "Mom! I made a cat-castle out of cardboard and duct-tape!" This is the same daughter that I once taught how to hem with a stapler. Her older sister is more savvy than us and can sew ribbons onto point shoes, patches onto jeans and baubles onto belly-dancing costumes. She has her paternal grandmother's knack for stitching.
Tonight, however, I have torn sheets. One of the dogs, in a nesting fury, slashed my bottom bed-sheet like some Jack-Russel-the-Ripper. The little tear grew with successive washings. A few nights ago my foot caught in the tear and ripped it more. After today's washing, the tear is a monster of a rift. And I only own one set of sheets for my bed.
So like Dr. Frankenstein, I'm bent over my monster stitching loop after loop. When I'm done, it's a puckered patch job but the rips will no longer attack my toes at night. Satisfied with the results, I think I did a fantabulous job.
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