Sanna's Bag

“I never seem to have what I need when I need it. I’m going to make a belt-bag that’s bigger on the inside than on the outside, and just carry everything with me.”

Friday, July 21, 2017

Friday check-in

On Thursdays I get together with MJ and we sew comforters.  It is a deeply satisfying sew hours when we talk about anything while we arrange, pin and stitch pretty colors into new patterns.  Yesterday we were ready to start a new comforter, but the fabric stash was in such a tumble . . . I'm so glad MJ didn't mind, because I just dropped down on my knees and began pulling everything out so we could sort and re-organize. It took a couple of hours, and a garbage bag for the stuff that honestly was just too small.  Why is it so much more fun to organize someone else's things?  I had the best time, and we wound up with the sprawl neatly organized and tucked away.  And we got a start on the next comforter.  MJ has a son who is renting a house with some friends.  Just moved in.  MJ has some lovely wool suits that her husband had made in HongKong 30 years ago.  Unfortunately, the suits have been mauled by moths.  So we filleted the suits, cutting around the bigger holes, and will construct a comforter with lovely fine wool patches, and a backing perhaps of flannel.  It's nice to have a plan.

Meanwhile, back at home, I am going to wade through my sewing room and tidy up somehow.  There is the material for knitting projects in bags on the floor.  There is a pile of nylon net in case I ever actually DO get around to making myself a tutu.  There is a pile of ironing pouting sullenly in a corner.  There is a fibrous film of threads and dust over everything.  Actually, I have developed a sort of blindness about the chaos.  I can focus on the cubbyhole where the filing gets stuffed until the day when I'm feeling alphabetical.  Or I can focus on the stack of fat quarters MJ bought for me when she was in Hawaii (I adore those asian prints!)n  Or I can focus on specific knitting projects, but the whole room - - Lordy, when I die, whoever has to clean that place out will be chipping away at it for days.

I have, in fact, a sort of smug satisfaction with the fecund disorder.  it's a nest of possibilities and there's no telling what might hatch in there.  Hmmmm -- Kinda like the inside of my head . . .


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