Saturday, March 21, 2009
Henya of Chicken Stitches (love that name!) has Startitis and I have Starabagitis. It's a good thing, with Maryland 42 days away (Henya has a counter on her blog - her husband dresses it up with cute pictures and gadgets). My goal is a bag a day, which I can do if they are cut out already. Cutting takes care and can't be rushed. I don't use a pattern. I just stand over the fabric and cut a square to start. The fabric tells me how big the bag should be. If there's a large pattern, like big flowers, the bag might be bigger. I have a tendency to make bags too big. I forget most women are not that tall. I usually fill up my bags with everything I currently need in my life at the time, and then some...receipts, bills, blank books to write things in, CD's, food, knitting (G-d forbid if I get stuck on the road I might need it - remember I pass 2-3 cars over 15 miles on my commute to work, on a busy day that is) checkbook and hopefully a little cashola. No wonder my shoulders are a wreck. I am working on having a selection of big and little bags, suitable for a sock project, done over the next month. I will cut out a bunch of bags on weekends then sew them during the week. I got one bag almost finished between 4:30 when I got home yesterday and 8 when Matt got home, but that's with tending to dogs, cats and dinner. Woke up with a start at 6:30 this morning, thinking of bags. Cold in the apt. so I got the coals stirred and the fire going again, coffee on, milk and eggies for the apt. kitties, boots and coat on, doggies walked. Here I am sitting down again, ready to turn right and fire up the old Singer. It's the 304th birthday of Bach and there's delightful music on, with all the Brandenburg concertos and choral pieces I love. I'll sew for a while then check the dyepot I switched on as I was coming back through the milk room. Mary my neighbor shepherd accidentally took two wethers when she picked out her sheep and wants me to come and get them or they will go for meat. Wethers are valuable to me for wool, if I can feed them, and, with my eternal optimism that keeps me from jumping off the nearest cliff, I keep thinking someday I will be able to make my own hay and feed them all. It's too late for the sheep I had to sell or give away, but I have many left to love. Matt is so into his new career, and just got a good evaluation and a raise, BHS!, and I can't really imagine him taking a week off to make hay in the summer, or tinkering with tractors in his spare time, but one can live and hope.