When my backside hurts from too much time in contact with my favorite comfy chair, I know it's time to put down my book (the usual suspect) or notebook (alas, not the usual suspect of late) and get up and do something.
The fun kind of something, not the boring yucky kind like change a diaper or make dinner or fold laundry. No, I'm talking about projects. Making stuff.
When I was young, my mom decked my sister and me out in matching Easter outfits, she made jumpers and jumpsuits, pajamas and bonnets. We were as adorable as a Riccar sewing machine and a creative woman's mind can imagine. My mom experimented with other crafts as I grew up. She tried needlepoint and cross-stitch, candlewicking and crewel, macrame and rug hooking. Then she found her niche: crocheting. She tried to teach me many times, but I'm a lefty and she's not, so it never stuck.
Anyway, about ten years ago, I inherited the old Riccar when dad got her a new sewing machine. And since then, I've made all sorts of great things: doll clothes, baby blankets, clothes for Lauren, a handful of bathrobes, piles of curtains and duvet covers, even a few ties once for Clint. Oh, and Halloween costumes. But lately, I've discovered two new loves: purses and skirts. And the beauty of it is this: if I have enough leftover fabric after making a skirt, voila! a matching handbag.
Mom came down last night to spend the night and coach me on my newest bag, a new pattern using somewhat tricksy hardware. We spent the whole rainy day on it, and it's finally done. What do you think? Are the ladies cute? Wanna guess which one I am? No, don't guess. I guess I don't want to know.