Thursday, April 10, 2008
Close to Nowhere
• It’s all my fault. I knew better than to watch the Memphis Tigers game Monday night.
It was my fault in 1973 also, when Gene Bartow was coaching the Memphis Tigers. I didn’t watch a single game in the tournament, until the last one. I watched that last game and they lost.
I didn’t watch any of the games this time either. Sometimes, I’d check the score for a second or two, but I was very careful not to actually watch.
Until Monday night. They were nine points ahead with two minutes left. How could I jinx that if I watched the rest of the game?
You’d think I’d learn...
• Last Saturday, a bunch of us from my house went to a felting workshop at my quilt guild.
Glenda Hersberger, the teacher, is from Mountain View, Ark., and is one of those people who are just born “crafty.” She knits, crochets, spins and felts wool, scrapbooks, quilts and a few other things I know I’m forgetting.
She spent the night before the workshop with my friend Jane, and Dana and I enjoyed dinner and a preview Friday night.
Saturday morning, Dana, Meredith, Remy and I set off for Oxford and the First Presbyterian Church, where the guild meets.
The workshop was great. I was a bit worried about it, afraid that felting wool might not be fun or useful maybe.
I was wrong! Not only is it addicting, you can use all kinds of felted stuff for quilting or 1,001 other things.
The only problem I had, one I shared with everyone else there, was that needlefelting wool requires needles. Very sharp, barbed needles. Need I say more?
At lunch, after the workshop, Jane, Glenda, I and the rest of my family, compared wounds.
Glenda had the best one -- she’d poked the needle all the way through the tip of her index finger.
Several of us had puncture wounds that were already bruising, but I think I had the record for the most puncture holes -- five.
But! I have a really cool felted pin-cushion and a bunch of felted veggies that I’m going to build a quilt around!
• If you’re lucky, after you’ve been married 38 years, lines have blurred and who is actually the one related to which relative is no longer important.
“Our” Uncle Jack passed away Monday night. He was in his 80s.
Technically, Jack Covington was my husband’s uncle. But I”m lucky and family lines have been blurred for a long time. My brothers and Pop’s uncles, aunts and cousins, are all lumped together.
My late mother-in-law Jimmie and I spent many a weekend for many, many years, playing the dominoes game “42” with her brother Jack and his wife Eva.
Jack and Jimmie are surely playing 42 again with their other siblings now...
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