I started getting threatening messages from Apple about my iCloud storage getting so full that it wouldn’t be able to do back-ups anymore. Sheesh. It’s hard enough keeping a house clean without having to spend time cleaning out my photos as well. Nevertheless, I’ve been taking an hour or two a day this week to turn my Live Photos into still photos and download photos from my device to our computer. You really can’t expect me to do all that AND write a blog.
I’ve also made progress on Clive the Snail.
Making and sewing on the glasses and antennae was way harder than I anticipated. The mailbox will be next.
Lastly, I want to get some opinions from you about what to do with a cross-stitch I started around 1989 when my oldest son was a baby and finished the year he graduated from high school. I thought it was really cute when I started it, but now it looks hopelessly old-fashioned and dated. I always planned to give it to him, but it might be more of a curse than a blessing at this point. And how do I finish it off? Help me, please!
Okay, that’s enough for today. See above above needing someone to fan me and feed me grapes… ha ha!
I’ll probably give this the Clive to put in the mail tomorrow, unless I delete it first.
The next day we came across a small village. Finbul had been there before and said it was Pendant’s Fork – he didn’t think there could be more than 250 people living in the surrounding area. He grinned when we saw a tavern in the clearing. “Ah, I hoped to see this place again. Come along – we’ll get good food and drink, here.”
We walked in; Finbul with a confident stride was first, followed by Kelsier and Radagast. I lagged behind, as has become my custom. It felt cramped inside, and though it was bright daylight outside, the darkness inside was only somewhat lightened by a fireplace and candles on the tables. We sat at a table and got something to eat, with ale to wash it down. Barely had we started eating when a small man nervously approached our table. I did not like the look of him – he reminded me of a rabbit with his nervous twitching.
“Allow me to introduce myself, good folk. I am Arbin Goodbarrel, and I am in need of some help.”
Knowing looks passed between us at this.
“How can we help you, Friend Goodbarrel?” Finbul inquired politely. He had apparently decided to be our spokesman. It made sense.
“Ah, well, oh dear, oh dear…,” the little fellow was having trouble getting started. “I work for the great wizard Elwinol -perhaps you have heard of him?”
We looked around at each other – it seemed this Wizard Elwinol was not known to any of us. We shook our heads.
“He is an exacting man to work for, very exacting. I cannot think he will treat me kindly when he finds out what has happened. Oh, it’s just disastrous!” He was wringing his hands in dismay and I wondered if there would be much more of this kind of talk before getting to the meat of the matter.
“I shouldn’t have taken it, I know it, I know it. I wasn’t really going to keep it, I just wanted to carry it for awhile. No harm in that, no harm in that.”
Rabbity man, get to the point! I thought it, but stayed silent.
“You see, the wizard has in his possession a beautiful red gem, a gem with magical powers. He has gone on a short journey and left it in my care. What harm could come of having it in my pocket? Oh, the gods were cruel today! All is against me!”
At this, he began anew with the wringing of his hands and some accompanying fretting noises. Kelsier and Radagast looked a little disgusted, a look I imagine was mirrored on my face as well.
“Did you lose this gem?” Finbul asked, no doubt with the intent of moving the tale along.
“Oh, no! No, I would never have lost it, never! But as I was walking not far from Pendant’s Fork, I was accosted by 3 bandits dressed in scarlet clothing. Before I could run away, they grabbed me, frisked my pockets, took the gem, and knocked me down, threatening to do harm to me if I tried to follow them or retrieve the gem. I have just been recovering from this ordeal over by the fire when I saw your brave looking company and dared to hope that you could retrieve this valuable item for me. I am utterly lost without your help, utterly lost.”
There was no need for any private consultation between us. This is what we’d been waiting for.
“Friend Goodbarrel,” Finbul announced, “This red gem is as good as in your pocket again. We are at your service. Give us leave to finish our food and drink and we shall set out with stout hearts to accomplish this worthy quest. You need only to point us in the right direction.” I admire eloquence when I hear it – I have not the gift of it myself.
Arbin Goodbarrel bowed down repeatedly in gratefulness, grabbing each of our hands to shake them. I pulled mine out of his rabbity paws quickly, but he did not notice my distaste.
And as we went back to our food, the hex-blade, which had been silent since the beginning of this journey, began to hum.
All of the felt creatures I’ve made have been different and unique, but one thing has been the same for each: “turn right side out.” Those four words are printed very casually in the instructions several times per project. The next part of the sentence continues on as if you haven’t just spent 10-20 minutes trying to turn that small felt contraption inside out without poking a hole in the felt in the process. Our friend Clive, the snail, presented unique challenges because of his thin little neck. Turning that body inside out was akin to giving birth to an elephant through a thimble. Admittedly, I’ve never experienced that, so I can only guess.
A work in progress.
Each time I’ve finished one of these, some aspects of it have been so hard that I’ve solemnly sworn I will not make another one of that kind, ever. I had to break that vow once when I decided to make a twin brother for Colonel Purslane (the hedgehog) as a gift for my friend Teresa. His name is Percival, if you’re curious. Teresa very kindly sends me photos occasionally so I can see how Percival is doing in his new home.
Colonel Purslane on left, Percival on rightPercival is a true Minnesotan!
Today as I was contemplating the fact that I couldn’t possibly make another one of these snails, it occurred to me that I’ve been using the wrong mantra. Instead of “never again,” I really should be thinking to myself, “I’ve done it once, I can do it again.” It’s hard to give up old habits, though. When my daughter was around 13 years old, we were discussing her general attitude of “I can’t do it!” She remarked in despair, “I’m tired of being the family pessimist,” to which I responded, “Then quit it!” “I can’t!” she moaned, “I’ve done it so much it’s become a hobby!”
Well, it’s easy to see that she came by it naturally.
I’ll probably turn this post right side out in the morning.
Lynniebeemuseoday 