It was, after all, the first day of the rest of the year and seemed like a good time to rediscover the sewing room. The holidays had been and gone along with the guests and finally I had time, inclination and energy all aligned.
Can you remember what it was like in those days before Christmas when you had to give the cake just one more drink of brandy, make the beds up for the expected over-nighters, order the turkey, chase the dust bunnies around and convert your ‘space’ to guest accommodation.
With just a little bit of imagination, and a lot less effort, the guests could sleep in ‘his’ space but no, not this year.
So you headed into the fray with good intentions and very little time. Projects were bundled up and in many case mixed up and stuff into, under and behind all manner of containers. The bedding smoothed down on your ‘work bench’, the ‘design wall’ pulled back to let daylight and fresh air in and the machine, iron, cooling fan and other assorted appliances put away for the holidays. It did look good.
Problem is that right now it looks like hell. Maybe that is where that quote about good intentions comes from.
I had started bright and early on hands and knees pulling out boxes, bags and bundles from under the bed – you wouldn’t think that it was just a few weeks since I put it all under there. I found unfinished projects that now were not nearly as problematical so wandered off to the stash to locate the right fabric to finish. I picked up magazines and started looking at the stickers to see what had inspired me last year – obviously my tastes changed over the holidays – but I did find other pictures and patterns that might be intriguing to play with. The lid had come off the button tin and so spent a lot of time scrabbling about in the bottom of the plastic bin picking them up but I did find the snips that have been missing in action for months now.
A glance at the clock told me I had missed lunch by over an hour but I was on a mission.
The bag of scraps needed sorting, that big piece of fabric I had bought needed a good iron before I could put it on the shelf with the stash (thank goodness the shelves looked in reasonably good condition), the grand-daughter’s pretty summer dress still needed fixing, after all summer was past the cusp and heading downhill so the sewing machine was unearthed and set up (which meant another armful of ‘stuff’, very important stuff, headed for the floor from the table top).
Speaking of downhill – it was now dinner time and the only clear place in my sewing room was under the bed. The boxes at the bottom of the wardrobe were still out of sight but most
