Somewhere deep within the Boise National Forest, sat a girl twirling her thumbs. Gazing out the window she wished upon the first star of the night. Softly, the snow was falling to the ground. After a long sad sigh, she looks over at the dusty knitting needles that were aggressively placed on the shelf some days earlier. She turns slowly, wincing a bit, while eying the needle holes in the wall behind the couch. Just weeks ago, after hours of meditation and reading she was once again ready to knit one, purl two....surely she had no idea when she hurled them across the room they would actually stick into the wall.
Rest in peace aluminum hell sticks....
The magical moments of her desperate cries echoed across the land and into the sky. The tender wish whispered into the ears of the lady who holds R&R in the palm of her hands, Mother Crafter. Sister to Mother Nature, who was hard at work with global warming.
Seated by her sewing machine, saddened by this young, skinny (o.k. healthy and not that young) girls desire, a tear drop fell down...down....down to the poor craft less girl. Gently, a diaphanous glow filled the room. The feeling of despair was slowly, silently,then forcefully lifted. It was really stuck on her. Dashing a little more of her nurturing water and the goo of despair could no longer hold on. Screeching through the darkening sky the spiteful emotion set off in search of another woman with unused knitting needles or perhaps a blank white sheet of scrapbook paper.
Scratching at her ear and slowly shaking her head back and forth, she had that "what the ... just happened" feeling. Reached over and turned on some Christmas music a jolly feeling was flushing through her. "I really can't stay....Baby it's cold outside..." the Brian Setzer orchestra spilling the Christmas spirit into the quiet mobe. She paused in her festive tracks as the phone interrupted this truly special moment. "A loom.... a loom you say....maybe I could give it a try. Sure, I can be there in two shakes of a lamb's tail...". Turning to dash out the door, she looked in the mirror to see if somehow she turned into a 80 year old, internally asking herself why did she use such an elderly idiom. With no worries or despair she gleefully skipped down the road. (Bear spray, MP3 player, knife in hand... see this post to understand.)
I have to say the rest of the story is all rags to rugs....seriously RUGS. Oh, and a happy ever after. Nothing close to perfection, but what is perfection to the grateful eye. Night after obsessive night you can find the young, skinny girl (I know what your thinking, just let me pretend...) wrapping scraps of material around jute, humming to the music and silently thanking Mother Crafter and not screaming at Mother F'er any more. I heart my rag rug.
See...I really did it. (99% done)
Hey, did you sign up for the
give-a-way....why not? Click here, it's that easy. Don't worry it's not one of my new craft creations...It's something from the eau de toilette queen herself, Estee Lauder.