Friday, July 19, 2013

Tropical heat, and tales of woe


Well.  You can’t win them all.  This shirt/shift/blouse-y contraption seemed like a wonderful idea.  It looked fresh and bohemian, especially on the waif-like teenage model in the pattern photo, and that should have been a clue to this seasoned crafter—I even know enough now that I can’t really wear a pullover with any kind of aplomb—but I made it anyway, and woe is me, it looks terrible.  Blind enthusiasm does not always lead to success. 


The basket of finished hats is about half full.  So much for big projects.  Why can’t I just work on something slowly? 

It is tropically hot this week, and my poor mama, who will find 65 degrees F a little too warm, is here for a visit, so we’ve all just been lying around in varying states of undress, drinking champagne cocktails and mopping our boiling selves with damp cloths.  Eating out every night.  Manufacturing errands so we can get in the car and turn on the A/C.  Yearning for a thunderstorm. 

In the process of crafting theater props, I have burned my fingers (again!) with hot glue, which, let’s face it, is really just molten plastic, so then I spent the evening with my hand inside a bag of frozen edamame and getting called Lefty.  Note to self:  hot glue is hot. 

Speaking of tropical, I squared off against a huge snake the other day, which dropped down next to me from above as I opened the garage door.  Which is like living in Borneo or something, or a horror movie, maybe.  I lifted the door, which is heavy and wooden, heard a big thump, turned to see what had fallen, and there was a three-foot-long serpent lifting his head and coiling around to face me.  This is the North!  What’s with all the huge varmints?  As I jogged around flapping my hands and freaking out a little, the great snake casually disappeared under a cupboard and has not yet been apprehended, so naturally, I can never go in the garage again.  Google tells me it is not venomous, but that it would still like to bite me if I gave it a reason to, which I will emphatically not do. 

Meanwhile, since my fingers are burned, I can’t knit at the moment (noooo!) so In the wake of my having read this book, we went to the (ugh) mall and spent hours smelling perfume—oh, perfume!  Sensuous, often maligned, sometimes fraught with memory.  I love/hate perfume, you know what I mean?  It can be so lovely, or so invasive. Today I am wearing Versace Crystal Noir, heavy in this heat.  I feel like a burgeoning lily, drooping and ripe.  Do you wear perfume?  What’s your favorite?

Did I mention I can’t knit?  Which means all I want to do is kniiiiiiit.