There. Would a violent felon embroider so prettily? This is a garment for the wintertime, mended. I sewed it myself, probably ten years ago. It mostly hung in the closet the first few years. I deliberately enlarged the pattern, but didn’t, you know, measure. And so it was too enlarged, and I didn’t like the way it hung on me: too poochy. And yet, I was too poochy to consider anything like a belt to cinch it in. Then, some time later, it was no longer too poochy, and I wore it through many work-winters, until the elbows started to wear thin.

Perhaps not altogether sensible, embroidering on an elbow patch: the elbow sliding around on the desk all day, but I used linen thread. Very hard wearing, it is supposed to be.

Four weeks. The office mate is still alive.

This is the name tag I made to wear to open quilting at the church. It was a last minute, on-the-fly, endeavor, produced in the office, after hours. A proper craftswoman does not staple fabric to cardstock. But I love the fabric, and the cord. One of my YouTube ladies showed me how to twine fabric strips into a really very handsomely rustic cord. And that’s a fine specimen of my handwriting, arty as all hell. Only I already splattered drinking water on the cardstock, and my hobbit handwriting is now blotchy. I won’t take a photo of that.

And we are coming up on another morning of hooky-playing. Tomorrow I will have a nice Peet’s breakfast and then go over the church and sew some more on my rice bag panels.