It’s easy to forget this is a blog and not a television show; web-log, not production number. Sometimes I put forth too much effort, I think. In the spirit of writing something self-beneficial, I dedicate this entry . . .
To my Windswept Mind:
Things I’m likely to forget even if I write them down, but which may surprise and delight me should I run across them later on.
Thing One–See the Signs
Signs a project has, or projects have, been abandoned:
Yes sir, yes sir, three looms full–of started projects most likely never-to-be-completed.
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We got rid of a bunch of stuff today (Saturday). Company’s coming next week and we must have room to unfold the hide-a-bed couch. Stacks of stuff were loaded into the car (Polly had to stay home because there wasn’t room for her) and we drove to D.I. (Deseret Industries–local thrift store). About six guys (it took six) swarmed our car and unloaded everything quick as a wink. All those books and DVDs and old clothes and other rummage that had been piling up like a castle in the middle of the downstairs floor for–what? like, five months–were gone, poof, like Brigadoon. Read More →
Maggie and I had an agreement–when she went, she’d take me with her. Actually, I’m not sure Maggie ever agreed, I mean, we didn’t shake on it. (I should have made her shake; she knew how to shake on command.) On Wednesday morning, 30 March 2016, I had to release her from her semi-contract.
24 Feb 2004: Maggie and her litter-mate sister, Millie, came to live with us. They were 2-3-month-old puppies we adopted from the South Utah County Animal Shelter, through Lab Rescue of Utah. We picked them out from an online photo titled “the Yellow Girls.”
Baby Maggie and Millie (formerly known as The Yellow Girls)
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2014: September, October, November . . . Frequent visits to Amazon kept bringing up a particular product–Margaret Stump’s book, Pin Loom Weaving.
Pin Loom Weaving by Margaret Stump
Who’d ever heard of pin loom weaving? But that folk art horse on the cover captured my interest over and over. And I don’t even like horses. I mean, I like ’em all right, but I wasn’t a horse-mad child. To tell the truth, I never once noticed the square thing at the bottom of the photo.
“You buy too many art books because of the cover,” I told myself. “Too many. Just say no to this one.”
Week after week: “Just say no.” “Walk away.” “I promise if you swim back now, no harm will come to you.”
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