With 20 days to go until the Nobles County Fair, I have 164 wrapped bars with dove’s eyes yet to complete on my latest hardanger embroidered doily. The goal is to have it finished this next weekend. By then, the dust will have built up even more on my furniture and the hardwood floors will be thirsting for some spray-on cleaning solution.
Certain things get neglected when I’m on deadline, and since much of my life revolves around deadlines, it seems there is always something being neglected.
I had good intentions going into last weekend to stitch until the doily was finished. However, there was laundry to do, dishes to wash, walks to fit in, stuff to pack up and naps to enjoy.
Well — try to enjoy, anyway.
The neighbor girl I mentor in 4-H spent half the day at my house on Saturday, hand-sewing on the constructed garment she will model at the 4-H Fashion Review this Friday night. As she sat on the couch sewing on her vest, I was sitting in my recliner, feet propped up and needlework in hand.
At some point, after little stitching had been accomplished, I must have dozed off.
Then, what sounded like a Viking’s game horn-blowing episode sounded at my ear. (I had changed the tone on my iPhone for incoming text messages earlier in the day. I’m starting to rethink my selection of Sherwood Forest.)
Anyway, I woke up to find a text message from Miss Alyssa — yes, the girl sitting about five feet in front of me.
“Wake up Julie!” she texted.
OK! So, I started stitching again, only to doze off a second time within a half-hour.
“Ba-rooom!” the horn sounded again. Another text message from the girl giggling uncontrollably from the couch!
“I’m tired too!” she texted.
“Leave me alone,” I whined, offering the excuse that I was up late the night before, enjoying the “Fragments of a Dream” pageant at Walnut Grove. I’m old and I need my afternoon nap!
The needlework resting in my lap reminded me there was no time for napping.
Sunday afternoon offered me a second chance to snooze — minus the teenage girl and her texting antics.
This time, I was out at the farm, the needlework within arm’s reach and the cell phone hidden in my purse by the kitchen counter. In other words, out of earshot!
I blissfully napped to the hum of the oscillating fan and distant sounds of, er, polka music. At least it wasn’t the blare of a blowhorn!
I suppose I could change the tone on my phone, but I’ve grown accustomed to hearing the horn now. It actually makes me smile.