A dear friend brought me a gift. While some people might be unclear about its intended purpose no one could deny that it is well crafted. Layers of varying shades of wood like a parfait comprise the handle, and the tip is a sharp point of precision.
It is a seam ripper.
One might lump such tools in the pile of pessimism, because it only comes out when I make a mistake. It is in fact dormant if everything goes according to plan. But in my experience every project takes short breaks while I pick out the stitches gone awry. The frequency of the process does not discourage me. Ok, the fourth time I get the same piece crooked might cause me to go get a snack and stretch my legs. But I have never tossed a block in the trash because of it.
Fabric is forgiving. At least if I stay away from silk velvet, and chiffon. Cotton is sturdy enough to give me another go at getting it right. I'm grateful. I am unclear whether this is true of watercolor, or sculpting. If Michelangelo says "oops" things are bad. Though he would have said it in Italian.
Relationships often take missteps. Feelings get bruised, and words that have no business leaving your lips escape. A few of them flew yesterday, partly because we are all in the same house for the tenth day in a row and also because uncertainty takes a toll. But we ironed things out, and tried again.
I began another one block wonder today, because, well, the regular schedule has changed. As in evaporated. As chance would have it I made no errors in the first hour. Pity. I was ready if I had.
