[album 65561 Patchwork Bag2.JPG]
Here is my patchwork purse made from leftover yarn. It's my Dolly Parton bag. (She wrote a song about a patchwork coat in case you didn't know)
I passed up working again today because I don't have time to work.
The list I just made of things to do has stretched into next week.
While looking for a tablet to write the list ON, I had to sort through a pile of papers. There were applications for dog adoptions that I never filled out. Copies of receipts from things I ordered that finally came and can now be tossed, old lists with only half the things crossed out, a print out of one of my diary entries that for the life of me I don't know why I bothered with, and a handwritten essay I did for my writing group I no longer go to, because I have decided I can't write. I couldn't throw it out. But what do you do with such a disconnected bit of word wrangling? Why put it on my blog! So here it is.... I forget the assignment, so you won't be able to tell if I succeeded in fulfilling the requirements.
[Clever of me eh?]
***
The kitchen was an embattlement of glass, stainless steel and sharp edges. Its color palette included white, black, and gunmetal gray with one exception. A terrified painting of a blue cat that hung in a narrow space between two cupboards. The poor thing somehow knew it was in unfriendly territory. I thought I heard its plaintive mew, "Help me."
My hostess, dressed in khaki capris and a cranberry and white striped blouse, ironed to within an inch of its life, padded into this rarified culinary zone that if it had actually possessed an eyebrow, would have one raised in snooty disdain. Her 155 dollar casual flats somehow matched the red in her blouse perfectly.
"Joel is the real chef in the family." She said airily as she reached for one of the skillets hanging from the precisely arranged pot rack. For some reason the dangling assortment of metal objects made me think of implements of torture, kept just out of reach of the moaning victims below. Really, how rude of me to be thinking such thoughts. I shook my head in an attempt to reset my brain cells.
Claire set about making me a light meal. With precise movements, she gathered the ingredients and in no time, laid before me a well turned out marvel of puffy yellow eggs flecked with herbs that sadly tasted of metal when I finally summoned the courage to take a bite, thus ruining its Feng Shui placement on the plate. This caused the kitchens eyebrow to lower ominously, and was now joined by a sneering lip. "Peasant."
What had I gotten myself into? Agreeing to restore a one hundred and twenty five-year-old family portrait for these people on site, had all the earmarks of an upper upper class disaster. I could see it written clearly on the stark white walls of the kitchen. I wondered what might happen if I failed to suit? The standards of perfection around here were balanced on the cutting edge of a very sharp knife. My first impression of the pot rack, could prove to be its real nature.
"Help me." I whispered, as I glanced at the Blue Cat recognizing in its startled gaze, a kindred spirit.
***
Poor Claire. Those rich girls always get a bad rap don't they? Okay now really, I have to go. My list is hollering at me as well as any Howler sent by Owl to Hogwarts.
"HAVE YOU EVEN BEGUN THIS LIST? DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS? DO YOU REALIZE HOW MANY THINGS ARE ON THIS LIST? TIME'S A WASTIN'! GET OFF THAT COMPUTER AND ATTEND TO IT!"
Wow, he even makes ( ) look tame eh? [album 65561 Pink divider.gif],