A fair little girl sat under a tree,
sewing as long as her eyes could see;
Then smoothed her work,
and folded it right,
and said, "Dear work,
good night, good night."
-- R M Milnes --
I love to stitch at night. Everything is quiet... except the normal "house sounds" and maybe... just maybe... Pipes blowing softly on the stereo.
There is something infinitely soothing about crossing row upon row of stitches. It's measured, rhythmic, logical... and simple.
Lately... I've not been able to get in my late-night stitching and I am the worse for it. I need that time. I crave it. I long for it.
I managed to get in an hour or so tonight --
but my Mother, Bless her heart, is still in the Living Room blissfully watching re-run after re-run of Law & Order.
I'm seriously considering spiking her tea with Tylenol PM.
I need my lamp. I need to feel the needle in my hand. And I don't want scattered conversation or loud commercials.
I want bagpipes. Or maybe, just the sound of the thread as I pull it through the fabric.
I want my time.