We admitted we were powerless over fabric stores

Just when did my therapeutic meanderings between the calico and corduroy cross over to the dark side? It started so innocently, choosing festive fall prints to sew ninety napkins for students, staff, and real family.  The sound of the winding bobbin got my blood rushing. The smell of hot, steamy pressed-open seams was driving me wild!  True, it is difficult descending the dank ladder into the sewer of true sewing addiction when no amount of squinting can get a needle threaded.

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder


Kathleen said...

Gorgeous. Heh. I smell a sewer.

Kim said...

When you need some help with that addiction you could just have a little hummus.


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