Wednesdays are my long-haul days. A full day of work and then a 2-hour staff meeting at the end of the day. But every week I am buffeted by the image of making my way up this mid-week hill so that I can ride -- wheeeee! -- the downhill slide toward the weekend.
I am from time to time compelled by some mysterious, inner force to do things (projects) that really aren't my style. I don't know where this comes from. This little beach cutie comes from a small book of embroidery patterns called At the Seashore, and it is still available if you are so inclined. The twelve patterns are equally divided between images of girls and boys. I've gotten through a couple (sigh, yes, another project started eons ago that's recently resurfaced) and I know I'd envisioned a small beach-themed quilt, but I don't know why. I recall buying the booklet when Dean was a baby; maybe I was just in that new-mother mode of finding all things baby-like to be precious. Or maybe just temporarily off my nut. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with this, just that I wouldn't say it's the 'real me,' but I keep plugging away at it just in case. I had this same feeling while putting together a couple of fabric scrap swaps recently -- finding all kinds of bits and pieces of fabrics that I know I bought, but can't for the life of me imagine why. It occurs to me that more than once in my life I have stopped to consider that perhaps I have no style, and I don't mean that in a good way.