Would you like to see my new boo wheel? Here it is…
There really isn’t a white spot on the wheel, it just photographed that way. I love the shiny blueness, but now I want to take the stand apart to sand and paint too. The discolored, naked wood is taunting me. But as the wheel is spinning perfectly now I don’t want to tempt fate by taking it apart.
Quite a bit more of Loretta’s roving was spun last night. The large remaining pile of roving taunts me as Dr. appointments, etc. threaten to eat up the day.
During yesterday’s errands I had to drive past “The Sign” which taunts me.
We’ve lived here for a year now. I know this store sells gardening supplies. Yet every time I drive past the sign I look twice because at a quick glance from a moving vehicle it looks like two crossed knitting needles and the word “Yarn”. Is this wishful thinking or poor eyesight? Probably a little of both. My girls and husband find it amusing.
This messy bin of knitting patterns taunted me for the last time. Yesterday all of the loose patterns were put into sleeves and arranged in a binder according to pattern type.
The messy bin no longer nags or taunts, but the patterns in the binder scream and beg to be knitted.
In order to reach the afore-mentioned bin a basket of my favorite yarn had to be moved. This yarn caught my eye and now it taunts and tempts mercilessly. It demands to be something beautiful. It’s tired of merely being fondled and admired in its infantile state.
The house still smells all pumpkiny and delicious. The odor taunts and teases, “Bake me, cook with me!”
I just had a moment of enlightenment! The only thing which really taunts me is TIME. I haven’t the time to start new projects, finish the old ones. Or, in the case of the sign, have my eyes checked.
|Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion’s paws,|
|And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;|
|Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger’s jaws,|
|And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood;|
|Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,|
|And do whate’er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,|
|To the wide world and all her fading sweets;|
|But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:|
|O, carve not with thy hours my love’s fair brow,|
|Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;|
|Him in thy course untainted do allow|
|For beauty’s pattern to succeeding men.|
|Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong,|
|My love shall in my verse ever live young. William Shakespeare|