I spent years making camp fires out of dry leaves and moss. Need a fire? No problem! Five minutes later, you've got a warm, toasty campfire with a neat ring of little boulders around it and a pot of hot water beginning to boil. Tonight I decide to build a fire in the $2000 wood stove and what happens? SMOKE in the house. Smoke everywhere, billowing out the ash pan, door, damper, every gap possible. SMOKE, SMOKE, SMOKE! Now the house is filled with it. So, I'm crawling around on the floor, blinking my burning and weeping eyes, trying to open the doors and windows and turn on fans. Well.fooey... ! The kitten has run outside. Gotta go get the kitten. Should I grab the fire extinguisher on my way back to That Evil, Smoke-Belching Dragon? Sure! I grab it and the little ring thing falls off, the extinguisher hits my foot on the way to the floor. Ha! Well, so, that should just about do it for the day. Nope! The kitten runs back outside. I run out after her and slip on the wet concrete porch, landing in a wonderfully cold, icky, puddle of algae water. Oh, nice. Very, very nice.
But wait! I'm not done yet! The smoke alarm is now bleating an insanely loud, hi-pitched squeal, sending all 5 dogs into a barking frenzy, as I try to crawl out of the water and back into the house--yeah, the same one THAT IS STILL FILLED WITH SMOKE! Should I take a xanax now, or wait until it is all under control then just go to bed?
When did it all go wrong? When did I lose all control? When did I become ineffective at the simplest of tasks? Why would a normally sane individual (not referring to myself) scream obscenities at inanimate objects just because they won't cooperate and light themselves on fire? Why would a generally patient person take a broom and beat a smoke detector off the ceiling like she was hitting a piñata? I know, I'll ask the Curator. She can look it up in one of her BOOKS. Which one? How to Stay Alive In the Woods, Backpacking in the Sierras, Outdoor Survival, or Finding Your Way Outdoors, Effective Self-Defense With A Broom?
Well, the smoke has cleared. Doug has returned from the barns and has missed all the fun. He flipped the switch on the gas logs and the room is now a toasty 65 degrees. "Your hair smells like smoke," he says, just before I hit him with that pretty brass broom that came with the wood stove.
who are we?
We are avid seamstresses and crafters since the ORIGINAL 1970's, and we're still going strong. We're also yarn, fabric, and pattern hoarders. ("Speak for yourself," protests Alice.) We, ok, I haven't parted with my stash in over 40 years until now. Maybe we'll have something that you just can't live without! Enjoy browsing!
Click on box above to go to our Compost site for information on usage guidelines and how to purchase!
All photos and stories on this website are the property of Dianna Johnson unless otherwise indicated. Please don't copy them and call them your own. Plagiarism is not only really rude and mean, but it is against the law. I have made every effort to give credit to other artists when I have used their work, and would ask that you do the same if you use mine! Thanks.