I just finished making covers for a couple of old ratty quilts that belong to my sister's kids—basically, a bag with the quilt inserted and the end sewn up. I did sew all around the edges an inch or so in, so the quilt would stay put until they get them tufted.
However—it's a good thing I didn't charge her for making them. Any price that she would have been willing to pay would have been far, far too little for the aggravation involved. (Mostly because I have no large open space in which to spread them out, and one cover was made of upholstery fabric, which weighs a ton. Not to mention that I stabbed myself with pins repeatedly.)
I know better than to do sewing for anyone else. Why don't I ever remember how much I hate it when someone asks me to make them something?
Alright, I'm finished whining. Now I'm going to dispense cat food yet again, set the clock forward (damn DST), and go to bed. We're going down to the river trail at daybreak tomorrow.
EDIT: More complaining—I went to Wal-Mart yesterday, in search of (1) a bag of trail mix; (2) a smaller, strapless case for my camera, so I can stick it in my vest pocket while we're walking and not worry with the extra little pocket and the strap, both of which are fine if I'm hanging it over one shoulder, but in the way when I put in a pocket; and (3) a couple of T-shirts to wear out in the woods and working in the yard. I wanted v-neck, short sleeves, women's size 2x so they'd be loose enough to be fairly cool and long enough to not ride up when I bend over to investigate stuff on the ground. Now, I don't shop at Wal-Mart with any regularity, chiefly because I don't agree with their politics or corporate policy, but also because it's a HUGE store and it kills my bad knee since what I want is invariably in the far corner or requires wandering around because it isn't where it was last time I was there . . . but T-shirts? I knew where they were; no wandering required. Besides, I saw what I wanted in a JMS catalog that came last week, but those were $18 apiece, and I really don't fancy spending 50-some dollars for three shirts that I'm just going to get dirty and sweaty and covered with cat hair and god knows what else.
So, we foray out to Wal-Mart (on a Saturday morning, but the parking lot was not very full at all). And what do we find? A camera case, alright, which turned out to be about a quarter of an inch too small when I got it home, but I'm not sure whether getting my $4.95 back is worth going back. I may just save it and use it for something else. Especially since the returns desk is on the other side of the store from the entrance, probably to discourage cranky old ladies from returning things. Trail mix? After going through the entire food section, finally we did find some highly overpriced bags of not-very-appetizing stuff, most of which contained things like dried mango and bananas, both of which we don't like . . . OK, forget the trail mix. (If I ever have to do my grocery shopping at Wal-Mart, I may as well just stop eating.) I have to go to Ingles for milk and butter, and some cigarettes for John anyway. (And, BTW, cigarettes are nearly $5 more a carton at Wal-Mart than at the grocery store. Go figure.) But, I think, I've done the hard part. All I have to do now is go over to the women's section, grab a couple of shirts off the wall of athletic stuff, and head for the check out.
Wrong.
Last time I was shopping for clothes in Wal-Mart, they had an entire section of plus-size women's v-neck and crewneck t-shirts, sweatshirts, sweatpants, and shorts, all in nice little piles on nicely organized shelves—JMS or Fruit of the Loom or something like that. Granted, they keep moving the plus-size clothes from one of the women's clothing section to the other, possibly on the theory that if you walk past lots more stuff you'll see something you can't live without. (Doesn't work that way for me; I just get fed up and leave without buying anything, even what I came in for. But whatever . . . I'm no marketing expert, just an annoyed customer.) When the t-shirts weren't where they were last year, I went to the other end, but they weren't there either. So I made several circuits of the entire women's clothing section, sure that I'd find them. . . Nope. Lots of satin blouses, and t-shirts with sequins, fringe, beads, and similar practical work-oriented decorations, but nothing I needed. (Why do manufacturers think size 4x women need Sponge-Bob t-shirts, anyway?) No, wait, there was one shelf with t-shirts: either long-sleeves or sleeveless, and not very well made, and nothing but spring-y pastels, either.
So I did what I usually do—I went to the men's section. Four men's 2x T-shirts, Fruit of the Loom, nicely made: dark gray, light gray, navy and olive green. (Not v-neck, but I suppose one cannot have everything. If only because one's closets are not big enough.) Plenty long, and only $6 each. So I bought some new socks, too, and went away happy. Until this morning, when I got up to go down to the river, and my knee will barely work. Damn concrete floors! But I'm going anyway. Thank heaven for Ben-Gay; I may smell interesting, but I'll at least be able to walk.