Smokey the Magnificent

Well, as far as debit and credit goes in the universe, things are playing thusly:

• I seem to have escaped the Great Swine Flu Epidemic of ‘09 unscathed. (Credit.)
• Practically my only mother is interred in the depths of our dingy public hospital with her throat slit. (Debit, particularly from her perspective, one imagines.)
• The doctors are relatively sure they removed the entire thyroidal cyst from said throat. (Dubious credit, as they said that twice before. Silly doctors. Wouldn’t know a thyroidal cyst if it jumped up and bit them in the face.)
• My quilt is three sleeps away from its deadline and still not entirely pieced, let alone backed and quilted and bound. (Debit, certainly.)
• Practically my only mother, languishing as she is in the depths of said hospital - and according to a reliable source, out of her mind on morphine - is unable to come over and walk me through the processes of backing, quilting and binding, none of which I have ever done before. (Guiltily self-involved debit which recognises there are Higher Things at stake, but still.)
• Have sore feet from pacing the library for an hour and a half last night trying to lull the snortlepig to sleep, so I could  listen to Helpdesk Man’s marvy young vocal collective singing at the book launch of the conductress’ mother, only to find that the singing was minimal and the speeches very long, although actually pretty interesting. (Debit? Credit? I do not know. Blisters are no walk in the park - heh - but on the other hand, should I run into a former schoolmate who was sporting a Paris hair cut and an arty bohemian top with leggings, I could always work “Last night at a book launch” into the conversation and thus distract her from my otherwise uncompelling suburban banality.)

In order to be expedient, I’ve divided today into 10-minute segments of Sewing and Not Sewing. It works better than the longer time slots, I think. So far I’ve managed to fool the snortlepig into thinking I’m giving her my full attention, long enough to make several fabric gateposts and begin appliqueing a pig on the ninth and final quilt block. And high time too. I’m going to visit Mother this afternoon, and have a whole bunch of hand sewing to take so as to improve each shining moment. It’s hard work creating Whimsy - every pleasing thought, such as “ooh, I could applique a little snail oosing up the stalk of the sunflower” ushers in what seems like hours of sewing.