OK, so the guests have gotten challenging. They are my husbands people, and I had no idea he came from a family with such long memories and strongly held beliefs. It is a bit like being a hostage, except the captors will be going away. Too bad- prior to this trip, I thought I liked the adults. After this trip, I will not likely see much of the children. Heartbreaking.
Never again do I have guests and not move my sewing machine to the bedroom.
My husband carried up a big plastic storage box of fabric to the bedroom for me.I dumped out my giant box of strips of fabric and started sorting them into a new plastic drawer thingy I got at Target. Those of you who have done this are probably chuckling wisely about now. This must be some kind of quilting rite of passage. I sorted and sorted and sorted and filled my new drawer thingy with fabric strips- darks, lights, and mediums- and the bin did not get any closer to empty. Not a bit. Irritable and annoyed at my lack of control over the thing, I petulantly tossed the strips I had sorted back into the original bucket. They did not fit.
The space time continuum warped. They used to fit. They don’t fit. The fit only an hour ago. I stood on them. I sat on them. I cried a little. Nope, not going back. Put them back into the drawers- they were still mostly sorted-and realized that there are some things in life I can neither understand or control, and that laughing or crying changes nothing.