Is It Friday Already?

"No one needs your old clothes anymore" runs the FB headline about how donations now overwhelm the world market. That may be true of the big scene, but Fio bets that the local scene is still hungry--you know--the clothes closets run by local churches and PTAs. Back in the day when mothers made clothes for their children--at least their girls--Fio will never forget seeing a schoolmate wearing her own last-year's Christmas dress, easily identifiable because of the yarn-embroidered sleeves. It was a lovely creation, but Fio had outgrown it, and, since there were no younger cousins living nearby, Mom donated it to the PTA clothes closet. Fio, somewhat startled at first, was glad the dress had a second showing and tried to be extra friendly to its wearer from then on. After all, we had a relationship.

Interesting.... Fiorella almost forgot to take her prescribed pills when it came time for breakfast this morning, but she's never forgotten to eat breakfast when it came time for her pills 😁

When Fio was a young mother and didn't have the time to participate, a rage for fine needlework ran through stylish womankind, which meant your girl ended up with not only her mother's embroidered Christmas tree wrap-around--the one she drags out each year--but her mother-in-law's needlework too, all of which she is grateful for. Fiorella herself enjoyed sewing and fine needlework as a child and hopes someday to take them all up again--if she ever has the time.

Fio's finally found a box she can entrust Husband's photograph enlargement to, and she'll stick a smaller oil painting of herself in there with it, just to be safe. Actually, the container had been right under her nose the whole time. Yes, you guessed it--the tall, skinny box that the Jeweler's Box boxes come in.

Being of unsound mind and hungry body, your girl drove out in the late afternoon to snag some Moon Pies, the joy of her youth, and she paid for her disgression all the way home. In fact, it was a miracle she arrived home at all because she had to drive into the sun, and no matter how high she lifted her chin and stretched her spine, she couldn't escape its blinding rays. Why, Fiorella asks, doesn't Detroit make cars for women who, even though they were the tallest girl in the class through grade school, are now just five-two?

 

 

 

By the way, Fio's computer opened up easily today, although it's still saying that "Your disc is almost full."