At seventy with arthritis and a non-functional brain, I gotten down on the garage floor yesterday to pin the blue quilt. Just because I could do this easily at fifty, and do it but uncomfortably at sixty, doesn’t mean it was a really good thing to do it at seventy when you even have trouble walking. But I did.
About one third of the way into the project, I began to berate myself. Arthritis and cold cement floors don’t really combine well. Sometimes unthinking idiocy beats all my other talents, I told myself. Inching my way around the sides, I talked to myself pretending I was talking to my old truck. The laundry going round and round offered a homey sound to keep me company. The truck said nothing.
Over two hours into it all, I was done. Before picking up the quilt, I went upstairs to take two Aleve and grab the camera.
If I ever do another quilt, I shall pin it on a board that's been placed on saw horses. Sitting comfortably. I have hopes that I’ve Now learned to think before I act, but I don’t count on it.