15. My bed.
That may seem a little too personal, but believe me, I am very thankful for my bed. I have a bed, and countless millions do not. That would be reason enough, but you see, MY bed is just the most wonderful thing to crawl into when I am tired and aching. My friend, Jean, happened to see an offer in a newspaper 2 years ago, for feather mattress toppers. She bought one, and waxed lyrical about it. So, when sleep proved more elusive than ever, and my leg never stopped hurting, she suggested I get one. So I did.
Life has not been the same since. I sleep in a nest of feathers. A soft down duvet floating on top, masses of down pillows, so soft, my feather topper under my sheet, and me in the middle. There is not a single night that goes by when I do not crawl in, and grin and thank the Good Lord for my bed. And then fall asleep immediately.
Oh yes. I am very, very thankful.
It never actually looks smooth and classy though, even though the Happy Quilt is on top with loads of cushions. It is bumpy. But I don't care. I love it. And magazine perfect is not one of my personal goals either.
So what have I been up to today? Cataloguing the mountain of half finished things. It seems that I have never ended anything, so they are all piled next to the couch for attention tonight. And I will cease and desist and not start anything new until they are finished and the basket is clear. However, a friend asked me to make some cushions out of his Mum's clothing as memory cushions, so I did piece them together today and they have joined the "to be quilted" pile. And Jean gave me two lovely logs for the woodwork projects on my list. They are calling to me, but I am ignoring them. For now.
Here is a piece of good advice I can offer anyone wanting to have a memory quilt or cushion or whatever. Never, ever let a man choose the clothing to be kept for this purpose. A dressing gown , 2 nighties, 2 dresses, a couple of sheets, cushions and a fleece jacket do not make for a simple solution. Men do not understand the weight of fabric. Or colours. Among other things. His wife would have made a more practical choice, I am sure, but then, it is his Mum, and his choice that matters, so I made a plan.
And now I am going to end off the million stars I made earlier in the year. And I may even starch them too. I can't remember why I thought each small star needed to be in at least 3 colours, and now I have a zillion ends to work in. I must have lost my mind. Plain stars may well have been easier. Not as pretty though.
I am rambling.
I will be back.