It is customary for Mother and Father to holiday each winter in a tropical vacation with Sister or myself usually in charge of airport drop-off and retrieval, pet maintenance, snow-shovelling and house-guarding. It is also customary for them to experience a flight-delay on the way home. (This time - volcano. Truly.)
It's nice after traveling, especially if you have a habit of getting waylaid, delayed and tarmac-stayed towards the end of your trip, to come home to a treat. I figured that maybe the time had come to tackle the toppers she wanted for her nightstands. (The ones to hide the "incident".)
Trouble - I had NO idea what kind of pattern I wanted to do. When Mum requested them, she gave me virtual carte blanche, except to say, "Maybe some yellow?" Pattern, no. Style, she trusted me. And the fabric sat in my hands for weeks. I was paralyzed by the freedom of it all.
Oh, inspiration! Thou art a fickle mistress!
(Which is a line from the first act of the elizabethan tragedy this project was becoming... Line 164 to be precise.)
Then I remembered that she liked how the runner I made turned out. So I just started cutting....
Fretted about how to get the curves right and not use bias binding.
It took me a Saturday. No more, no less. Go figure.
(So it may not have ended a tragedy but Aristotle would have to be satisfied by the Unity of Time, Place and Action! That's for you theatre and philosophy nerds....)
What do you think? Maybe less yellow?
Act V, Scene 3, Line 82:
But it be a butter yellow, and not glaring, like the offending sun of morning hung o'er.