Thursday, January 4, 2018

horrible warning

I'm having trouble telling you this story because I'm used to typing with all ten of my fingers. Until a few minutes ago, I had ten happy fingers but not now.
Now I have only nine happy ones and one shocked and unhappy one.
Accidents are usually a shock I suppose.
Accidents can make you feel astonished at your own carelessness.
Here is my confession.
The cold, hard facts.
I was sewing fast.
And I was very tired.
My family will be reassured to note that I did have on my reading glasses but sadly, my eyes had glazed over and I was careening back and forth, quilting in lines, endless lines, back and forth and forth and back and back and forth.
There was a sudden, abrupt, resounding thunk.
The world stood still.
I squinted at my sewing machine. 
The needle was broken.
My eyes drifted to my hand. 
I looked in amazement at my finger.
A piece of broken needle was sticking out both sides.
I felt incredulous. (astonished at my own carelessness)
I have been sewing for more than fifty years without incident.
I learned on my mother's treadle singer for goodness sakes.
You had to be pretty coordinated to sew on a treadle sewing machine.
Your feet had to work independently of your hands.
You needed to be quick and nimble.
I never once ran over my little girl fingers nor my teenage fingers.
I bought my Pfaff when I was 19.
I have sewn a million miles on it.
No fingers were mown down in the prime of their lives, or mine.
But now I have become just another statistic.
How the mighty have fallen.
I guess it's true.
If you can't be a good example, be a horrible warning.
Consider yourself warned.

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