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Industrial application…

March 8, 2011

One of the things that makes felties so cute is their diminutive size—

and this size is almost the only challenge to making them successfully…

Unless you’re already used to working on such a small scale,

start with a dark-coloured doll,

not a white one,

as the paler colours may become grubby as you work…

Cut out the pieces accurately,

and work slowly and meticulously

it’s the crisp finish that lends the felties a lot of their charm…

— in Felties: How to Make 18 Cute and Fuzzy Friends by Nelly Pailloux

This  past weekend,

Little Gem was working on her Lego house…

I asked her what phase she was at,

with respect to construction…

Despite the fact that she is born,

under the sign of Libra,

she said,

without skipping a beat,

I’m down to the organizing stage of things…

I’ve been putting the finishing touches,

on a new golf skirt,

knitted in All6 Lux Hemp,

complemented by a matching cardigan,

in Rowan Natural Silk Aran…

Starshine’d been thinking,

that since I hadn’t made much mention,

of golf lately,

I must have given up on it…

I reassured her,

No such luck…

It’s just taking a simmer,

on the back burner…

Yesterday morning,

I held myself,

in a waiting room

for long enough,

to fully observe,

what looked like,

a line-up of sudden death,

in over-time…

There was no sign,

of fun and games,

until an old feller,

barely able to walk,

came through the door,

and cracked me up,

on the inside,

with a story,

about getting tossed,

by a wave,

on the beach,

in Porto Escondido…

He said,

If I’d been a young guy,

it would have been no problem…

But this curve of the sea,

instantly took me down,

and I couldn’t get my legs…

I’m lucky to be alive…

From my point of view,

anyone pushing ninety,

in this day and age,

is lucky to be alive…

But some people don’t grasp,

this concept,

until they’ve rolled up the rim,

on a sentence,

of only two weeks left,

to live…

An hour later,

after I’d been lanced,

and bled,

for measures of heavy metal,

I snow-shooed Dog Mountain…

Upon the descent,

I got to talking,

to a fellow traveler…

As she told me about her relationship,

with a pair of ravens,

who display,

the same sense,

of facial recognition,

known to crows,

a man greeted us,

with his snow report…

He said,

I’m eighty years old,

and this trail,

up to the top of Seymour Mountain,

is a piece of cake…

I asked to see some I.D.,

for proof,

he truly was,

eight,

zero…

He laughed,

You better believe it baby…

It all starts with cooking for myself…

Any sensible individual knows,

the secret to healthy longevity,

is in the kitchen…

And with that prescription issued,

I headed back to my car,

to call it a day,

that can only get better,

with some pitch and putt,

and a last minute comeback,

in San Jose…

She had the side to side...

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