So I am completely and utterly in love with stitching. I suppose the tendency was always lying dormant inside of me. I remember carefully and methodically performing “surgery” on my beloved stuffed dog at the tender age of 7. Or was it 8? Well, you get the picture. Okay, okay. So that wasn’t exactly embroidery or needlepoint or cross stitch per se. But it WAS stitching. And I loved it. Anytime one of his little seams would start to come apart, I eagerly came to the rescue with my needle and thread. Fast forward 30 years. My friend inherited this incredible collection of vintage hand embroidered handkerchiefs a relative or someone or other had made. She said they were cool, she supposed, then tossed them aside. I gasped in horror. “Do you want some of them?’, she casually asked. Oh hell yeah! I hand washed them, ironed them, coveted them, keeping them safe from harm in my dresser drawer. Fast forward another 5 years (yes this has been a slow evolution). My boyfriend and I are thrifting maniacs. During our hunts for treasure, I kept being instantly drawn to these unloved, callously cast aside, abandoned embroidered dishcloths and tablecloths, needlepoints of monarch butterflies, an Aries ram, a geisha, a framed, heartfelt declaration: “I Love You” obviously hand drawn and stitched in the Seventies, a vintage framed embroidered version of The Three Little Pigs. The list goes on and on. I was officially hooked. So now, I have taken the logical next step, to start creating my own works of art. My first casualty? A prefab coin purse with a blackbird and some flowers. I suck. The pieces I have collected make it look so easy. Reality? It’s not as easy as it looks. Well not yet anyway. I laugh in amusement and horror at my messy, fumbled attempts at a simple continental stitch. Stray threads and gnarled stitches abound. Some stitches too tight and some stitches too loose have made the canvas all distorted. It’s a trainwreck. But that’s okay, because I am IN LOVE….