Why is nothing ever simple (sigh) ... Many years ago I decided to do a piece of tapestry, but it was never completed, nevertheless I faithfully carried this old plastic bag containing the canvas and threads to wherever was my destiny, sometimes taken out to be reviewed but not actually taken up again. Since returning to Europe I at some stage persuaded myself that a wooden frame was just what I needed to use to complete the tapestry, now snuggled at the bottom of a hamper weighed down with baby wools. Yesterday I hauled out the as yet unopened box containing the frame, emptied the hamper to find the faithful tapestry and proceeded to my usual perch to wrestle with the assembly of said item, which resembles a mini rack of torture. Louis took one look at my useless arms and hands flailing around with this thing, ignored my little gasps of frustration and decided he was leaving the room to take a siesta! In searching the hamper I rediscovered a couple of little crossstitch kits I had picked up in London - have never tried these before, so these were brought along to my perch too. Eventually all was assembled, tapestry was duly tacked onto frame and then I remembered, the tapestry needle was nestled at the end which I had just rolled up, so more wrestling, needle recovered and put aside.
My vision having deteriorated considerably over the years and even more rapidly since the first chemo treatment, persuaded me to leave the tapestry until the morrow and better light. Today dawned fresh from yesterday's rain, most welcome, and as the hours took on sunlight I decided after breakfast to have a go and reacquaint myself with my old friend and its various shades of cottons. Now, where is the needle? Faithfully retained in the canvas, must be for about 35 plus years - so long ago I do not remember when this whole thing started but my son is 41 and I think I remember where I purchased it, so 35 is not too far out - frantic searching all over yesterday's perch, no needle! frantic searching of work basket, no needle. Move the couch into middle of room, search the floor tiles, no needle. Louis says "here are needles!" - "No, not those needles, this one is bigger than that one, smaller than that one, not shining like the new one" - he leaves the room to tend his orchids.
Having hauled the sofa across the room, one glance told me my suspicions are correct about one thing - we have a little local visitor who darts around all over between our apartment terrace and our roof garden above us, assuming it's him and not his cousin - I refer to him as 'our fat friend' because he is quite big compared to other little geckos - this year we have spotted him well within other rooms as well as our normal lounging area and I have often wondered if he hides out under the sofa, waiting for us to go to bed, then my imagination takes flight and I can visualise him darting into Biggles cage to look for a tasty morsel - well, something must be causing Biggles to fall off his perch in the middle of the night with the attendant sounds of thrashing around and bells clanging as he struggles to regain his composure. Bet its our fat friend. So, as the floor obviously needs a mopping I fill a bucket and freshen up the usually covered area, all the while looking for the needle. No needle!
Thank goodness! After searching the apartment floors, yesterday's clothes, and anywhere else it may have rolled to, in returning to replace the furniture, replacing a side table, I spy the needle! After all the years of keeping this needle I was determined to find it and it is now threaded and currently attached to its partner, the tapestry. Happy stitching to my fellow needle women, wherever you may be - and don't lose your needle - it is the best I can wish for you.
