How to Combat Froo Frooism

Things are going well, so I have less to write about... Or at least, it isn't dramatic anyway.

Which is a good thing. That melodrama I was living was tearing me apart.

Brenda doesn't appear near my home any more. she has learned that the closest I want her to come to my house is the park around the corner (to pick up Isaac) and that I'm not thrilled about that. She needed that clear a boundary.

I've been going out with a gal... a real belle inside and out.

She's got great kids. It's fun hanging with them.

Last weekend we went to a museum, The John McLoughlin house, and spent all afternoon there.

Once a month they have a gaggle of ladies in to do demonstrations on some froo froo Victorian skill. Saturday they were displaying needle books.

The ladies were all decked out in clothing and jewelry... all of it "period." Nothing outside of the 1840s & 50s. Even their language.

They were showing folks, a few ladies who had stumbled in from the 21st century, how to make needle books. Needles, dangerous tools of reconstruction, are easily lost, and these books with felt pages were a good place to store items that could take a year to replace if ordered from England.

I, and one of the boys I was with, thought the fish needle book was cool. Two pieces of "paste board" were carefully sewn into fabric, stitched together, and a ribbon is pulled out which holds the needles.

He and I sat down and bravely picked up the piece of naked "pasteboard" and cut a "fishy" fabric into pieces that might fit.

It was quite the project. We began at noon. The boy's brother and mom had to leave before 2:00, but we wanted to plug on.

They gave us all sorts of tips. Always thread the needle with the end of thread that was the lead off the spool. How a pattern of stitches that backed up over the previous stitch made for a strong and straight seam.

My favorite trick was the knot. I used to repair my clothing (and sleeping bag, and tent, and backpack) with fishing line when I was on my youthful adventures. And the way I put a knot in a thread I just wound the thread around a meaty forefinger and rolled the tangled hoop off with my thumb, pulling it into a snarl that could not possible pass through any fabric.

But not anymore. Now I delicately lay the end of the thread across the needle, wrap it three times against the glittering nearly invisible spike, and pull it smoothly down to a satisfyingly neat knot at the end of a silky thread.

I could see the victorian ladies were amused at the two of us transgressing the gender barrier.

The boy looked a little uncomfortable at one point.

"A real man does what he does and doesn't worry about what anyone else thinks," I told him.

He smiled.

"And besides, if this whole thing seems to get a little too froo frooish, just do something extra guy like."

"Arrrrr arrrrr arrrr arrr! Ooooh arrrr! Uh! UH! ARRRRRRRRRRRRR!"

We thought grunting a lot would suffice.

So, throughout the afternoon he and I would break into grunts for a moment or two, making clear to all at the table that we were guys.

The ladies seemed amused.

At 4:00 p.m. we had to stop. We hadn't quite finished. But he and I made a pact to continue our projects Sunday afternoon.

So, or rather, sew, we added an additional 45 minutes to our task and got the job done.

Here is mine:

My fish (tongue with needle inside)

Tongue Out
Notice the needle! Cool!