I'm all in favour of keeping dangerous weapons out of the hands of fools.  Let's start with typewriters.  -  Frank Lloyd Wright (1868-1959)

Rex and I hauled the lemon and the lemon's cabinet into their car and back to Iowa Falls to the sewing machine doc today.  This time I left the bobbin in the machine.  Guess what the problem was?  The bright bulbs at the store in California that sold Mum the bobbins, sold her the wrong kind!  They were too tall.  Not tall enough so that they didn't fit and you would notice, just tall enough so they screwed everything up.  So we didn't trade it in for a different machine after all, despite the advice from the doc to never buy another Singer ever again.  Rex asked him if he'd take it in trade, and the doc said he had 75 Singers sitting in the basement.  Heh.  We took that as a "No."

But we brought it home and so far, so good.  I was able to buy three of the right size bobbins and also a darning foot, which is what people use to machine quilt I've heard.  I've never machine quilted before, but hey, I'm willing to give it a shot.  Part of my willingness stems from the fact that my wall hangings can't be hand quilted due to the amount of layers - in some cases, seven, not including the batting.

The Cat Joshua is a little frustrated now, having rid our domicile of the mice silly enough to come to a house with a resident marmalade Maine Coon.  I was successful in implementing the "Catch And Release" program with all but one hapless mouse.  The Cat Joshua would catch a mouse.  I would pick him up and jostle him, whereby he would release said mouse.  I would toss The Cat Joshua into the bathroom, slam the door, and then chase down the mouse myself, and put a plastic flower pot upside down on it as a kind of make-shift prison.  I would then  slide a thick piece of cardboard underneath (slowly, so as not to damage teeny feet), and then, on my hands and knees, push it to the front door, open the door, push it out onto the porch, and then lift up the pot.  E Voila!  The mouse would trot down the front steps and hustle off into the night.  (Hopefully to warn all its little gray buddies not to go to the house with the orange monster.)

I don't want you to think, however, that I was always this accomplished in rodent rescues.  The first time, it was about ten at night and I was taken by surprise and had no plan, so it was a real amateur hour.  The mouse ran under the couch, I ran over and opened the front door and jumped up and down on the couch to scare it out.  Nothing.  By the way, you have to understand that in back of the couch is a picture window looking onto Betsy Lane.  Anyway, I didn't know what to do when no mouse ran out, so I got the vacuum and started vacuuming, ramming the cleaner against the couch.  Still nothing.  Okay, so by this time I was sure the mouse was dead or dying or maimed.  I didn't know what to do.  I didn't want to see a suffering mouse, but I had to do something because The Cat Joshua was ripping down the bathroom door and cursing me in three different languages.  So, I sucked it up and started moving the couch, slowly, very slowly (like a loris), my eyes almost closed against the gruesome sight I was sure to uncover.  I almost had a heart attack when I saw the little gray body.  The little gray body of The Cat Joshua's catnip mouse!  It was the exact same colour of the live mouse!  Anyway, I don't know if the real mouse went out the front door and I didn't see him, or if he just hid, or what, but I wonder if any of the neighbors saw me jumping up and down on the couch, then wildly vacuuming, all the while with the front door and the screen door open?  As I recall, I was wearing my hot pink Hawaiian shirt, my dark green boxers, and my Dollar General boot socks.  And of course, for perfume, Norell.  Or was it Cinnabar?  I know it wasn't Chamade, because they discontinued that and I'm all out.

Buona notte.

Socks:  Nero e rosa