I sat down and began to work on one of the odds and ends projects I need to do today. A few stitches in I smelled a smell. A smoke smell. Could that be my sewing machine? My own dear Bernina?
After sniffing at it a few times the thought came to mind that my window was open and wouldn’t it be likelier that the offending aroma was coming from the out of doors?
It was, and a good thing too because I have not a pair of long pants to wear on my journey north tomorrow unless I get 6 inches apiece hemmed off the two pair here beside me.
And so, I’ll sew.


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