When I grow up/win the lottery/retire . . .

Isn't it funny what people will do, at some undefined point in the future that may or may not occur, based on the random whims of biology, the economy or the lottery's computer? We'll give to charity, buy a frivolous vehicle, do a noble job instead of what we do (BTW, any job is noble if you look at it the right way. I worked at a security company on 9/11. It was a J.O.B. of the worst type, but somehow we spun it into a national security job. We were fighting terrorism by answering the phones. Now I'm bringing art and culture to people . . . and letting them know we're not a movie theatre), have an easier life.

I try not to dream about these things. I'm a curmudgeon that way. I don't know what I'd do with money like that. Other than have one day where I give 5 of my friends Visa gift cards, loaded with, say $100K, and then send them to the mall to see who can spend the closest to their limit on clothes and not go over. Whoever wins gets to keep all of it, the others get to keep, say $10K of stuff and have to give the rest to charity. I know, I know, that is a heckuva mean game to play, but . . . it would be the ultimate game of "My sandbox, my rules." I don't know what I'll due when I retire. I get antsy after a couple days of doing, not much. I was unemployed for two weeks a few years ago; I started climbing the walls to find something to do.

But, what about if we look at it from a stitching perspective? When and if I ever get serious, what are things I'd do. So I present to you,

When I grow up:


When I grow up, I will finish every cross stitch project I start. Before it smells vaguely of dog . . . or the marriage it was intended for ends, or before the child it is for goes to kindergarten.

I will stop licking floss. I never saw the issue with licking floss. Did the job, and I don't share the floss. Not til some kind, lovely person said, "Do you realize that that stuff gets dropped on the floor at Michaels?" Well, yeah, but . . . Do you know what a Michaels floor looks like?" After my eyeballs went back into my head, after I rinsed my mouth out, I remembered that most microbes can't live outside a human body. I'm banking on that for survival. But I'm aging, so I better start taking care of myself.

I will keep track of my needles better. I will stop dropping them, only finding them when they drive into our feet or HTB rolls onto them in bed(and, as bad as that was, one went down my cleavage one evening). I will stop leaving them tucked into the margins of projects to rust, or tarnish, or otherwise, go to pot. I will also stop buying crappy linen which enables them to fall out easier. It's a bad habit.

I will stop leaving projects all over the house. Because we all know, it's not necessary to stitch while cooking. Or in the laundry room. I like to keep projects around to remind me to work on them. Is that a bit OCD?

I will store supplies for a project with the chart. Nothing is more annoying to find bags of random floss with no idea what they're for. They have to be FOR something, but if I don't have some otherwise offensive floss (and by that, I mean Light Effects) in there, I have no clue what to do.

I will frame things with the proper mats and frames, not just what I can afford. I think that says it all right there.

My Christmas tree will have ornaments I stitched on it. And by "on it", I don't mean draping random cuts of fabric over the branches. I mean finished. I have 12 on there. I should have a lot more. I stitch all the time. I just put the finishes in boxes.

Most importantly, I will stop taking the criticism of fair judges so seriously. A snap decision from someone is not a final analysis of my talent. Nor will my ability, or lack thereof, to have many entries for the fair be the basis of my self-esteem. I'm far too competitive, but I know I'm good. And the people I love enjoy my stitching and appreciate the effort; HTB is my biggest fan, but he doesn't understand how I can obsess over getting a stitch just so, but not remember to replace the trash bag in the garbage can. "I'm an artist," I tell him, "It's part of my temperment. Do you want me to finish your lighthouse or not?"

Maybe it's time I grow up though. I'm working on winning the lottery, after all. We have a plan, carefully hatched, and heavily weighted on buying our tickets in the country (since most lottery winners seem to buy their tickets in the boonies . . . and I live just this side of the boonies). So . . . start assembling those shopping lists for the mall. That's all I'm saying . . .