Revisiting my closet

My bedroom closet is a mausoleum for dead craft projects. Shoebox coffins contain half-knit sweaters, partially-sewn dresses, and dish towels left to rot without their anticipated embroidered embellishment, resting on top of glittery ashes. Crepe paper and floral wire lie suffocated in a Ziploc bag, never to reach their botanical entelechy. Skeins of yarn, once bright and enticing in the warm light of a yarn store, are carefully preserved in plastic tombs, far from the light of day.

I guess the death metaphor is overly dramatic. These things don't die, of course - they are just left waiting for the moment I have time and inspiration to revisit them. But it's still kind of sad.

About a week ago, I finished a bigger craft project that I swore I would keep working on before starting anything new (lest it meet its fate in the Craft Cemetery), so suddenly I was freed up to do something easy and comparatively quick.

So, I returned to those dish towels I mentioned.

This was mostly completed in a couple hours, late on a Tuesday afternoon, around the time the sun hits a nice spot coming through the window.

It must be dish towel season, because for my birthday, my mom sent me a lovely bundle of dish towels that she, my Oma, and even my great-grandmother made years ago. They put mine to shame, but it's clear where I get my love of needle and thread.