Health warning in sewing room

Although I´ve been studying complex hermeneutical developments and am anticipating the imminent visit of Prof. Don Carson to the Seminary, this past week has led me into an area of expertise beyond my comprehension: Olwen´s public sewing room. Inappropriately, I had guessed it would be the kind of place that Jane Austin would have written about: the genteelist of ladies sitting in rocking chairs with needle and thread.

Certainly the rocking chair is there and so are needles and threads. But the ability to twist an arm and even know when it will break, is something Olwen learned in childhood. It was little wonder then that the sewing machine shop owner bemoaned about the superdiscounted price at which he was forced to sell his machine to her. The next innocent was a young student, Luz-Mary, who for some unknown reason volunteered to be Olwen's personal assistant during this semester: "You don't know what you're letting yourself in for" I said under my breath while struggling to construct a tower of mulitcoloured drawers from an IKEA type kit.

The room is now functioning with rotas and coffee cups. Luz-Mary is an enthused convert working on an appropriate name and I'm keeping well clear.


Luz-Mary (left) and Claudia using a sewing machine for the first time


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