On being widowed

This past week I was widowed - metaphorically speaking. Olwen is no more, she's gone to the world of sewing machines and workshop lists whose inhabitants will all wear newly stitched bags. The demand to enter such a world is breath taking, making the dedication of Old Firm supporters look weak in comparison.

There are those who didn't want to come because they are professional people, but have since repented and now eagerly cut out fabric. Then there are those up and coming youngsters expecting their rights and making their demands even in a free sewing class. And there are those from poor situations whose lives are marked with humility, appreciation of any help, and who pinch the soap out of the ladies loo.

On Thursday, El Colombiano carried a feature article about women's sewing groups. The paper got it a bit wrong, for their photograph showed a group of past their prime ladies gathered round an old dark Singer machine. Our reality is more those in their 20s with complex looking, gleaming white, brand new Brother equipment.

Olwen says she will return in four weeks time when Mairianna will be no more. Until then I wonder what's left in the freezer for dinner.

Photo: Hard at what? I´ve no idea

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