“I’d rather be a failure at something I love than a success at something I hate.” George Burns
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Roses are red...
Ever since I got my own laptop I've been lazy about posts. You would think that it would be easier to use my own computer instead of the one at work. The catch is that I don't own a scanner and I'm an indifferent photographer. I end up with no photos to go with the posts and you can't see what I'm talking about. Of course I can just randomly write whatever is on my mind but I like photos.
So today I looked for stuff to share that you haven't already seen and found this picture on my laptop. I meant to post it in February and ask what that did they look like to you? I was trying for roses but wasn't sure if I was delusional. In addition, I was trying to figure out a way to make the roses into a doily without losing the rose in the pattern. I don't think I needed to be so concerned...Pier One Imports wasn't worried about losing the rose in the design when they did their rose placemat.
The roses really show off Yarnplayer's hand dyed thread and the color changes. The one on the right is done using Olde Rose and the smaller rose is done using Pizazz. I've yet to try the pattern with a solid color so I guess that's the next step. I have a vague picture in my head for a doily but I don't have the right colors in Lizbeth thread right now. That means its on the shelf until I go on a purchasing spree for greens and rose like colors at the Finger Lakes Tatting Group seminar. I have to start compiling a list of needs now so I won't miss anything.
I love to talk and I'm not sure I'm even listening to myself. My main goal in life it to have fun but my idea of fun is a little boring to others. There's nothing more exciting than finding a new twist on old information. I've been known to fall asleep at bars (no booze involved). That's pretty much the essentials.
She Dwelt Among Untrodden Ways by William Wordsworth.
She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: A violet by a mossy tone Half hidden from the eye!-- Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me!