All mimsy were the borogoves...
...and the mome raths outgrabe. I've always been taken with Lewis Carrol's Jabberwocky, and while I was looking at my new creation today, the third line in the poem popped into my head.
Because I can't knit, and I didn't have the ingredients I needed to embark on my baking project - what better thing could there be to do on a lovely spring day then prepare to set some fabric on fire. I haven't done any fusing and burning since the fall as it's best done outside (fumes, you know).
The preparation is a bit of a rigmarole and involves quite a bit of preliminary chopping, slashing and fusing. I carted everything including the iron and board outside and this is what I spent the better part of the afternoon at: * Mimsy (link thanks to Jen) will be cheery bucket bag with an elliptical bottom when she is finished and I will have a bag named for Jabberwocky!
I do still need to get to Joanne for some poly sheers for her overlay, and some variegated and metallic threads for her stitchery, so she is on hold, sitting expectantly on her cookie sheet, until I can acquire those things.
I don't know about you, but I'm excited. And guess what - my pinky doesn't hurt a bit.
* In the sense of affected or over-refined, mimsy has long been known in the British Isles, especially in Scots and northern dialects; an example is in A Rock in the Baltic, by Robert Barr (1906): “In one corner of the room stood a sewing-machine, and on the long table were piles of mimsy stuff out of which feminine creations are constructed.”
























