Near misses. Another category of stuff that's hard to get rid of. Stuff you could really use, if only it worked a little better, or fit a little better, or looked a little better. If it ran more smoothly. If it didn't scratch the countertop. If it didn't smell a little strange. If it didn't show the dirt. If it hadn't cost so much.
I love to do needlepoint, especially pieces that I design myself. A good needlepoint frame - an old one, made from slow growth hardwoods, dark and smooth, shaped by a craftsman who took care with cutting and fitting the pieces, such that the hardware is hardly necessary - a frame like that can really enhance the experience of creating the piece. It holds the canvas taut, allowing you to imagine more fully the finished piece. It makes it easier to see where to place your stitches. It's a pleasure to hold in your hands.
Not so this $12.99 pine frame, which I purchased at JoAnn's. I'm not blaming JoAnn. Needlepoint is out of fashion now, and JoAnn's is the only place that carries any supplies whatsoever. But this frame just doesn't work. The rods won't stay in place; they spin, and the canvas loosens, and the ugly aluminum hardware catches the yarn. Every time I've used it, I've cast it away in frustration and returned to working the canvas freehand.
But how great it would be to have a really good needlepoint frame. And so I've kept this one in our bedroom, leaning against a wall, next to a little bag of needlepoint yarn. Mind you, the piece I'm working on is downstairs, in a different bag, next to my Edith chair. I guess I've been hoping this pine frame would age gracefully, suddenly turning into a useful tool the way water magically turns to ice. Even in the midst of the stuff project, I never noticed that this has been actually physically in our way in the bedroom for over two years. This morning, Rich tripped on it, and grumbled, and asked, why do we still have this thing?
Close only counts in horseshoes and pinochle. And needlework is no game.
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