Happiness comes in the mail

Let me set the scene for a minute:

It was yesterday, about 3pm. I was making love to my kitchen, by way of a big pot of soup on the stove, and bread in the oven. My mind was in that peaceful, cow-like place where the most important thing on earth is the chopping or the mixing at hand-- very right now.

Suddenly, there's a thumping on the porch, the enthusiastic barking of a small dog (ours), the rattle and squeak of our metal mailbox. Patrick states nonchalantly, "It looks like your fabric's here."

Bang. Roused from my reverie, I hastily shuck off oven mitts and tear open the envelope. And then I sit. I sit, and stroke, and wonder at the beauty I hold in my hands. The bread burns, the soup bubbles over. Devil take them, my fabric is here.

Since the day I saw it, I had been pining to have some of this for my very own. And now, with a head full of projects waiting to come to life, I'm off to my sewing machine.