Dearly Beloved and I have been married for over 35 years. Actually, sometimes it seems we could have known each other in other lives. But there are times . . .
Many years ago, I first saw an embroidered casket. It was not in the best of conditions, the metal threads tarnished and many of the threads rotted away, but it fascinated me. At the time, I thought it would be wonderful to have access to the silks and metals and to know the techniques to create such an object.
Then, two or three years ago, one of my favorite teacher/designers mentioned that a casket would be a phenomenal project and she was inclined to design one. Since then, I have attempted to take every class she offered in 17th century techniques, thinking they would come in handy when at last a casket class came into being. In fact, I have said those very words to Dearly Beloved when signing up for a workshop or online class.
(Keep in mind that Dearly Beloved has gone to some of the locations of these workshops with me over the last few years. Keep in mind that I talk about embroidery a lot, especially when deciding what classes I'd like to take. Keep in mind that I have a needle in my hand whenever I have a spare minute. Keep in mind that he should have absorbed something just by osmosis.)
Then, while those plans were percolating, another designer created a counted thread version of a casket to be used as an etui, with accompanying smalls. And our sampler guild is on her schedule to offer this as a workshop.
And then, just yesterday, I discovered that another teacher/designer is going to offer an online class reproducing a casket from the Burrell.
OK, zero to THREE caskets in less than three years. To say that I am excited is an understatement.
So, last night I was talking to Baby Girl on the phone (Baby Girl also stitches, quite well, as a matter of fact--which is good, because she will inherit my stash.) I was delirious with the thought of all these caskets in my future, because, of course, I will take all the classes and stitch them all. We discussed in great detail. We were giddy.
A couple of hours later, after I had gone on to other activities, (actually, I was trying to figure out where exactly I went over three threads instead of two in a double running pattern) Dearly Beloved, who was looking a little perturbed, asked me if I had a health issue I should perhaps tell him about.
Me: I can't think of anything.
Him: Then why are you discussing funeral arrangements? And I thought we had decided to be cremated.
Me: I haven't been discussing funeral arrangements. And we are going to be cremated. You know I'm too claustrophobic to be shut up in a box.
Him: I sat here and heard you talking to Baby Girl about coffins.
Me: I was not talking to her about coffins.
Him: Then what WERE you talking about?
I had to stop and think since we had been on the phone for about an hour and had discussed a variety of things. Then it hit me.
Me: We were talking about CASKETS! You know, embroidered boxes.
Him: Why would you want to embroider a box to put the ashes in?
Several years ago, Baby Girl and I insisted that Dearly Beloved get his hearing checked. We discovered (like we didn't already know) that there are certain frequencies he can no longer hear.
We have also decided that there are certain frequencies he no longer listens to, certain frequencies he doesn't pay attention to, and certain frequencies he will never understand.
I think this certainly proves that point.