That girl of mine did it. And it’s awesome.
She’s working at a shop called Bad Hats. Great name, huh? They do hats and shirts and stickers. She designed this bad boy just for me. My sewing machine is even more badass now!
Stay crafty, my friends!
It’s not always easy to find a way to insert my passion for craftiness into my That Man’s world. After all these years of persuasion, he has yet to complete a popsicle diorama. And he refuses to sit at my sewing machine and stitch a quilt. At least he has gained a hefty appreciation of my skills and talents. And I don’t always have to kick him to get a compliment anymore.
We spent 2+ grueling years remodeling our little chunk of paradise. Our last little stroke of genius was to add a 6 hole putting course in the back yard. You can guess that most of the planning for this was squarely on That Man’s shoulders. After all, he is the one with the passion for golf. I only learned how to golf out of self-defense. I knew that if I didn’t learn to golf, my chances of seeing him in our golden years were slim and none. And I figured that I might want to see him sometimes. But I digress.
So That Man planned out the course and dug the holes for the pins. He mows the fairways and the roughs, he fertilizes and waters. All the while I think to myself, “This would be perfect if only I could figure out a way to get some crafts into the game.” Think about it, there’s not exactly a logical solution here. No matter how tolerant of my creations, That Man probably would not go for handmade putters, no matter how carefully I craft them from paper mache and dowel rods. And golf balls don’t exactly scream out “you can make this at home!” I pondered, because pondering is often as fulfilling as actually doing something.
Off to the Big W, in search of supplies. Here’s what I brought home:
You see, I figured once all the crazed golf fanatics descended upon our course, there would be challenges and debates about who was better and who did what and all that stuff that golfers like to brag about. So I set about making a leaderboard, a brag board for all the backyard accomplishments.
I wanted the course info and categories to appear permanently on the board, the scores and info that changes can be written on the board with the markers. A little light bulb, Ding!, and I decided to cut out vinyl letters to label the board. I have an electronic cutting machine that I love, it is called the eClips and it is made by Sizzix. I use a software program called Sure Cuts A Lot to tell the machine what to cut. If Sure Cuts A Lot was invented by Sir Mix A Lot, all would be righteous in our world, but I’m pretty sure Sir Mix A Lot was too busy singing Baby Got Back to invent software programs.
Anyway, I cut out my vinyl and ended up with a good looking leaderboard:
And here it is out on the course, proudly displayed on the tiki hut near the first tee:
That sassy little butt you see belongs to Ricky Ricardo Montalban Rich Corinthian Leather. He’ll be back, I can promise you that.
Stay crafty, my friends.
I haven’t injured myself today. Yet. A razor-sharp rotary cutter. An iron set to linen, freshly filled with water. That’s the one that got me yesterday.
I hate steam burns. It’s so hard to muster up sympathy, they look red, but sometimes only if you look closely. Stunningly no one looks at the pad of my left pinky closely. I had to suffer silently. I don’t like suffering silently. Not without at least a little “poor baby” from someone.
So I guess we’re gonna start this off with a whizz-bang life tip! Don’t put your fingers within an inch of a steaming iron. I’m gonna go out on a limb and suggest not putting your fingers within 3 inches of a steaming iron. If you must get your delicate digits in the vicinity of the iron, use an oven mitt. Then send me a picture of you ironing while wearing said oven mitt. I’ll laugh my ass off.
Craft safely, my friends.