I would've stitched this together a long time ago but for the fact that I lost the linen I needed to create the bag. How do you lose a yard of linen? I looked in my green fabric stack. Not there. Looked in the linen stack. Not there. Looked behind the craft table. Not there. I moved my whole studio to a different room in the house...The linen was not there. So the little doodle sat, and sat, and sat just waiting for something exciting to happen to it. I finally admitted to myself that I had lost the fabric and would need to purchase a bit more to finish this little beauty. Luckily my favorite local shop still had the same bolt of linen and the glory bag finally came to fruition.
And for those of you who are wondering why I am capturing squirrels...Well, they taste just like chicken. Just kidding. I'm not making squirrel coq au vin. I'm involved in a covert mission called Operation Squirrel Relocation. These little squirrel-y guys eat the bark off the giant willow trees in my back yard. Their gluttonous feasting makes huge limbs on my trees die. These little villains cuties are killing my trees. The tree man that came to my house to diagnose the problem recommended that we, ahem, "knock them off" since they are not a native species to the area even though they inhabit almost every neighborhood in town. Well, as you can imagine in a house with six girls, squirrel extermination is not an option. Instead, we catch them and release them in the willow-tree-free park that is about a mile away. I don't know if there are any rules prohibiting such activity, or not. Just to be sure, I only take the squirrels to the park under the cover of darkness. Just kidding, again. I do feel a bit funny, though, when I am letting them go in the park--kinda like I'm flushing a pet alligator that's not so little or cute anymore down the toilet. This is different than that, though. Really. It is. The squirrels already live in the park. I'm just bringing more to the party.
I won't take the time today to tell you about the squirrel that got loose in the car when we were relocating it. Just know that there was a lot of girly screams, followed by million-mile-an-hour chatter and fits of giggles. We know there is a squirrel out there somewhere with a nervous tic and a tale of high-stakes adventure that he tells his squirrel buddies when he visits the local watering hole.