AAHHHH! I'm about to splurge. I've kept my yarn diet, but I'm about to use the money I've been squirreling away for years for a for a shed! Not just a shed, but my very own shed that I will not share with anyone. Not my kids, not my boyfriend, not the chickens. ME. MINE. ALL MINE.

You see, I have a tendency to be easy going, and so I tend to let things go, whether it was the only new car I ever bought in my life that ended up going to my daughter and had me on my bike through one winter, or my space which looks akin to a garage filled with things that aren't mine, or borrowing my vehicle (a 30 year old toyota pick-up) because I can easily walk to work.

And I don't really mind, I don't have many needs. So I'm a little surprised at my thinking when it comes to this shed.

I think it has to do with age.

IF I don't get the shed now, before I retire, I'll never get one.

And I want one. Before I die.

I think this is along the continuum of a Middle Age Crisis. I guess I'm a late bloomer.

OR I just have repeating episodes of mild versions. I thought I had one at 50 when I joined the race team and suffered in race training rides twice a week, felt like hurling often, limped in with a flat on the one official race I rode on the windiest day imaginable, and one concussion.

At least being Queen of a 6' x 8' shed is safer.

I'm Very Fond of my Rags, tyvm

I don't think I'll ever to paper towel free. The jury's out as far as over all impact: washing and drying vs. paper, but I had absolutely nothing important to do one afternoon, so I decided to make myself some rags!

Not just from anything. I found 3 well loved items. One was a light blue pair of sweatpants I've owned for over 25 years. Another was a purple tank top that was retired when I got a swath of rubber cement on it at work (don't ask) and the last was flannel pj's.

Then I simply got scissors and cut those puppies up into various rectangular shapes, down legs, around bodies, skirting pockets. I sewed the seams, and ta da!!

My own private, custom, designer rags!

Yeah, my daughter thought she misheard me when I told her what I was sewing. Fortunately, she's used to me.

BUT cross my heart, when I pull out any one of those rags to wipe a damp counter, or a minor spill, I get a little bit of a warm fuzzy from my history with that square of fabric. That has to be worth something.

Cheers!