You never know how a project will end.
In high school I bought an ambitious cross-stitch, thinking it would be perfect for my grandfather’s office.
And then college happened. The project got left in the Candies shoebox (no judgement, I’m a solid 90s child) under my canopy bed.
I would pick it up time-to-time on breaks, and eventually it moved, almost by accident, with all my things to Boston and graduate school.
After making it through the cross-country cleaning gauntlet, I restarted it with gusto. And stopped again.
By 2011, my grandfather had been dead for four years.
Yet, needing a project, and being the kind of poor that only comes with student loans and a social work job, I picked it up again. I had recently discovered the snarky fun of modified cross stitching and had an idea of how to pay homage to my grandfather and the raucous house of six men I’d found myself in.
To date, it’s still one of my favorite projects – even though its odd size has left it unframed.
Perhaps I’ll learn that skill next?