Maybe tomorrow. . .

Heard the first cicada today. Noisy big bugs. Even more than crickets, which I’ve heard in 95° weather, cicadas mean fall, even when I was a kid. There seemed to be lots more of ‘em on the East Coast, dozens of them echoing down the street, usually sounding off before the streetlights lit up, somehow comforting even if you didn’t know exactly what was making that noise. To me, it was another Sound of the South, like bullfrogs, cardinals, and mosquitoes.

Yesterday, I made doll shoes to match Bree’s wrap-around dress – and this wasn’t  stretch or specialty fabric, just woven broadcloth. It frayed like you can imagine, but the shoes came out OK anyway. And, long as I use felt soles (for stretch and fit), and treat the cut edges with Fray-Check, I can use darn near any fabric I like. Yaaay !

Otherwise, I’m sorry to say, it’s not been a good day. I’m probably just being hyper-sensitive, but it feels like I’ve been rejected or ignored all day. Even when I tried to comfort someone, I just got brushed aside and when someone else said darn near the same thing, they got gushed over. Happened when I tried to make a joke on FaceBook, too. Game Day was kind of insular again, and Beloved Hubby didn’t realize I was already working on dinner and tried to start it without telling me anything. Then, when I went to get mine, all but the green beans were gone. I’m gonna seek solace in a sewing project – at least Brody and KJ don’t shun me - and hope tomorrow’s better. Of course, with my luck, MIL will pretend I don’t exist at Hancock’s until it’s time to pay. . .