* Pebbles & Sunshine *

As I was sewing a button back onto my skirt today, I recalled that back in the 1950’s, boys would often peek into a girl’s sewing basket to decide whether she was marriage material. I’m glad that’s not the case anymore because not only do I not own a sewing basket, my skills pretty much dead-end at buttons.

Come to think of it, that’s most of the women I know. I grew up in a culture where money, career, and status were all that mattered. Housework, schmousework. If a woman earned enough, the theory went, she could pay drudges to do everything for her. So lawyer, doctor, or scientist it was for us. No wonder I didn’t learn to do the laundry until I was sixteen.

But having discovered the joy of fiber arts in the last few years, I’ve come to rue my upbringing quite a bit. It’s ironic. I’m sure that half a century ago, feminists were dreaming of the day when we women could command 50K a year as professionals. But I have to wonder whether they realized that the price was an entire population of women who can’t even sew buttons.

Back to my skirt: It’s not pretty, but the button is on and it’s not going anywhere. Besides, I’m already married. :D

After a lifelong hatred of country music, I have suddenly and inexplicably become fond of the stuff. It’s really quite alarming. At first it was just Randy Travis. Then I started listening to Big I 107.9 in the car. By now, I like almost all the songs they play on that station. Not just the pop-like Taylor Swift, but even the more hardcore stuff. I even looked up Gretchen Wilson’s Redneck Woman on Youtube out of curiosity. (It turns out I have a nontrivial amount in common with redneck women; at least the part about loving Wal-Mart and Christmas lights. Who-da thunk? Of course, I grew up in Missouri. It would be pretty weird if I wasn’t redneck at all. :D)