On Jun 4, 2007, at 12:09, [EMAIL PROTECTED] wrote:
Presumably, if a person
who you suspected of being a serial killer were to approach you and
ask where
the nearest lace meeting was, you might demure.
It *is* quite a dilemma: do you let the craft die out through
privacy-paranoia, or through having lacemakers picked off, one-by-one,
by a wild-eyed mass-murderer wielding sharpened bobbins (the better to
stab you with, m'dear)?
I remember the amount of hand-wringing and soul-searching which went on
in all the families involved, when I decided to accept invitations to
visit, from people I knew only from -- gasp! -- Arachne. At my end, the
husband was having fits and empowered his oldest son (my stepson) to
conduct inquiries into the bona fides of the first "hostess for the
day" (I was embarassed no end and dutifully apologised for the
interrogation). On the other side, various members of the family
trekked through the parlour at regular intervals as I was taking tea,
to make sure the hostess survived the experiment. The teenage son went
so far as to follow me outside, to watch me smoke (but not plant a
bomb). At my next stop, the husband hovered within yelling distance.
Ah, the good, old days of paranoia (is good for ya)... :) I've had
"dunno how many" lacemakers flit through my house since and am still
alive to tell about it. And my DH, who also used to hover -- bring tea,
come at intervals to ask if we needed anything else, thus earning
himself the title of "the lace husband of the year" -- now scoots and
locks himself in his study with his poetry books whenever "another one
of them" shows up.
--
Tamara P Duvall http://t-n-lace.net/
Lexington, Virginia, USA (Formerly of Warsaw, Poland)
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