Morning all. The sun was up this morning when I got up. It may not make me a morning person, but it did make me far less grumpy. So let’s start off on the morning’s prompt. Timers at the ready…and off we go.
I like this as the start of something. Not sure what, but I think our lonely widower is going to find his winter a little less lonely. I just have to figure out what sort of story it will be. It could go many ways from here. Which is nice for fifteen minutes of mental clearing.
Monday, November 6th: He threaded the needle.
He threaded the needle. Sewing was not his favorite thing. But he knew it was necessary if he didn’t want his few remaining clothing items to deteriorate before he could replace them. This year had been good, so money was not a big concern. However, the weather would not let him get down the mountain until spring. He planned to make one final trip to restock on items he didn’t get around to picking up on his previous trip down. Thankfully he restocked his winter provisions on that trip and would not fear going hungry before spring thaws.
It was the little things that made things more comfortable that he would miss this year. The extras rather than the necessities. That was a relief. Still, he wished he managed to get the new set of clothes he ordered from the town seamstress.
“I knew I was cutting it fine,” he reminded himself. He shook his head. It had just slipped his mind. Lessa had always taken care of those things. He still had to remind himself they were still tasks needing to be accomplished. He felt the weight of her loss and pushed it away so he could breathe. In his head he heard her tell him to do so until his task was done. “After all I have rips to repair,” He said half smiling to himself, knowing what she would tell him.
Needle threaded he bent to his task. As always, he felt clumsy and slow. He worked carefully, meticulously, making each stitch neat and fine. While he knew it would look decent when he was done, it took him more than four times as long as he expected it to. Kissa, and the other women in his life, his mother and sisters, all made such tasks look simple, easy. Their needles flashed as they dove in and out of the cloth, repairing each little tear in the blink of an eye.
Or so it always seemed to him. His work was often done working on rough ground and as a result cloth tore. It didn’t matter how careful he was or how sturdy the cloth. The tears were a routine occurrence. It was why he always got a new set of clothes at the start of the winter. He would have the chance to enjoy them in the winter months when his work was indoors and not so rough on his clothing. Then afte a long stretch of enjoyment, he would start rotating them in with his more worn gear. He didn’t purchase a new set of clothes each year.
He was doing well, but that would be extravagant. He should have bought a new set the year prior but forgot such things needed to be ordered well before the first of the snows and then delayed again this year until it was too late to pick them up.
“Maybe with careful repairs these will last one more season and I can hold the new clothes over next winter,” he thought. He knew it didn’t really matter, but he liked the stretch of time where he could wear clothes that had never needed repair. Besides such debates with himself became more common now that he was on his own. He missed the spirited arguments, the winter debates. They hadn’t been over anything more serious than when to actually put his new clothes into use, but they brightened up many a long winter’s day as they all worked in the house.
His thoughts were turning dark again when a sharp knock at the door startled him.
Ten til Midnight 