Time is money, in Milan as elsewhere. My most precious gift, which I often deny myself...More......
This year, I finally put my thoughts and my hands together.
I've seen the hen theme at the house of dear friends, who kindly invited us to dinner while my husband was still alive, and even more kindly still invite me now that he's gone, though still present, somehow, for which I'm very grateful (for the invites and for my dear sweetie's continued presence).
The thought to make the lady of the house (who's a wonderful cook) a stuffed hen for her collection always came to mind while there, but fled into dark dusty forgotten corners with the whirlwind that was life.
This year, the thought and my hands came together in the couple of days' lull between the end of a very heavy project and the appointed lunch hour.
First, the drawing, then cutting out the various bits, and...
...sewing the bits into workable larger pieces, including a gusset for the plump tummy (I'm quite proud of that!).
Finally, the assembled hen--with a tiny yellow beak and two big wattles--on her way to her new home!
I'm not so sure Italians appreciate handmade gifts. They're not very crafty, themselves, which is quite surprising given their renowned and well-deserved ability and creativity as craftsmen (and craftswomen...craftspeople...craftspersons...oh crap). At least the Milanese I know. Anyway, the poor little dear was welcomed, if without resounding fanfare, and we'll see if she makes it into any place visibile (though it will be hard to tell...if they don't like her, they may stick her away some place, and just drag her out the time, or two, a year that I go). I hope she sees more light of day than that.