I love craftsmanship of any kind. Meticulous attention to detail, precision, teeny-tiny bits seamlessly molded together, the smooth beauty of a hand-worked piece of Cherry or Brazilian Rosewood.
My husband bought an old scope for $100–it would be worth $800 if the crosshairs hadn’t failed. He has a friend, a dentist who loves old collectibles and has the skill of replacing crosshairs. With human hair!
He’s asked for a few strands of my hair–it’s baby fine (especially the original darker ones).
I think that’s neat: Not only my husband using my hair as a sight, but that it will now be encased in this scope and likely last a hundred years or more.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
Sometimes I wonder whether you remember me. Sometime I wonder whether I’ve turned into a stalker for leaving as many messages as I have. And then there are those times when I wonder why I’m so easily forgotten by all. I hope you’ll tell me why.
Oh Neha, I’m so sorry. It’s me, not you. I’m afraid I’m of necessity becoming something of a recluse, drawing myself into a safe little ball that reaches out only to write stories and talk with my fingers.
I’ll call you asap. I promise.