Most often, if I'm not making quilts like this one, out of fabulous hand printed fabrics from Lonni Rossi, you'll find me at my other job. It's never, ever dull and I'm surrounded by smart,hard working and talented cohorts, now friends. Today, I manned (womaned) the cutting station. Now you might think I spent the day teasing and sculpting updo's at a small town hair salon. (One day, I'll tell you about the Chat 'n Curl.) But it's not a hair salon. It's an actual table, with a big power saw and hydraulic snippers.
Safety first.
Ear plugs. Check. The saw is loud.
Face mask. Check. Metal shavings in the air.
Protective goggles. Check. Ditto danger above.
Radio off. No voices to distract.
No one allowed within 6 feet.
Measure twice. Cut once. Time honored practice
Just like making a quilt. But dangerous.
Saw on.
Blade through metal.
Scrap falls to bin below.
10 fingers. Still there.
Mission accomplished.
Another day.
it's a poem about the cutting station- you're fabulous! I often feel the same about the 10 finger check. Beautiful picture by the way. Kinda glad there isn't one of me in that gear!
ReplyDeleteCortney, you should try your hand at a cutting station poem! Alan thought my picture was kind of spooky. I didn't include the knuckle that I filed like flesh on a cheese grater.
ReplyDelete