Of Sharps and Sharps---She's Needling Me Again.

Jenny and I have this agreement regarding the things I write about. Since I don't know much of anything about the various hobbies and avocations that FTDF supports through its sales, she's immersed herself in an education campaign. That sort of thing could, by all previous indications, be somewhat of a wasted effort; after all, those years of primary school, secondary school, and college didn't result in much. That expression about new tricks for old dogs could prove applicable here, no doubt about it.

Part of Jenny's ongoing attempt to make me smarter about what she does is to periodically put various things that she offers for sale on my desk, by my keyboard. The theory is that I'll notice them and ask what they are, and therefore become wiser about the mysteries of quilting, fabric painting, appliqué, et al. Sometimes that works. Sometimes, it doesn't.

This morning's present was several packages of needles. Now, in my world, or at least in the world I used to inhabit, a needle is a needle. Some of them are big. Some are little. Some are in-between. Some are stout enough to use on leather. At the end of the day, though, a needle is a needle. Or was.

Some of the distinctions make sense. For example, even I know you can't put a needle made for hand sewing in a sewing machine, or at least I don't think you can. I suspect someone could hand sew with a machine needle though, if push came to shove (no pun intended), though maybe not. The thing that strikes me is the variety of names given to the darned things; appliqué needles (in English or in French; you pick), demi-longues, darners (darn it!?), embroidery needles, sharps, and more. There are other names, I'm sure, but those are the ones that most commonly show up on the stack 'o stuff that's on the desk today. The thing is, they all look pretty much like needles to me. There's no doubt in my mind each and every one of them will sew and, in my hands, draw blood as well. A name's a name.

Except, of course, for the sharps. I haven't asked Jenny yet (maybe I should?), but I'm thinking that the word "sharp" is some sort of industry-specific term for "needle". Maybe it is. Then again, maybe it isn't. To me, there's one kind of Sharps. That particular item has a barrel length running between 22 and 34 inches, weighs up to 16 pounds or so, and will accurately shoot a 500-grain projectile out to 1,000 yards give or take. Yep, we're talking about the legendary Sharps rifle, much-loved by frontier Army officers, sportsmen, and buffalo hunters. Said Sharps was a premium rifle in its day, and was far from inexpensive even in the 1870s. Those rifles that have survived into the modern era are expensive collectables, and the shooting replicas of them are almost as expensive as some of the originals. They are extremely desirable for those who enjoy the mystique of antique firearms, and day before yesterday Jenny informed me that she had a lot of them (sharps, that is), in all different styles. Aha!, thought I. A side of Jenny I never knew---she collects Sharps rifles! Be still, my beating heart. I was pretty much quivering with anticipation as she went to get her sharps for me---it was better than Christmas!

Which is when I found out that sharps are needles. She showed me the sharps. I shook my head and laughed that laugh of disappointment that I used to emit at Christmas when I opened Aunt Silvie's package and got socks instead of a model airplane. A lesson learned, as it were.

So now I know about sharps. I already knew about Sharps. I'm really going to have to watch what I say around here!

   hasta bye bye,

     phil