Claiming my blog + Random Horror Story

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First off, I'm claiming my blog on Bloglovin. All the other kids with their pumped up Kicks are there.

And because that's a lame post on its own, I have a scary story to share.  Feel free to turn off all your lights except a lone flashlight, and sit out under the stars listening to cicadas as you read on...

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Watchclock

My husband works as an environmental consultant, which basically means, if there's bad stuff in the environment, he finds it, assesses the extent of it, makes a plan for remediation, and does it.  He travels for work fairly regularly, and although I used to get jealous, I don't anymore.  Turns out, creepy old abandoned buildings, leaky storage tanks, and old factories are not typically near tourist attractions, shopping,  and/or the nice side of town. Sometimes it's not even in a town, but several miles out along lonely railroad tracks where there are large snakes and no cell signal. Usually he comes home with at least one good story, but sometimes, he finds things.

Not creepy things mind you, but interesting finds: old glass electric insulators, watch clock stations, marbles.

Image source: http://www.etsy.com/listing/116320718/sale-vintage-aqua-glass-insulators

This past week, he was at an abandoned hotel/apartment building in Kansas doing an asbestos survey.  I'd heard all about the items left in apartments, the mold growing up walls where pipes had broken and leaked, the personal "adult" items left just inside doorways of rooms that had been occupied just a couple of months ago when he was last there.

He hadn't mentioned finding anything, so as I came to bed the other night, I was shocked and horrified to find this on my dresser:

For the life of me I couldn't imagine what had happened to my sewing machine, who was responsible, and how anyone was going to be able to explain their way into forgiveness.  Brushing his teeth, he left me in mute shock for what felt like an hour holding this, briefly contemplating and ultimately rejecting both divorce and life without children.

Finally spitting, he said he tripped over it in the parking lot of the abandoned hotel, knew it had something to do with sewing, and threw it in the truck.  

*Huge exhale*

Needing reassurance, I dragged him down to show us both.

It was the cover piece to my same sewing machine, a Singer 401A.

Somewhere, out there in the dark, there is a lost and broken Slant-o-Matic roaming the night, crying out for its lost spool pin, cover, and stitch chart.