I work in wastewater, but while I’m at work I think about the lace. I anticipate going home and creating a few more square inches of lace. The center panel is finished, and now I’m knitting a lace border around it that will prevent it from rolling up around the edges. I’m not obsessed with it, I just enjoy the creative process, and can’t wait until I can wear this scarf/shawl.
Also, while at work, I amuse myself by juxtaposing the ornamental beauty and delicacy of the project I’m assembling at home with the utilitarian efficiency of the projects I facilitate at the plant.
During the day, while I draw grease off the primary sludge settling basin, while I hose down the scum concentrator, while I measure the sludge depth in the clarifier, while I look at the mesmerizing brown bubbles in the aeration basin, while I wash around the sludge press with a fire hose, I think about the lace.
And the lightness and airiness of the lace. And it’s pale purple (or is it blue?) feminine color. I imagine wearing the lace and compare in my mind whether it would best be complimented by a purple, blue, or black shirt. And I look at my steel toed boots and, although I like my job pretty well, I think about coming home to the lace.