They sit hunched over a single needlepoint canvas that is bathed in astoundingly bright light, fingers flying.
"Where am I? My needle is under here," Joy Wiley of Lothian says to herself as she stops to examine her work while feeling around beneath the canvas for her dangling yarn and needle.
"We hate these tails," says Sheryn Blocher of Crownsville with a sigh, glaring at what look like weeds standing up from the canvas. She will imperceptibly secure the base of each wisp of yarn, or tail, before trimming it away.
Mary Ann Brown leans back, giving her eyes a rest, looking around the living room of her Edgewater home. The room has been eaten by this...