giddy

I first introduced this quilt back in 2010. It was just a twinkle in my eye then. Well, maybe not even a twinkle. Maybe more of a glint of fear.  I had no idea how I would quilt it and so it languished in a box in the cupboard. I don't mean that I had no idea what design to quilt. I mean I had no idea HOW to quilt it. Hand quilting was out. As well, my machine predates the walking foot so straight lines marching to and fro seemed unlikely. Free motion quilting was just beginning to be detected on my radar though, and as I began to see the light,  I started to work my way down, down, like an archaeologist, down to projects begun in 2010. 

At last, this month, I unearthed number five and shook it out, unfurling it to the light of day. I discovered that it didn't really lay as smoothly as it should even after wielding the iron with some authority. I also had some misgivings about my sandwiching and basting as the project got underway. 

I refused to allow these details to stand in the way of progress. 

It quilted up lickety split and as flat as a pancake.

I still feel a bit giddy with relief.

ttfn

We had BLTC's for lunch. I didn't have enough B to really do justice to the sandwich so I added some slices of leftover cold C. It worked perfectly.
Aren't abbreviations everywhere?
The pace of communicating seems to have been dialed up a notch. How's that for mixed metaphors.
I once knew a man whose speech was liberally sprinkled with abbreviations. I never had a clue what he was saying. I had to stop him for interpretation so many times that it would have been faster for him climb a hill and send me the message by semaphore.
Still, with texting and tweeting destined to increase and morph at will, abbrev. will continue to proliferate. It really is the development of another language before our eyes.
Thank goodness there will always be interpreters to nudge us along,  to keep us in the know.
Apparently lol is as passe as groovy, eclipsed by icons ever speedier.
Good to know.
TTFN

too tight

I worked on a quilt yesterday.
Did you notice that little slip? That word choice so inadvertent? Work and hobbies don't readily spring to mind in the same sentence. Now relaxation and hobbies, or exhilaration and hobbies, that seems more like it.
A lot of leisure pursuits have their element of labour and even angst though.
Think of hiking, sweat dripping off of your nose as black flies gnaw you to the bone. Still, the view, the crisp mountain air, the exhilaration..... it compels us into our boots and out the door.
Think of carving; The whittled knuckles and the slivers. But the wooden bird, satin smooth and richly burnished, it takes one by the hand.
Think of painting; The water pooling, colors muddy; the angst. Still, light and shadow call.
And of course quilting.
I'm venturing into the newness of free-motion quilting.
I'm riding a learning curve and I have been holding on too tight.
Literally.
I clenched every muscle yesterday as I steered about my quilt surface, free-motion quilting.
I hobbled away wracked with crick and cramp and pang.
When I returned with a feeling of grim resignation to continue, the strangest thing happened.
I no longer felt tense.
I wasn't in a complete body clench.
Something had changed.
I had found my rythym.
I quilted on as loosey goosey as you please. The leaves flowed in an undulating pattern.
It was exhilarating.

a series

Why does morning break and night fall, and for that matter, why does dawn crack? It lends such a dangerous air to daily life. Humpty Dumpty comes to mind. He fell and cracked poor fellow. He couldn't be put back together, not with the help of all the King's horses and all the King's men. I suppose that is true of passing time, of each day as it becomes yesterday. But thankfully, it isn't damaged goods. Just the opposite really. Each day is a complete story with a beginning and a middle and an end, and it is part of a chapter..... and a whole book... in a series.

summoning

"You never know what may cause them. The sight of the Atlantic Ocean can do it, or a piece of music, or a face you've never seen before. A pair of somebody's old shoes can do it. ... You can never be sure. But of this you can be sure. Whenever you find tears in your eyes, especially unexpected tears, it is well to pay the closest attention. They are not only telling you something about the secret of who you are, but more often than not God is speaking to you through them of the mystery of where you have come from and is summoning you to where, if your soul is to be saved, you should go next."     
Beyond Words by Frederick Buechner ^[62]

high and lofty

Photo albums are full of mysteries. Of course some are pretty easy to solve. There are always clues. This is a rare photo of my father holding me. Don't you think my hair came from his side of the family?
My age is a mystery but the garden holds the key to solving this one.
What do you think?
Those plants look past their prime don't they. They speak of summer spent.
There is a double clue in my lack of sweater.
The day is somehow warm, but mosquito free at the same time.
I'm guessing that the picture was taken then, in September after an early frost.
Do I look eight or nine months old to you?
My father looks quite proud of his fifth and final,
and I, of my high and lofty perch.

snapshot of the past

This picture truly is a snapshot of the past, a wide and varied past.
Note how the wicker chair, so sixties in its sensibilities, shares the space with the overstuffed chair of the forties. The T.V. tray is a fifties acquisition and the philodendron meandering up the wall has likely seen each decade march by in succession. Why was there always a plant toiling towards the light?
Of course, all of that is just background; the stage and set.
The players are the blithe and bonnie group of children;
all five of us plus the guest appearance of a tiny sober cousin.
My two oldest sisters are resplendent in their ubiquitous matching dresses. Still, I note that my mother has wisely sewn in unique details on each.
My brother is clad in the boys uniform of the time; striped and short sleeved.
We little girls, with our matching hairstyles seem intent on other things than preserving our image for posterity. There are those dolls you know. They are clearly someone else's babies from a decade or two past, but they have maintained their charm as all dolls do.
I love our dresses. They would be perfectly at home now in 2013 I think.
The past and present always exist together, whether in our photo album or our memory.