...settling in for a long winters nap

 

The shortest day of the year has drawn in upon itself and the long period of darkness prevails. Winter has begun. It's been practicing for it's appearance for several weeks now. The dark winter sky arches velvet black above me, sprinkled with pinpoint diamonds of light. There is a glimmer and shimmer to the quality of the air, as I shiver, taking in the night.

The sun of late afternoon lays in deep bluish purple shadows across the snow..no mistaking the time of year. No warmth to the sun, no promise of the lengthening days that are to come. I wonder, does the world stand, poised, as it used to, in anticipation of winter solstice? I think not.

Light, energy, flash, boom and roar of a manmade kind shatters most landscapes. Matters not if they be woodlands or pavement...humans have arrived, claiming them all. To find "a woods on a snowy night, to have a horse and sleigh to find it with, to watch the woods fill up with snow"...no, I don't think so. But the "miles to go before we sleep, and the promises to keep.."that we still have.

I find solace in the promise the earth keeps for us...fulfill the time of darkness and then turn towards the light. We must remember..turn towards the light. This quarter of the year, so recently turned from autumn to winter, may lie at hand, but it begins with the shortest of all days, and slides continously toward the light. Light that balances the darkness always, and has it's moment of glory on the opposite side of the year.

On a sunny sunday....

I find myself aboard that train again. It should be familiar to me by now...that train that that runs the Sentimentl Journey route...leading to the past. The pictures on Friday have all been here as a main picture for the day. Each was a favorite at the time, and remains a favorite. I love them collaged together. I remember what each post was about, and why I used a particular picture. It doesn't matter that you've seen them before, I post them for the same reason I "muse" about things in my blog postings. They are a part of me, my view of the world, as I offer you a glimpse of who I am. Todays picture falls into that same category. Not a favorite as some from Friday, but one I treasure, none the less. The muted tones, a glimpse into my daily life(note the standing Q-snap frame in the left corner *VBS*), and my strange furry friend snoozing in the chair.
Each of us live our lives according to a plan that unfolds, or the one that we've created. There are twists and turns that shape our journey, but what is important in my opinion, is our reaction to the twists and turns. In the end the destination is the same for every one. It doesn't matter if your stash is large or small. All you really need is "some". Each simple thing, taken by itself, is/can be a "treasure". One red juicy apple is as good as owning the orchard. It seems to me that 'awareness' of a thing is what leads to treasuring and holding the memory. Obviously awareness can not be applied in the boarder sense, as many things we are aware of don't fall into the 'desirable'
catagory.
As we "follow" our 'try to remember' into September, think about, and perhaps share some of YOUR favorite things with friends in blogland. *VBS*

Try to remember...

the kind of September, when love was an ember...about to billow...try to remember....and if you remember....then follow...** Looking back is often seen as a marking of passage. But looking back at favorite things...ah, now THAT is another story completely. Are you ready for September??? *VBS* I am.
***Song lyrics from "The Fantastics"

Waiting for the evening train....

and perhaps if you were a radio buff, back in the 60's, you'll remember that song *VBS* It's an old favorite of mine. Blue Velvet eased it out of first place, followed shortly after by the non-stop coverage of President Kennedys assination. I got to thinking today, while sewing yet more flannel, about the ways we "pass the hours". And about having missed the longest day of the year on June 21st. My brain was out to lunch I guess. So I am sharing some of what "the hours" are filled with on these long summer days *VBS* This little charmer just hit the pile by my chair, for binding.
 And this happy little fellow wandered out from the closet to preside over the center of the table, and protect the milkglass dish that resides there. And then.... back to the pieces....it's always about the pieces, isn't it? *VBS*
 Everyone finds their own "best" way to contain the "pieces". Back when my stash was only the size of breadbox..well, maybe a bit bigger, I began using these hospital wash basins to hold scraps. Free,or cheap at yard sales, they were an early recycling effort on my part. At first I sorted scraps by color. It wasn't long before I needed something bigger(on the shelf) to hold all the blue or green or yellow scraps. So the wash pans sat idle. At least they stack! I retrieved them to begin holding the "stages" of MAM(mile a minute)blocks and assorted parts in progress.
 That's whats in this picture. One packed down, heaped up, not quite overflowing pan of "beguns" for MAM quilt blocks. It's difficult to tell from the picture, but if I were to guess, I'd say there are 100 to 200 "small beginnings" squashed in this pan. I can pull them out, finger press them and add another scrap, or I can pull them out and press each one before adding another scrap. What I do depends on my mood. I only resort to having to press each one "every time" when I know I am at(or nearly at) the desired size.
I pressed about half a wash pan of those "nearly"s today. And believe it or not, there is another wash pan just as full as this one, waiting in the wings. I do believe I could sew all summer(or at least until the Autumn Equinox)and never have to reach into my stash!! How do you handle your scraps? Do you "cut to size and stack or fill a drawer"? Or are you always in the process of whipping those scraps into shape? Do you ever see the bottom of the scrap bag or basket? I wonder *VBS*

Beyond my door.....

on a quiet Sunday afternoon. Sitting in my new red deck chair, taking in pieces of my daily life, and havintg a 'think'. Most parts of my little kingdom are pleasant, this is no exception. It is, after all, whatever I make of it.
 Ebby, my ever ready companion asserts herself on bird patrol. If we had squirrels, she'd be chattering at them as she does when they are on the tv screen...LOL
 Looking west from the side yard, the storms of this morning appear to be returning with more rain. But a nice rural setting all the same *VBS*
 And the panarama view, the twinhomes across the street, proclaiming "progress" is all around us. But if you listen carefully when the wind is from the northwest, you can still hear the lowing of the cows at pasture, and the faint tinkle of the cow bells as they trudge home for the evening milking. I hear that as plainly as I hear the ringing of the old school bell in the belfry, or the long low whistle of the midnight train as it passes through town. Not this town, but one to the east, and years ago.
And that is what the 'think' has been about today...long thoughts about memory. Not specifically 'memories', but memory itself. If we are born healthy, with normal human circumstances, it comes built in. I can't speak for those who have special circumstances. I can speak for no one but myself here. I wonder where the memory begins? With birth? Before?
We express hunger and get fed, and remember. We are uncomfortable or frightened and express that through crying, and get comforted, and remember. And repeat what got us what we needed.
Memory seem to grow as we do, building on that early foundation, the brain becoming more and more complex, capable of more and more.
We seem to be 'built' to remember, to be able to learn and remember what we learned and apply it to future learning. Remembering pleasure, remembering pain. And in human fashion we keep everything, even what we no longer need or want. It would be nice to be able to "dust bust" out stuff we no longer want or need. Age accomplishes some of that, but much remains, laid aside like outgrown garments. And then we come across it again, and remember anew. Not always happily.
I watched a new(or newer)made for tv movie last evening on Hallmark channel, "A Valley of Light", and it was excellent. It was set at the end of WW2, an excellent cast and a touching story of returning home(supposedly)and finding everything you remembered changed or gone. And moving on, to find another place "to be". Painful to be the viewer and watch from the very safe distance of my front room. And what occurred to me, as he found the "valley of light", was why don't we "sieze" the moment, take in the beauty, the solitude, the quiet gentle nature of a "place" and be content. What I realized is that everything is(or can be)colored by that good old friend of ours, memory. Or maybe more specifically, memories.The demons who drove him to 'search', came along with him.
And I thought, "if that's the case, why not apply this new realization to the shadows that crowd out the beauty, tranquility and peace of my little kingdom?? A good question to think about.

One of those nights...

..the house is dark and quiet. I long for the soothing flicker of flames burning in an open hearth. Perhaps the kettle singing it's low melody. It would be a wonderful addition to my cottage, a fireplace. But, that is not to be. Outside the weather pounds and thrashes the house. Sleet hits the windows like dozens of tiny BBs..peppering all that it touches in clear, cold iceness. Rather strange, since the weatherman was sure it was either rain or snow in this storm. The winds began in the morning, a whoosh, a gust, a rattling sign, and then nothing. Early afternoon brought the first sprinkles of rain. By 3, it was rain mixed with snow and that has continued into evening. But now, all gentleness is gone, and the storm rages against my little house. A sudden flash of light, and a big boom. Apparently this apperation is also a thunderstorm . It definitely has my attention. It is so very worrysome to my head. My heart is peaceful, but my head gets anxious. If I just had that flickering firelight to sooth me... *S* Well next best thing is a mug of tea, and so I put on the kettle to boil. Minutes later I have my mug of Chamomile tea, sweetened with a spoonful of honey. Not nearly enough for Pooh, but perfect for me. And then to find a place for my head to 'go'...Some place green and quiet. The only green to be found in WI right now is either indoors or my scrapbag of memories... I pull out the old River Road. A place that is as much a state of mind as a physical thing. The ancientness of the glacier cuts through bed rock, the winding path, now called pavement, that follows the river.
By rights, the Eau Galle should not be called a river. It's bigger than 'just pretend' but too small to be significant in a place that edges the Mighty Mississippi. Wisconsin and Minnesota know water. We know rivers and have lakes galore. The glaciers left lots of opportunity behind. And then there is Lake Michigan and Lake Superior...now THAT is significant water.
For now, I'll take my little Eau Galle, which will rise and rage yet this springtime, pretending to be something she's not. She'll float old styrofoam containers, a tree or two, lots of lost lumber, and other debris. It will pile up against the bridges that cross her, and litter the banks for miles and miles all down stream. She wanders until she meets up with that rogue Red Cedar, and together they flow on to the mighty Chippewa, the river of my youth. The Chippewa flows into the Mississippi and so it goes.
But for tonight, after a rather 'up and down' day, I think I'll take my mug of tea, and lift my 'cuppa' to my friends. I salute you, and think about all the lovely green that will come when winter finally gives and spring really arrives.
Over at Libby's house, she's got fresh blueberry cream cheese bread, and Norma has a new secret stash of Cherry Mash candy. Katie is harboring a large slew of 'apples'(altho not exactly eating apples...LOL) all those blogs and so many more, have fun things happening right here in blogland...*VBS*

The minutes...the hours...the days(warning-soapbox time)

these being one of the ways the human race keeps track of things. It's not a new concept, even animals know the signs of what "is" and what "will be". In thinking about this idea of 'tracking', I realized that quilters do in their own unique way. We 'run the stitches'...or at least we used to. It's a smaller population, these days, than when I started hand quilting in the 1980's.It's hard to explain exactly what I mean by "running the stitches". It relates to the rhythm... Patti knows, and a few others I am aware of. Hand quilting lives on, thank goodness. In the history of quilting, this quilt would not be considered OLD. It's pretty much a "newbie" and would be for many more years. It was quilted in 1986, as part of a class I taught on hand quilting. This closeup is a 2008 picture...thanks to digital!
The quilt in the 1986 picture, definitely FILM. My, oh my, my hair isn't silver in this one...LOL
But then, it was 22 years ago....I suppose that makes a different....for my hair, at least. The quilt hasn't changed much over that 22 years.
This is the quilt this morning, in my little house in the valley, where both the quilt and I live. Has the quilt been used? You bet! Washed in the washing machine with Tide, and dried in the drier? Yup. Certainly not every week, but often enough. Many of the red prints are quite faded with use.
It's a utility quilt. The only beauty you will find in this quilt is the quilting. I zipped up 12" 9 patches, assorted, basted up the top, and began teaching the class. If I had stopped to think I suppose I might have taken time and pieced something worthwhile...but it was a last minute thing for Community Education....and I still had 4 kids in school. Fast was good.
Technically, this top doesn't merit this type of hand quilting. Might as well get your head straight on that one. Some tops merit the time and effort. Some don't. That doesn't stop a person from doing it anyway...just ask me. Over the years, it's NOT a quilt that I have been proud of, nor that I share with others at show and tell. Yes, even the Very Maverick Finn falls prey to the "critics". I'm in tune with knowing what is 'suitable', 'acceptable' and what is just plain embarrassing. But ya know what?(in my best WI accent) I think we ALL need get over that! Everyone has a place where they started. If you don't have humble beginnings,in your quilt making, then you're kidding someone....the critics or just yourself. Very few of us make Baltimore Beauties as an early effort. And lately I've wondered, IF this Almighty Perfection Syndrome is such a big deal, how can those same quilters RAVE about the Gee's Bend quilts? Trust me, the Quilts of Gees Bend were NOT intentionally made as Art Quilts. They were made for USE, WARMTH, and of necessity.
I've been thinking that more of us, with ANY accomplishments in quilting, should be ALOT more tolerant of what new quilters make. We should encourage them, and tell them we all started somewhere, and to be proud of their efforts. Find something to like about the quilt they are showing us. Just plain squares sewn together keep you as warm and dry as a Baltimore Album quilt.
I was blog hopping a day or so ago, and on someone's blog...(please tell me if it was you and I'll put a link)... the blogger asked "what kind of quilts do you like to make???" It got me thinking about what I choose to piece, what I ignore, and WHY....but that's for another post.

Thoughts on being 'stuck'...and other quilty stuff...

I've been STUCK. Isn't that just the oddest word? You say outloud...."I'm stuck", and then wonder, what the heck does that mean, really? I think about the "tenses", learned in years and years of English, at school. "I stick", "I am stuck", "I have been stuck". The dictionary is clinical...I'm not a marshmellow, squewered on a stick. Nor a pig to be butchered, stuck with a knife to bleed out...yuk! I'm the kind of "stuck" you can't see. Even I couldn't see it until recently, but I sure have been feeling the effects of being it. It seems like you wander around the area, and never quite GET to 'the area'. Last evening I did. I sure as heck don't know why, because I spent the entire day wandering around in my nightgown doing almost nothing.
And rhen BOOM! I stepped up and pulled out the "stuck" by doing something that has been left undone since our failed family Christmas gathering on Dec. 23rd. No rhyme or reason to it...and not that big a deal, except to me. Once it was done, I felt wonderful, refreshed, relaxed and re-newed in spirit. I guess that's what success feels like...who knew??? It started me thinking about what "being stuck" means beyond the simple explaination of "unable to go forward". I think maybe we get "stuck" in our opinions, our way of looking at things, all sorts of ways. Some habits are good, some....not so much. And I'm beginning to wonder if we are to go forward as a civilization, maybe we aren't going to have to work on getting "un-stuck" about some things.
And...in the quilty department, my friend Sue over at From the Magpie's Nest showed her cutting area last week(or earlier this week). She thought it was pretty bad. Well, Sue, hope this makes you feel better *VBS*A week ago, the cutting board was EMPTY..cleared off and neat for Jean's sewing day at my house. Then I went back to cutting for my Clare challenge *S*.
And then I brought home Betsy's scraps and started a new project late Monday evening...no sense cleaning up just yet.
Last but not least, part of my stash closet and what is leaking out of there. Doesn't look too bad right now.
The boxes hold fabric that is not in use at this time. It will re-appear as needed *VBS* How does YOUR cutting table look???? Are you stuck?

Is it the winter doldrums.....?

Or just the weekend blues? The day has been long and ever so dreary. The hours tick by, one by one, the clock hands move as slow as the proverbal molasses in January. I've run and ducked. Sewn up 4 patches, cut scraps and taken a nap and still the drearies linger. It set me to thinking about time spent alone, quietness, solitude and the things we use to fill the gaps. The tv has been on quite abit of the day, some CDs have filled in spaces. But I find myself longing for Monday morning and the business of living. While I was thinking I realized I need color!Life was suiting me just fine when this picture was taken. Not hard to understand why I kept it *VBS*.
I was at peace with the world and everything in it when I snapped this early summer picture. This is what I need today, sunshine, shadows and the ability to open a window. My spirits rise as I look at this picture. But to get back to what I was thinking about....
There was a man who lived alone in a cabin not so very far away in miles or in years. It was a very solitary cabin, certainly lacking nearly all the things we take for granted. While there was electricity, there wasn't running water. I feel that would be a challenge indeed. To haul all the water you need home from somewhere else. But apparently it's do-able.
I know for certain that there was no telephone. If you needed to get a message to him, you needed to call his brother who lived several miles away. The cabin sat alone on 2 acres of land. Very sandy land indeed, where little to nothing will grow but Jack pine. It is however excellent for sand burrs and wood ticks. And a few red oaks that seem to like sandy soil. The man had a dog, maybe two. He couldn't abide cats, calling them sneaky creatures. He cooked for himself on a hot plate altho not often and not much. He did his laundry at the laundramat. He had an old oil burner to heat the cabin in winter. It was a dreary place in my eyes. Gloomy, sparce, barren beyond what I could have tolerated.
I can do simplicity but I can't do poverty of that type. It made me wonder what mattered to him. What was important. Was there anything he was passionate about. I wondered alot of things, but never why he lived there.
Today I find myself thinking of his life, which seemed more like an 'existance' to me. I wonder what the long dark hours of each day were filled with? He didn't have a tv, but I think he had a radio. Without a telephone to receive calls with, and being several miles out in the "sticks", with no close neighbors....did he sit and wonder how to fill those hours? Did he see those hours as being empty, as I do? I think maybe he read books or magazines...that would be something at least.
And what conclusions have I come to, or solutions? Color to start with. I've only recently turned off the christmas tree lights and that is probably part of the gloom I'm feeling.
And I'll light a few candles, that will help. A bowl of red apples and bright oranges on the table or counter. Some new throw pillow covers to brighten up the couch. I'll give those things a try before next weekend...*VBS*

Like the sign says....

Harvest Blessings *VBS* The door hanging was a gift from my first DDIL. She often gives me Autumn related things for my October birthday. I suppose that tends to be a birthday hazard...LOL. If born in April or May, I'll bet you get spring or early summer type presents. And how about you mid-summer gals? Stuff suitable for hot weather? And Christmasy things for the late-in-the-year gals?? I'm curious to know *VBS*Today my thoughts are about blessings. Something it's often easy to lose sight of. Or to pay lip-service to..I know, I know, DON'T END A SENTENCE IN A PREPESITIONAL PHRASE!..but I do...often..*G*.
Rebel at heart, you know *G*And also a bad speller!
Counting my blessing yesterday. I thought about Sprig(Sandy to you) over at Rabbit Stitchings(see sidebar for link) and got a small package off to her, my very dear friend. And I thought about dear, dear Kathie in NJ...somehow I just KNOW what a sweetie she is, and wish we could 'cut up stuff' and stitch together, sometime. I got her little package winging it's way out of WI. Each of you, that I have come to know. is a blessing to me...in many different ways.
Today I rose to the challenge and managed to stuff an entire computer paper box and mailed off to the 5 little S. grandkids that live in Southern WI. Halloween goodies, some thrift store finds, new color books and crayons, the little doll and pony wrapped in the quilt for the 2 yr. old, paint by number for the older boys and a snuggle quilt for the whole family to use on the couch. It was too much for TWO flat rate boxes...ug! If I couldn't send it for the $19+ they would have cost...how much WAS it going to cost me? Yikes!
Well I'm happy to report another blessing...*VBS* It's called Parcel Post and I mailed that 11 pound package for $8.10...I was delighted!!!!!! Way to go Finn!!
Blessing do seem to come in many sizes and shapes, don't they??
I had a wonderful lunch of homemade soup, bread,bars and beverage at the local nursing home...I ate with friend Jean, custodian Brian(an old friend's husband), and a few gals I know only slightly. We had a wonderful time at our crowded table for 4. It was a short lunch...I was the only one who didn't have to return to work..LOL, but that's ok. The atmosphere was one of love, family, friendship and caring. One knows all those dear elderly ancestors are truly safe living there. I left with a lighter step and a smile on my face. Now who needs more blessings than that????

Finn takes a holiday....

and where on earth would she go??? Well, the road less traveled, of course...*VBS*
And doesn't this just look like a perfect less traveled road?? Or maybe....not even a road at all...
Seeing one of these when you are looking for a quiet, off the beaten path place is a good thing....
And perhaps, if you are lucky, at the end of a less traveled road, you might find a lovely place to have a quiet lunch......with just the sound of the wind in the trees, the birds at the feeder, and all the rest of the noisy world has gone somewhere else...*VBS*

The road less traveled....

is the place you'll find me. The ordinary hours lead me off and away from my private place of speculation....out and into larger canvases of life. Speed and movement are as easily found as sound, in our big world. A slower pace, a quieter way of being....those you have to seek.****
You can go there in your mind,laying back comfortably in your chair, or you can search, and find them...usually hidden in plain sight. They are overlooked by many, who are mostly focused on 'other' things. Excitement, flash, stimulation...not so much on the road less traveled..*VBS* Water, in a place of solitude, desirable, but harder to come by. More often, in WI,the road will lead you to one of my favorites.... a place of stone. I seek out stone...stone speaks to me. Sunwarmed on a river bank, or moss covered in a forest. Ancient voices, the chanting of Druids, slaves moving stone slab for pyramids, stones place on a funeral pyre... they all speak. Do I understand their message? yes....but it is for me, alone. I cannot tell you what the stones speak of....you have to find your own stones to hear what is being said to you. Have stones followed you home? Do you have a road less traveled in your life?

****Webshot picture

In the ordinary hours.........

...even the hummingbirds have gone quiet, the sounds of traffic off in the distance are muted, and only the wind chime sounds gently on the breeze. In those hours, I reflect on life, and think about things. No longer is "what's for supper" a pressing issue, nor the "Mom, I need a ride to the game". Those days are past now, and the memories of them lie among the pieces in my scrapbag. I can stay 'in the moment', only occasionally nudged by Ebby's demands or the ringing of the phone. The first Friday in Sept....winding down.
My lovely wax begonias have bloomed their little hearts out this summer. Despite wind and rain, some hail and hot, hot sun...they have thrived in the window box. They weren't the Winn-Dixie of the North for the hummingbirds...no, a fast food joint moved into the neighborhood. All flashy and bright red, with 4 feeding stations..no waiting in line! A few more weeks...that's all that is left to them. I could uproot them to a pot, to be carried inside, but they know..inside is second best. Winter sun is pale and cold...best to bloom full throttle for as long as the journey lasts...and to go in a blaze of glory when the Frost Fairy dances across WI in the near future.

Forever green this small quilt shall remain...an old pattern, and at the time, cut and pieced from templates. No quick sew and flip triange corners for this one! The finished size of the block is 3". And the plum colored lattice a strange addition, looking for all the world like 'stems'...which they aren't. I called it "Green Peace" back then, and I call it "Green Piece" now. Machine pieced, hand quilted. Looking closer,it has just two shapes....you could cut your square any size you wanted and adjust the little square accordingly. Four of these blocks joined up make a neat kind of love ring that looks like an X or an O..depending.

School days, school days.....

....happy golden rule days....reading and writing, and 'rithmatic...
and what else did we need except an apple for the teacher, a hanky pinned to our dress, hair neatly braided and a bright yellow pencil? *VBS*
So simple then, so very, very simple.The excitement of summer sliding into the cooling days of autumn, the first blush of color on the maple leaves. Dry, tired worn out grass and a senses of anticipation. The county fairs come, and go...a sure sign that summer is nearly over. The fruits of the garden harvest glow in bright glass jars, proudly bearing ribbons of many colors. Crisp veggies grow limp on the their judging plates as the days slip by. The fattened, prime animals have been judged and counted and found worthy. Another chapter is ending...summer, soon to be a memory. And then that long awaited day...coolish, sunny with shadows, a new freshness in the air, and off in the distance, the telling call of the old bell in the tower. Ringing to summon you back to the classroom, to pencils, books, spelling tests, the smell of paste, chalk, newly waxed floors and varnished furniture. It's all so familiar once you've passed the first year of school. It becomes a thread woven into the fiber of your being. Always another autumn, always another first day of school. Even ancient hearts stir with excitement and memories as that big day approaches. Perhaps it is not so for everyone. Perhaps it is different with males. I can only speak my truth. And every year, about this time...in the far distant part of my memory, rises a sense of change coming. Of new beginnings, and old continuings. Of leaves to scuff through, and apples to crunch. Of creaky schoolyard swings, and the strange metal smell of the slide on the playground. Of lunch room odors drifting up and outward. All the parts of that particular 'piece' come drifting up from my mind's scrapbag. Dig in your scrapbag today and see what you can find...*S*
And buy yourself a bright new pencil, in red or blue or green, or maybe even yellow. Strange,in adulthood, how we grow away from the idea of writing with a pencil. Draw a picture, write a note, make a heart with Billy loves Susie written there, just for fun! And sing outloud.."school days, school days..." Dare Ya!!!

P.S..........

I wanted to say "hi" to Gloria Smith, who has been reading and left such a nice comment. Please don't ever hesitate to leave a comment if you want to, or drop me an email. My addy is listed under 'view complete profile'. It always thrills me when someone who isn't a blogger leaves a comment because THEY CAN. I deliberately have removed the feature that stops anonymous comments. That's the only way some people can say "hi"..*VBS* Consider yourself welcome here Gloria, and all of the rest of you too.
And...I wanted to say thank you for all the lovely comments about my award...you make me blush. Same with the 'pride' thing. My parents weren't cruel, and maybe once they were "different", or kinder, but a lot of life happened to them very early in their marriage and when I was 15 months old. Coming up and out of the Depression years was a challenge financially. Add to that my maternal Grandmother coming to live with us.
My mom was 27, my Dad,31. She was destitute after the untimely death of my grandfather. She didn't drive nor work outside the home. My father took care of her. as part of our family. almost all the rest of her life. To have the family increase in size overnight was a cruel blow. He never said a word about it that I know of. That's the way it was with him...hardships all his life.
And I understand I wasn't an easy child. I was independent, unruly, unladylike, and a free spirit. I didn't like authority, altho I respected it. I usually argued about things, and I asked way too many questions. It's no wonder they lost interest in praising me, if they ever had any to begin with. My sister and I have talked about it, and she also doesn't remember being told she did a good job of things.
My only point in writing the post is to CLAIM my newly found pride in things I've accomplished...even a little thing like WTIL quilt tops..*VBS*
AND....that isn't all of my quilts. I have a regular photo album filled to overflowing with the ones I've remembered to take pictures of. That little journal is something "newly begun"...my pride in participating with Linda J's group. It's my very own special little book of accomplishment...*VBS*
And it has prompted me to begin a "scrapbook" of sorts, about my life and my stories. My talented DD#1 will be "teaching" me to scrapbook my project..*VBS* And I'm creating a Memories box. A place for the little things I've saved over the years that won't go into an album. And I'm going to make them pretty. Because I can..*VBS* And I'm proud of that.

Pieces from my scrapbag on an early June morning..

I love 'old'. I loved it as a child when I had little idea what it meant. I loved the color of faded old red brick, old tippy-weatherworn cabins and fences, old trees and old buildings with ivy.

I liked old people, old places and old advertising signs....there wasn't much that I didn't like if it had age. Maybe that's because I had my Gram Flint(Lottie) to hold my hand, brush and braid my long blond hair and tie my dress ties.

Or maybe that is the foundation where my life was meant to be built. I thought I wanted to be an archeologist, and I might have been with encouragement and guidance. That dream is one that I didn't build a foundation under, but it lives on in love of Egypt. The movies I've seen, Hidalgo, The Mummy, StarGate(the movie, not the series), Lara Croft, Tomb Raider and such. Even the Indiana Jones series, except for the snakes...LOL.

I don't 'obsess' about Egypt. I just love camels, the sand, the bare bones-ness of the vista, the 'feel' of what it is like in that sun'n'sand place. The harsh realities, the incredible truths. I feel that way about Ireland also. The 'bareness' of the land along the mid-Atlantic coast, The Barren Region...all rocky and windblown, with only serge and heather growing where it can. It's the oldness...the age of it, that 'gets me'.

And the desert Southwest, particularily New Mexico....again the bare-bone survival that accompanies the age of the place. It speaks to me. Endurance, survival, tradition.

Now then, is that the piece from my scrapbag? Well, I suppose it might be....one is never sure in journaling, where the thought is going..*S* And this is a journal *VBS*.

But..............I awoke before 6 this morning with a thought echoing through my semi-conscious. I had been dreaming about my middle son, some very convaluded, tanged saga alternating between something about his birth parents, and a syringe I had found in his room. A disturbing dream from the standpoint it was confrontational, and I really don't like that feeling.

In my mind, I moved away, shifted position in bed, and was confronted with the faint smell of black cherry pipe tobacco in my pillow. The tobacco more than the smoke. You can deduce why the scent was familiar, right?

I tried to move away from that 'head' thing also, but it would not go. He's been out of my life since 1994, there is NO tobacco smell in my life, thank goodness. The furniture has been replaced, quilts washed and re-washed over the years...trust me...no scent remains. Except in memory. And I didn't like it....at all. So I rolled over again to get aways from it, and thought about getting up. When I opened my eyes, it was as if he was laying on the other side of my bed....ug!! Reject that image and roll the other way....nope, now I see his hairy back where the dresser sits.

What the heck??????? And then the "A-HA" moment.............the flash of enlightment, I DON'T want him (Fred) in my life, no matter HOW I feel around the time of our anniversary (May 30th).

And then, from my good friend Cher, Marathon Quilter, at http://cherzoe.blogspot.com/ came the words...."It IS what it IS".........and the Universe added.........."not what YOU want it to be".( I reject Fred and his way of being in the world in more ways than I could list here.) What I realized is, I don't want him, I just don't/didn't want to be alone in the way that I am (at this time). Things frighten me. If I remember, I laugh and dance away. If not, I hide behind things, like Fred....for way too long.

And then Part 2..of the "A-HA" moment, "if you ALWAYS do, what you have ALWAYS done, you'll always get what you have always got". And I'll add the words of Dr. Phil, "and how's that workin' for ya?" *VBS*....see ya!

Oh yes.....the picture.......from the little book The Quilter's Companion", a complilation, by Linda Seward(Colliers Publisher)1994. Picture is of an English Honeycomb Quilt, made about 1840 from dress fabric.

My life..........

is not so very different, it seems to me, than my scrapbag. I was thinking this morning about 'a life..as a quilt'. Would it be just one multipieced creation? For me, I think the answer is 'no'. I use the word 'think' frequently. Most things I don't 'know' with certainty, but do have a 'maybe' to think about.
There doesn't seem to be any continuity in the week just ended. All random bits in my opinion.
Maybe I shouldn't look for the connecting thread. Thursday lunch and shopping with Shorty was lovely. Not much additional 'treasure', altho I did find a really neat Made In China pitcher, small and a rosy strawberry pink. Thursday's supper visit happened. The puppy has been cremated, the son is quite beside himself, but coping better than previously. A financial contribution to the expense was made. He borrowed some videos, and abruptly my Universe shifted as I took a full length 'header' in the living room. I think I caught my toe in my pants leg, but next thing I know my stumble turned into a crash into the dining room table, tipping over a chair, and landing full length on my side with my head hitting the china cabinet base. Oh my! I'm not even sure how it happened, nor what sounds I made, but in an instant DS was by my side wanting to help me up. At my age, you don't get up immediately..LOL He picked up the mess I had created by falling, and I got myself up and standing. Weird. I haven't fallen in ages..years in fact. I was ok, but shaken. He left for home shortly after that, and I took to my recliner to have a think about things. I was pretty sure I would be stiff and maybe bruised, but ok.
Needless to say the Universe now had my ATTENTION. Even Oprah subscribes to the 'pebble' belief. It's profoundly about our relationship with the Universe and our journey. She says you 'get hit with a pebble. If you don't hear the message, it becomes a handful of pebbles, and eventually you'll get hit with a brick to the head. Fairly dramatic but well put. Call it what you will, the Universe, your personal angel, whatever...there is something you need to hear. I'm still not sure what is going on in my life, but apparently I'm NOT paying enough attention.
Did some blog reading yesterday and left a few comments. Worked on the house, did some laundry...did NOT drive anywhere or leave the house except for the patio area. Ebby and I had a nice hour outside right after lunch. Today I'm sharing what I've planted this year...mostly my Mother's Day plants and a lovely orange and purple minature petunia basket I bought. I have a
few other large pots filled also, but figured this was enough of this..*VBS*

I wanted to mention, if you haven't been over to http://quiltville.com/ Bonnie has a great new pattern uploaded, a split 9 patch, but with a variation in the piecing...two variations actually. Really a cool quilt!! I'll be making one I know *VBS*
AND....please, if you love my Orphan Train quilt, go and check out Yankee Quilter at http://scrapsandthreadtales.blogspot.com/ Sio has one of the NEATEST orphan block top that is completely quilted and on her bed. It's vintage, but will never be old. I know it's hard to see beauty in the combining of the leftover blocks, but they seem to create a life of their own. A couple of posts down she has a great crumb quilt from the 1930's.

Earth Day 2007

For the beauty of the skies...I give gratitude daily. I stand firmly planted on the earth, and look heavenward. Such beauty and abundance is ours on our planetary home. These are sunrise pictures from a week ago. Already the sun
rises slightly further north, stretching towards the summer equinox and the longest day of our year. I am a time traveler, following the sun, the moon, the seasons.

Spring feels like it has been slow to arrive, but the impatience is all mine. It is only April, after all, and we often have snow on the ground, and lots of cold winds in April, even into May. This year seem to be an exception to that. Altho this isn't a beautiful picture, with so much dead turf remaining, the first greening of the grass has begun. One good rain, and the lawns will spring to life in verdant greens and gold, can't forget the dandilions.
I was thrilled this a.m. as I looked out the opened bedroom window and saw that the little shrubs outside are getting their first leaves. The blue is just the plant tag, no flowers for awhile and they will be yellow when they come...*VBS* For many years I planted a new tree each year on Earth day, but with a rental comes to 'no privilege' clause about
putting things in the ground. So I will honor the earth in other ways, cloth napkins, cloth shopping bags, recycling what I am able. Use it up, wear it out, make it do....or do without. I used to have a wall plaque that said "I wondered why somebody didn't do something. And then I realized I was somebody". Be earth friendly, go hug a tree *VBS* or plant one.

The hours....

slip by, lost in the steady tick tock of my clock as time passes. Eventually you have lived long enough, that what 'was' fills more space in your mind, than what 'is'. The picture was taken the year I graduated, 1958. I don't think it had anything to do with my graduation, there was no party or family celebration back then. I received cards and gifts from friends, but it wasn't a big deal as it is made to be these days.

The lady on the left is Aunt Lucille, the one who got me started quilting. She is my Dad's oldest sister and at 98, still lives in Kansas City, MO. The man is my Dad's oldest brother, Darwin. He could have been a favorite of mine, but he teased and tormented us so endlessly we, we loathed him. His wife, my Auntie Florence is on the right. A sweet and gentle spirit, not quite as quick witted as most members of the Smith family. I think she suffered fools quietly, or else just didn't 'get it'. She was a great favorite of mine, always happy to see me and had cookies and homemade bread for the asking. I spent alot of time at her house, playing with my cousin Sharon, who was from Feb. to Oct older than me. She also was deaf mute, but we managed quite well, even before sign language. Sharon was the only girl with 3 brothers. I had two sisters. Sharon, the dark haired one, me the windblown blond, couldn't have looked more different from each other than we did. I was tall and leggy, a skinny kid, Sharon was short, compact and never skinny or ackward. We were as close as can be until it was time for her to go to Delavan, WI's School for the Deaf, her high school years. Somehow we grew apart at that point, and I saw little of her anymore. I was at her wedding, the summer I graduated. She married a deaf boy from the Milwaukee area and went on to have 3 daughters, all hearing. I married a year later, and she was at my wedding. I only saw her once or twice over the next number of years, and one last time at her Mom's funeral in the early 1990's.

It's funny how you can spend so much of your life in conjunction with someone, and then move on to the next stage, having little to no contact with them. It seems to be the way it is, or maybe not. If there is a base for you to connect to, or stay connected with, maybe you do. Or maybe if you stay in the area where you grew up, it makes things more likely to continue. Or maybe it's just me. I don't have the answer, I only have the questions. I seem to be in a pattern, these past months, of "sorting" out my life, like I do my fabric. Some to use right now, some to save for later, some to discard, or pass along to someone else. And a large pile to wonder about...*VBS*

The witching hour is fast approaching and my bed is pre-warmed by an early turn on of the EB....Ebony has taken up her favorite spot at the foot of the bed, and it's time for me to join her. I leave you to ponder all things past, if you've a mind to, and if not, think about this little ditty..*G*

"I gave my soup, I gave my bread, I gave my heart....I kept my head".

Through The Eyes of A Dreamer...

A journey across 60 years, so when do we know we are a dreamer? Either younger than you would believe, or much, much later than you would think..*S* The dreamer can't, of course, be like everyone else. It would be more comfortable if they could. And do YOU know, you are a dreamer? I don't think so. I think it is simply what you are. The years go by, teachers complain, and parents nag, you either retreat further into "that space", or you lay it aside and step up to the plate and bat.
If you are familiar at all with Les Mis, you know the song I am refering to..."I had a dream that would not die...."that and in the book Tristan Shandy.."I am not one who must have everything, but I must have my dreams, if I am to live, for they are mine....."
I stand in defense of the dreamer....whether or not any particular dream ever becomes a reality. Sometimes dreams are like castles in the air, and it's possible to put foundations under them...and sometimes the dream dies, and lays discarded like an empty container.
I think that dreamers have a lot of "what if" in their lives, and not very many "whatevers". I think the glass is always half full. I think we are all poised on the brink of something "wonderful" happening...just up ahead or around the next corner.
And I think that dreaming is memories as least as much as it is magic.

I understand the theory of "in the moment", and "living in the now". But often, as I observe my very business minded, successful oldest son, I take exception to that. If you are totally "in the moment" how can you possibly have the resource of all the dreams you've dreamed, of where you've been and what you learned? I think we must have the foundation of what and where we've come from. It may not be wonderful.
All dreams aren't wonderful. Sometimes they are scary or sad, confusing and leave questions in our minds. But, somehow, the head and the heart get in sync with our momentum and carry us across the years. I don't know if a dreamer can tell you what a dream is....a far off view of something that they know little about? Or something that come up and out of the soul? In the quilts we make, I think dreams of many sizes get played out. Success, failure, doubts, hopes, dreams, worries, memories, especially memories. Maybe not so much in the quick quilts we make to try out a pattern or an idea, or a color combination. Those are more like making a sandwich than about baking the bread..*S*. But in the quilts that take the time, the ones that stretch out through the year and slowly become complete. Pioneer women have been know to say that if quilts could talk they would dread what it would tell about them. I think the quilts DO talk, but the message is probably unique to each person who views the quilt. What do you hear if you listen???

P.S. Finn is the blond 6 year old in the picture, taken Nov. of 1946. The other child is a foster child, Nancy, who came to live with us after the death of my infant brother in Dec.1945. She was taken from our home right after the picture was taken, and placed for adoption. I've always wished I could see her again and give her the pictures, and tell her what little I know of her first year of life.