Anna Scott Graham's Blog, page 13

2024 in review

Some of this year's fave quilts!

I've been pondering this post for a few days. Possibly in that I published novels this year, woot woot! The quilting felt luke-warm until I scrolled through photos, which revealed I'd made ten quilts, all simple patchwork save an English paper pieced finish. Another woot for that, as well as only three of them remaining at my house, lol.

2024 was a year of.... Change. No kidding! I had covid for the first time, which sidelined half of summer. My sewing machine has never been under cover for as many WEEKS as it was, and still is. The defeat of Kamala Harris was, and still is, gut-wrenching, yet the passing of Jimmy Carter could mitigate the agenda of the incoming administration if people choose to honor selflessness and service to others over narcissism and greed.

We'll see what happens.

Yet this post is not about the future. This entry regales what doesn't go in our Christmas/Hanukkah letter sent to family and friends. To them I mention I still write and sew, glossing over details. To you, dear Reader, I give the low-down, insert winking emoji here (followed by a facepalm for good measure).

Books first, because in my crafty life novels emerged before quilts: While I managed scant writing (other than this blog, to which I remain exceedingly faithful LOL), I released three books, two of which are a new series! A Love Story and Life Stories fall under The Enran Chronicles (of which two more novels are awaiting release, hehehe), a sci-fi/women's fiction mashup steeped in life right here on Earth.

This series was inspired by cathartic prose after the death of my brother-in-law in early 2023, and while I haven't added to it this year, I have deeply considered the plot, which matters when a saga's scope is, um, several installments. Check it out if you like science fiction, women's fiction, chick lit or some amalgamation of those genres!

Then there is The Hawk. Oh my goodness, 2024 could also be called The Year of The Hawk, as I spent many months reading through that saga. Not going to dissect my love for sagas (another post entirely), yet I'm currently hip-deep in two of them. Thankfully The Hawk is fully finished, the first installment released earlier this month, Give Her My Love. If magical realism, 1960s historical fiction, and women's fiction are your thrill, here's a tale that won't disappoint. And like all my ebooks, these are FREE!

Needless to say, REVISIONS were my authorial focus this year. Which is FINE, in that not every year can I write new fiction. All to emerge on that front were three middling chapters of what might be resurrected for The Enran Chronicles. Because when you're wrapped up in an amazing (if I do say so myself) tale of those altering form and the resulting drama, it's hard to find time to write, 'nuff said.

As for the sewing.... Other than finished the MARVELOUS Cornflower Quilt (pictured above), my fabric passions were satisfied by simple patchwork. Which sounds wholly undramatic, yet baby quilts were a joy to make, completing my husband's comforter a relief (as it has been waiting patiently for my attention), then there were two near the end of the year that captured my heart. One was for our postmistress, who went above and beyond the call to rescue a package (of fabric and paper pieces no less).

This quilt used much of a stack of 4.5 inch squares and was a design I'd been eager to make! What a great combination, especially when gifted to someone with a large heart who LOVES quilts, which I didn't know until she opened it and gushed with delight. Now that makes this maker's heart pound with joy!

The other thrill is incomplete, but FINALLY I returned to working on Alexandria, an EPP project started two years ago, then set aside (kind of like The Enran Chronicles, ahem, so just be patient with yourself there Miss Writer!) due to other shinies muscling into the arena. I've spent the last six weeks hand-stitching my heart to rapturous crafty joy, and am eager to continue the excitement. Something about hand-sewing brings me utter pleasure, so we'll see how long the sewing machine remains under cover.

Then there is my Bluesky account. Suffice to say I am fully enmeshed in it, which is good, also strange because I previously didn't have a Twitter account. Dabbling in that element of social media is the result of threatened democracy and a need to reach out to others feeling the same sense of WTF. And that's all I'm gonna note on that subject.

All things considered, it was a physically healthy year, after I incorporated twice-daily stretches to alleviate hip/back/knee pain, as well as saying adios to gluten, once I found how badly it affects my achy hip, back, and knee. Covid left me with no long-term complications, whew! Emotionally has been a different story, mostly due to the election, but I'm feeling less anxious for what will emerge, trying to rely more on grace and love. Maybe Jimmy Carter's death will have an impact, highlighting what matters most, not money or power but people.

Mr. Carter Quilt in progress....

People matter and people have hearts, and my jewel-based heart quilt which has also tightly wrapped itself around my stitching hands will be called my Mr. Carter Quilt to honor a person who truly realized the best elements of life are those not concerned with who we are and what we want but what others need. If I can harness that devotion to serve others, then it won't matter how much writing is accomplished in the coming year or how many quilts are made. A happy, honest, authentic existence cannot be focused on self. It must reach outward, into places thought beyond our abilities, trusting in strength that emerges from Love. Wishing you a safe celebration as 2024 comes to a close, and a most peaceful, joyous new year!

Early morning go-to sewing

Hearts made last night after my fave basketball team won. Lol.

Fashioning hearts because love matters.

So lately while my husband eats his oatmeal, I've been sewing jewels into hearts. I finish breakfast before him, mostly because his oatmeal takes ages to prepare (he chops an apple and uses old fashioned oats, which takes a good five-plus minutes to cook). Yet I don't like leaving the table just as he's sitting down to eat. Years ago I kept English paper piecing on the dining table, as I was awake before he was, and wanted to do something productive, if I wasn't writing, before he left for work. I don't like being idle, it makes me twitchy. Better to sew something than feel twitchy any day.

Anyway.... Since starting these hearts, I've tried to squeeze time to make more of them. There's plenty to do for Alexandria, and I am, stitching hexagon blocks like the one above. I have eleven more to make, then of course HEAPS more to configure, but these hearts, oh my goodness, they're addictive!

Quick to cut the fabric, a breeze to baste, then one needle's worth of fine EPP thread and voila! I'm comforted by them emotionally as well as the sense of making something pretty and worthwhile. I have no idea who this quilt will be for, only that as the new year approaches, hearts matter.

They matter because every person has one. Some are healthy, some are ailing. Some are resilient despite previous damage and some are running on two of four chambers, wondering if another will give out and the whole muscle will wither. Some hearts are, well, not as big as they could be, mine included. And some are ENORMOUS, making me wish I could be so magnanimous.

Hearts are the engines of our bodies, sorry lungs, blood, brain, and guts. Our hearts not merely pump that blood, providing oxygen to that gray matter, but they fuel our affections, dreams, goals. In making us what we are, hearts are imperative and heart health care, both physically and emotionally, cannot be ignored. And right now I am feeling the need to focus on hearts, mine and everyone else's, through stitching, writing, prayers, and this blog.

We all need reminders of how fragile is the human heart. How vulnerable, yet mighty. Hearts absorb far more crap than they deserve, and often I've noted that a heart once broken is so much larger, more empathetic, and stronger too, if it can heal properly. Not every heart does heal properly; many shrink or shrivel, leaving that person unable to move forward. Yet there's always hope for restoration, for as long as a heart beats, healing is possible. Healing, then joy.

So yeah, hearts. Morning EPP hearts, evening EPP hearts. Hearts on my mind, hearts in my prayers, hearts all over the dang place! As 2024 winds down, expect to hear more about hearts in the coming weeks and months. I suspect hearts will need the attention no matter what happens.

Digital breadcrumbs

Cards I made this morning. More breadcrumbs fer shure!

The perfect way to describe my novels. Seriously lol.

Having taken off a few days from revisions (not writing, because in all honestly I am NOT WRITING anything at the moment), this morning I opened Splitting the Sky in manuscript form and began making corrections from the version on my phone. Where I had noted to rework this section, I merely inserted that directive onto the document, hah, then moved on with the next notation. I'll rework those sections after I clear all the tabs in the ebook, because it's still a holiday-sort of time, no need to get crazy with editing.

Also that in the big picture, my books are digital breadcrumbs in the corporeal sky.

Don't misconstrue; I take my writing (or revising, whatever!) seriously. My novels are the best of what I can produce right now, and I'm pleased (and a bit proud) of the themes pursued, prose created, characters blossoming whether I had them initially in mind or not. It's me I don't wish to flaunt, other than in pressing forward whatever book is the latest shiny or next in the sparkly queue. What I mean is that I write because I love to craft fiction. Or blogposts, ahem. Yet in the grand scheme, all these story lines and blog titles are virtual straws in the wind.

I hadn't heard the phrase digital breadcrumbs until yesterday. A dear friend mentioned it, and immediately I nodded as though having waited for the correct manner to describe what I do with fiction. Now I use this term loosely, not that I'm purposely leaving a trail to later be hunted with precision. Merely that novels uploaded onto the internet become the property of who knows all (or few) for the rest of, well, however long the internet lasts. Maybe in eons some form of our Earthen culture will exist in space via the tiniest chips loaded with the weight of this world. Or tomorrow some presumptuous nation will scatter all humans to the winds. So much is unknown as yet another calendar year raps on the door, wishing to muscle 2024 aside, asserting itself as only a new year can, full of bravado and promises and the assumption this year will be much better than the last.

Yet a new year is only another day dawning, another night falling. My stories, regardless of how much they mean to me, are more digital files stacked upon heaps of other files, and there's no princess alive that could recline on all that hoo haa and sense one puny pea underneath, like finding a pearl amid all the sand on every collected beach. Not to malign what I do, only to acknowledge how fleeting are these remarks and ruminations.

In this way, I maintain equilibrium in regard to the writing, that while I love doing it, it's not the be-all, end-all. It matters, oh my goodness yes! But it's a qualified importance, realizing for myself what I want from it, what I can give to make it happen. And when to truly release it, often well after a story has been published.

Maybe this isn't merely about the writing, but saying goodbye to a year that held great promise for my country. Within my heart a trembling is felt, so much uncertainty in what the new year holds. Perhaps that enables me to step back from my novelistic efforts, aware that no matter how much good I wish my books to inspire, I am merely a necessary cog in the machine of a planet that has trundled onward for more years than I can count. That I should do my very best, then breath deeply, moving onto the next project, shiny or that of a less stellar nature. And embrace that no matter what, all I am and all I do is steeped in grace. Yup, that about covers it.

Christmas Eve revelations

In reading Give Her My Love, I'm struck at who I have become in being a storyteller.... Or more rightly, in who I am within my marriage, and how that's translated into my books.

I'm the hawk, who'd have guessed? More rightly, I am Eric Snyder while my beloved and at times beleaguered spouse is the stalwart Lynne, always waiting for her lover's return.

From writing, from sewing, from an abysmal childhood, though I carry no outward deformities, unlike a mysterious painter. Yet my psyche and soul were deeply battered from an abusive alcoholic biological mother, and through my husband's love and support, I am no longer (or not very often) a scarred, scared little girl wondering if anyone could appreciate me.

Maybe these weren't the Christmas Eve revelations you were expecting. I wasn't expecting them either. All I wanted was to complete this read-through, upload the manuscript to Smashwords, then move on with my day. However.... Now I have plenty to ponder, this post to craft, which will lead to more musings amid 24 December preparations. It is still Christmas Eve, even if I feel like an 8.2 earthquake has rattled me deeper than the quake from two years ago, causing this disarray.

Now that seems not minor, but certainly the past. I thought The Hawk was merely about this guy who (Spoiler Alert) turns into a bird. But...no. It's about me and my husband and our relationship of now thirty-seven years. Dude! How did I miss that, how blind have I been, not merely when I wrote this story, but all these years since! 

Dude....

I'm the artist (for lack of a better way to put it) constantly running away (through fiction and quilts and sometimes really big hissy fits) from the stable base within the marriage. Not that my spouse is perfect, just as Lynne has her less stellar moments. But it's Lynne who supports her erstwhile husband, it's Lynne who solidifies their journey into faith, Lynne to remain mostly together while Eric traipses off, trying to find himself. WOW! Okay, so later Eric makes a sojourn for a better purpose, and yeah, I'm the one who likes to travel. Oh my frickin' goodness, HOW DID I MISS ALL THIS?

Okay, deep breath taken. Huh. Wow. Facepalms all over the dang place.

Another breath taken, and I sit back in my computer chair, smirking just a little. God has a truly fascinating way of revealing deep personal truths. Here on Christmas Eve, I find myself fully bared like never before. No I'm not a painter, or blonde, and it's 2024 not 1960. Yet when an author says, "If you want to know who I am then read my books.", well, they're not jerking you around. Because that is the crux of being a writer, delving into one's own life to fashion a tale. And sometimes we're blessed to not be aware of how deeply we plumb those depths, because to engage in such self-analysis would paralyze the writing, not to mention throw the author into a probable tailspin. I've felt slight guilt in how at times issues that Lynne should inwardly address are instead considered in Eric's voice. Well that's because I am that man! 

(Facepalms aplenty!)

And that's how I realized this massive kernel of my life, personal and semi-professional. Here's a brief excerpt of what I read this morning to bring on all this navel-gazing. Thanks for getting through this post, and I wish you all a most happy Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and much peace as you enjoy this week.

*****

Ericand Michael wandered through the maze while Lynne was happy to remain alone asshe reached the next part of the exhibit, her hobbies on show. She consideredhow nervous she had been, yet relieved for Eric’s presence after a long,miserable winter. Then she shook her head; that had been merely a taste of whatautumn was to bring. She walked past those canvases, enjoying the warmcamaraderie evoked by the Ahern and Nolan clans. Those family portraits actedas a transition to the last series, which was of the artist’s wife amid herpassions, or those that didn’t concern her husband. Lynne wore a seductivesmile. At the time these were painted she wasn’t at all comfortable as a modeland her poses, while welcoming, didn’t hide her anxiety. Yet, Eric had turnedthose fears into a formidable beauty; in a matter of weeks, he would be gone,they had both known it. These pastimes had shielded her until Eric’s agonizingreturn.

Gentlemurmurs wafted through the hall, but Lynne only noticed the pounding of herheart. She didn’t mind these canvases being sold as she had no desire to seethem again. The man who had created them might not be at her side, but soonEric would stand next to her, and later that night they would revel in all thisevening had wrought, as well as feting their devotion to one another. Lynnedidn’t assume their love was any more outstanding than Stanford and Laurie’s,but it was singular in the obstacles they had overcome. She sighed, then smiled.The art dealers might be homosexuals, but she highly doubted either turned intoa hawk.

Fleeting and permanent (Fourth Sunday in Advent)

 

Already it's the last Sunday before Christmas. I could say this year has sped past, but time moves so quickly now that I'm...not so young anymore. And yet, for as quickly as this year is ending, another awaits, the fleeting and permanence of today's title.

Much like our lives on this planet, our grasp of what we believe we possess, like our health, things, a claim on a month that is practically over; December roared in on a wave of advertisements and assumptions, as though shopping till we drop is the achievable nirvana once a year.

Yet what does Christmas mean? It's still celebrated over two thousand years after Jesus's birth, so it's relevant. It's.... It's late on this Fourth Sunday in Advent, and I'm weary. Tired of ads proclaiming that all matters is sparkly holiday parties and athletes dressed up as Santa saving the day. I'm exhausted from all the commercialization of something sacred. And in a few days, attention will be turned to the end of the year as though Christmas was months ago and Valentine's Day will be all the marketing rage.

To many, Christmas is merely a means to the next cash cow on the calendar.

To me, Christmas is a child born unto us. A savior, who is Christ the Lord. Advent is preparing for that gift, taking stock and giving thanks, knowing hope, peace, joy, and love. Last weekend we were celebrating with family and I completely forgot about Advent. Do I take for granted a savior, mercy, love? Are these words as meaningless as all the advertisements?

All I know is despite how crass it all seems, how I let slip unnoticed the Third Sunday of Advent, a greater good remains. A baby born unto us still matters, if we care to look beyond the expected timeline. Christmas doesn't end on the twenty-sixth, it's not fleeting at all. It's as permanent as we wish to make goodness and charity, selflessness and humility. These elements are ones within my character that constantly require polishing.Yet because of one small child, an infant, all my mistakes, even forgetting Advent last week, are swept aside. What an amazing miracle.

The truth of Christmas, of Advent, is a miracle occurred. Or that faith allows for the miracle to be real. Martin Luther notes that a virgin birth, while indeed extraordinary, isn't as marvelous as one's acceptance of sins forgiven, salvation proffered, love extended freely and fully and permanently. That love is the most permanent thing I know. May you too know it in this Advent season.

Prepping

For a storm, Christmas, publication, a quilt, the new year....

We received half an inch of rain last night/this morning, but thankfully the predicted winds weren't as wild as forecasters considered. The basement is full of firewood, some in the carport not because it's tremendously cold but if we lose power. Our temps are currently mild. I'm grateful for it.

Preparing for Christmas includes some cooking (I made cranberry sauce today, will fix a candy cane ice cream pie tomorrow). Presents I'm responsible for are wrapped, lol. (Paper, tape, scissors, labels, and a few bows are out for my husband, hehehe.) When we lived in the UK we got a gammon (ham) from Marks & Spencers, and ham remains our tradition, alongside garlic/Gruyere cheese scalloped potatoes and peas (my husband LOVES peas). All those ingredients, save red potatoes, have been purchased.

Christmas prep also includes LAUNDRY. For some weird reason, I like doing all the laundry before Christmas, so that task is underway. Funny how odd notions seem vital as the twenty-fifth approaches. The weather will remain wet all week, give or take bright spots, and I'd prefer to skip being out in the showers. Since it's only the two of us this year, there isn't a ton to sort.

Which leaves time for my novels. Plural, because I have two series to consider, plus Splitting the Sky, as if I required another project. LOL! This morning I completed another round of edits for that tale, will incorporate them into the manuscript maybe tomorrow. Once that's done, then it's time to ponder a cover, synopses, tags, blurbs.... Polishing the story is merely one element of releasing a novel, and hopefully I can get this pulled together before mid-January.

I thought a shot of this had already been posted, but I can't locate it, so here it is. Kind of a circle, definitely a lot of fun.

But before I wax about the coming year, I've finished the pink/green round of Alexandria, and have started basting/stitching the next batch of hexagon blocks. I'm also thankful that other than tucking diamonds into slots on that large circle-ish gob of fabrics I am onto the next chapter of that quilt. I've loved putting it together, but am ready for something different, smaller blocks that will invariably lead to large sections that will eventually be tacked onto that circle; this is going to be a BIG QUILT. Yet I'm not apprehensive, merely curious how it will look once completed, sometime next year.

Next year.... Next year is a mystery, other than a few books I want to release, the Red Sky at Night quilt I want to sew, maybe a log cabin quilt too. I'm fine with unknowns, not everything needs to be nailed down precisely. I'm trying to be calm about the incoming administration; BIG DEEP BREATH TAKEN. I will do all I can to resist fear, insist on human rights, and persist in creative endeavors that feed my soul and ease my heart. Because what else is there to do?

Prepping for lots of events, hobbies, alterations. Meanwhile the laundry spins in both the washer and dryer, maybe it's time for a cuppa. I left Britain in 2007, yet that nation remains within me, just as California claims my native-born heart. One foot here, one in Yorkshire, while my soul floats between them as though heaven is only a mince pie away.

The unchosen life

The view from my living room window this morning.

Not sure what this will be about, but something good, I'm certain.

Today's title came from our pastor, who spoke about the unpredictability of life in a recent communion service. He was relating it to Joseph, who initially was going to divorce Mary once he realized she was already pregnant until an angel told him the true story behind this young woman's condition. Who can imagine what Joseph might have thought, other than believing, as he remained her husband and became, as the pastor put it, Jesus's stepfather, a term I'd never considered previously.

As the pastor spoke, I closed my eyes, tears welling, but not quite streaming down my face. It wasn't from sadness, more from the massive joy I possess within my faith, and how life's unpredictability isn't always the end of the frickin' world. Sometimes it feels pretty dang bad, but even that unpleasant sting fades, leaving me with additional patience, wisdom, and the sense that if I trusted more, accepted grace with embraces more readily proffered, stress and worry wouldn't mar my disposition.

But that's a LOT OF IF's, a lot of giving it over to God, a heaping TON of trust, and I'm a measly corporeal being, two times twenty-eight years old yes, but often wet behind the ears, or that's how I felt yesterday, not in a painful manner, only in, "Jeez Louise, how cool is that and why hadn't I considered that before?" Not only Joseph as stepfather to Christ but how in simple faith the life I lead isn't one I would have chosen for myself.

I make a lot of my own decisions, lol. But not all of them. And those still to be made.... Future Me raises an eyebrow but doesn't smirk. Nor do I prod about what's coming, on any plane. Sorting out today is enough, like making sense of a really loaded blog post title, not wanting to overstep what I'm trying to convey. Far less than a novel, but more than the three words which clamor to be pondered more deeply than this entry. However, it is my way to thrust myself into far stormier waters than is probably right for a person, lengthy fictional series and large EPP quilts you know. Because sometimes The Big Questions need a minute or eight to breathe into our souls not why we're here or anything that monumental, but merely a sliver of time to say, "Hey, I'm where I'm at for this, that, or another reason, and it's not terrible, it's not miserable. It's not in any shape or form what I thought my life was gonna be, but that's actually...okay."

Politics and world crises aside, I have my health, my family's overall health, and a comfortable economic situation for which to be VERY GRATEFUL. I have hobbies/pastimes I ADORE, and a nice place to gush about them. Lots of variables swirl, when do they not? Yet amid that mild chaos, I am centered by grace, love, faith. Sometimes not nearly as much of those as I think I require, but if I needed more, God would grant me what was truly necessary. He gave Joseph enough of a heads-up that Mary didn't get kicked to the curb, and look what happened there. I don't mean to be crass or disrespectful, but sometimes plain language best conveys the essence of a situation. Mary needed protection and Joseph acquiesced. It certainly wasn't the life Joseph thought was coming his way.

I might return to this subject if the mood stirs. If nothing else, I have much to ponder, be thankful for, and marvel at; this unchosen life, at times hedged in darkness, is full of good folks, sparkles, and plentiful shinies. It's full to the rim with goodness and love. It's the only one I have, and best to claim it with a smile than with a frown. Not that I understand it, but then neither did a carpenter's stepdad. And that's enough for me.

Something old, something new, little borrowed, lots of blue

Ice Cream Soda block in progress.

While it's awesome to visit with family, home is home for a reason. We're back and happy to be here, and with most things unpacked and laundry spinning, it's time to consider what's next.

LOL.

But seriously.... My shoulder feels good after several days without sewing. The Alexandria quilt will be my focus this evening. After I finish an Ice Cream Soda block (pictured above) that I started over the weekend. Okay, I did a wee bit of stitching. I supervised (or helped build) Lego constructions. Gingerbread house constructions. Craft constructions. Played several card games, including Taco, Cat, Goat, Cheese, Pizza, which is MARVELOUS! If you're looking for a last-minute gift for any age, and aren't averse to a cool game of Slap Jack, it's a winner.

But SERIOUSLY.... While I didn't do much sewing, I caught up on edits of my next novel, Splitting the Sky. Always great reading a book on one's phone for that published feel, and MANY EDITS were made. More LOL. Yet in a good way, because while this story is in solid shape for having rested a dozen years, it requires polishing. And I'm polishing the heck outta it via my phone, which I'll transfer to the manuscript proper in a few days after I'm done.

This novel is definitely something old (in the original crafting), something new (in a section still to be added), little borrowed (in characters' names that mean something to me) and of course LOADS of blue, in that it's about a corrupt leader, which America continues to laud as though the Second Coming has arrived before Christmas. Which is why I'm planning to release this novel on Inauguration Day, hah! America is currently being sold to the highest bidders, but while there's freedom of expression left, I'm going to express the hell out of myself.

Anyways.... So yeah, a week out from Christmas Eve and I have big novel plans for the new year. Another installment of The Enran Chronicles slated for March, also with themes extremely relevant to current events. Followed by Book Two of The Hawk in April. I haven't published this many novels in a long time, making me wonder when the heck am I gonna find time to write? Hmmm, good query Present Me. Future Me is wrapping Christmas gifts, won't offer me even a little snort. Past Me is hunkered down with revisions, too busy to smirk. That leaves Present Me mulling over all these novels in need of one more read-through. And covers, don't forget the covers. 

Because I'm home, and not going anywhere for a while. Yes, it's good to be back, good to have projects. Good to have a grip on this aspect of my life, this writer's life. Something old, something new, little borrowed, and always true blue.

Trade-offs

 

SF Bay Area traffic last night.

This weekend my hubby and I are back in the SF Bay Area to celebrate our youngest grandgirl's birthday, as well as partake of some early familial Christmastime shenanigans. It's nice to reconnect with beloveds at this time of year, even if only for a few days. Makes all the difference in the world when we go our separate ways, as we all invariably do.

When we left Silicon Valley for Humboldt County, there was a compromise. The traffic pictured above was happily jettisoned for California's quiet North Coast. For a small town vibe amid several not tiny enclaves that make up the Fortuna/Eureka/Arcata/McKinleyville corridor along U.S. Route 101. That's where we call home, a Redwood tree-lined mish-mash of locales and folks, banana slugs and brown slugs, deer and other critters. We've lived there now for three years and I LOVE IT. I really do. I also adore my children and grandkids, and none of them live anywhere remotely close. Remote is what we are along the North Coast, nothing like last night's travel on Interstate 280, OMG that was a slog/nightmare/reality for many Bay Area residents. Not Humboldt Bay Area, ahem, but the San Francisco arena that other than our kids and grandgirls, WE DO NOT MISS IN THE LEAST. That's the trade-off I'm talking about, because previously we lived twenty minutes from our eldest daughter's family. We drove maybe two miles in twenty minutes last night, inching along the choked section of freeway between San Francisco and San Jose. Yet we arrived safely to enjoy a delicious meal with those dear relatives, then later I played a Lego Advent dreidel game with the granddaughters and reveled in their holiday joy.

I was the Moana game piece. Didn't win, but that's never the point for me, lol.

A sacrifice within my head and heart, my soul too. Choosing to leave family for retirement.... It was hard, but not so difficult that we remained in Silicon Valley. Yet I miss being around my kids, their lives, their thrills. I miss watching the grandgirls grow up, and my grandsons too. They reside in the Sacramento Valley, and we don't see them as much as before because it's hard to travel westward across the state, especially in winter. I'm grateful we're all gathering this weekend, and I accept responsibility for not being an abuela in either of those families' back yards. Sometimes that's how it goes.

I didn't think it would occur this way, my husband's retirement earlier than we originally envisioned. I am SO THANKFUL for it, don't misconstrue, so is he. It's just that I spent a lot of time with the grandkids when they were tiny, driving between the SF Bay Area and northern California. I was so much younger then, lol, or how it feels now. And then Covid.... Covid blew a hole in everyone's life, but those few months/years of necessary isolation seemed to invite a further separation, which led to us upping sticks for the North Coast. I accept all this, reasons adding up to moving away from family, young families. I accept it, but still it rankles within me.

Instead of this being a weekend visit, what if we still lived here? What if my husband still worked at a job that had been grating on his nerves since 2018. What if, what if, what if.... I don't have answers to that query or questions, or theoretical posturing. Because WHAT IS is we moved away to have a retirement life we find exemplary, such a blessing to even have that choice. And within one day (sometimes longer than other days) we can drive to hang out with our wonderful family! And they come to visit us, and we'll trade-off these familial sojourns until, well, we don't.

Because those days are coming too.

After my parents were both dead, I flinched at accepting the matriarchal mantle; I didn't want to be that old, responsible, in charge. Was leaving the family base a reaction to that? Hmmm, never considered it. Huh. Perhaps. I'll give myself that suddenly realized benefit of the doubt. Otherwise, we moved away while still young enough to do so, young enough to brave terrible traffic to return or long drives over mountain passes. We had kids, raised them, helped raise wee descendants, then started a new chapter of our lives. Yup, that's what we did.

Maybe this post comes off as an apology to my children and grandchildren. Maybe it stinks of elitism in that we have the means to enjoy retirement and family. I don't know, other than I needed to write it, maybe if only to chew on the nugget raised in the previous paragraph. My sister-in-law didn't get a choice when her husband died suddenly of cancer; some life decisions are thrust upon us in miserable waves. All we can do is go forward, trusting in where we are being led. Because if I know ANYTHING in this life, moving from one bay area to another was entirely an act of good and graced faith. And the beauty of acting in good and graced faith is believing all will be good and gracious at the end of even the longest day spent in cruddy traffic. And in all the other days too.

Now about that quilt....

 

Current state of Alexandria, missing three hexagon blocks to complete this round.

Painstaking also applies to the sudden reemergence of a pinched nerve in my right shoulder, shoot!

So yeah, a slight detour from how I was going to wax poetically about prepping to move onto the next phase. Or not. Huh. Didn't see that coming.

Nor could I have fathomed what happened to a beloved childhood landmark of mine; early this morning the Bidwell Mansion was destroyed by fire. HEARTBREAKING! Northern California is my birthplace, and I visited the mansion many times in my youth. Makes me ill pondering all that was lost, especially on the heels of the destructive Park Fire that burned Upper Bidwell Park this past summer, and let's not forget the Camp Fire that ravaged Paradise in 2018. Again, I feel queasy considering these events, hard to separate myself from them merely to talk about a quilt.

Perhaps what I need to consider is how FLEETING are possessions, even parts of this planet. Animals become extinct. Natural flora is obliterated by the effects of climate change and human beings' wanton disregard for the elements. And here I am, wishing to discuss the trivial travails of which fabrics are next chosen, or does it matter if there's a possible stitching sabbatical in my near future?

Yet (YET!), our collective personal smallish queries/problems aren't to be forgotten because historic landmarks burn to the ground. There's a saying: Just because someone else has two broken legs doesn't make my one broken leg hurt less. Which seems a bit trite, but.... But the point I was originally going to make in this post before my shoulder got angry and a house burned down is that I've come to a place in this quilt where yes, I have chosen fabrics for future hexagon blocks, but the diamonds leading to said blocks remain a mystery.

Well, not a huge mystery. Pictured above is a test block that I like very much and will probably use in the next round of the quilt. When I get to it. After we get home from visiting family this weekend. And after my shoulder says, "O-kay, you can sew, but for goodness sake, take a break every few evenings all right?"

So yeah, a quilt. Painstaking work. Painstaking to think about what is ruined around me yet I continue to forge ahead with crafty notions. Painstaking but NECESSARY because life isn't static no matter how crappy and stuck it seems. Life needs our courage, our tenacity to rebuild, to move forward, to renew our hearts and those of others by acknowledging the past then stepping away from it to wherever we are led. Sometimes that is to set aside our tools and have a rest. Sometimes it's to barrel onto another project with the sense of previous mishaps as a guide and/or inspiration.

(Like the book I'm currently revising for release next month, lol.)

Whatever I end up doing with Alexandria, I'm grateful for the progress made and joy experienced. If I have to fold it up and put it away for a time, I will return to it with greater appreciation, and hopefully a more cautious manner of sewing. Lessons learned all the time, on a variety of subjects, what life is usually about.