Anna Scott Graham's Blog, page 30

Three weeks without caffeine

Coasters. 'Nuff said.

Because I lived in Britain, I love tea. Because I love tea, I use coasters. Because I sew, I make coasters. Because I keep my scraps handy (meaning because I don't put things away and they clump on surface areas) I fashion coasters. Because coasters are easy to put together when scraps are plentiful, I design a LOT OF COASTERS. And because I wrote a chapter this morning without a lot of sturm und drang, I had time to pin together random beautiful fabrics and Bob's your uncle: Here's a pile of mug rugs waiting to be turned into sweet little quilt sandwiches.

And yeah, twenty-one days without caffeine. Talk about ba-da-bing, ba-da-boom Bob's my uncle! Dude, yeah, no regular tea. Or coffee. But the sense of wanting something that'll pack a punch lingers. I forced my withdrawals onto my protagonist, lol. Poor chap is aching for something strong, while I wonder if removing caffeine has made any difference to my tinnitus or blood pressure. I'll keep up this caffeine-free regimen for the rest of the month. If there's no great improvement, a cup of Yorkshire Gold is all MINE.

Meanwhile I have a horde of autumnal coasters whispering in my slightly ringing ears: Quilt me! No, quilt me! No, I'm the prettiest, you hafta quilt ME! Calm down, I tell them. I'll make sandwiches after this post, but before I quilt any of you lot, there are six placemats ahead of you in the queue. The placemats harrumph loudly, scowling at their smaller brethren. While the smallest of the mug rugs clears its tiny throat, asking to be finished with the few dabs of fabric leftover.

Oh my goodness, I announce, all of you just CHILL OUT! It's not even technically fall here in America, although I think in Britain autumn began on 1 September. Or it used to, and it should here as well if only because now the sun, when it does shine in Humboldt County, is sloping hard to the southeast. Yesterday it was warm, but the rays were angled so that I wanted some hot apple cider and a Fat Rascal and some dark chocolate-covered tea biscuits to go with all that soothing British goodness. Not sure why I'm in such a pine-for-Yorkshire mood, other than I am DYING FOR A REGULAR CUP OF ENGLISH TEA. Ahem.

Okay, not dying, well, that's debatable. Yorkshire Decaf is the closest decaf tea I have tried to the real deal, and believe me, I've tasted a LOT OF decaf teas, about like how many coasters I've sewn over the years. I'm not going to count those screaming behind me on my work table; I might just put all of them in the seasonal fabric that's not Christmas tote. Hah! You wanna be turned into a quilt sandwich? Well then pipe down and behave!

But, sigh, they're so small and cute. Pretty. Darn. Adorable. Pretty darn in need of bindings, which is the biggest detriment to me just spending the rest of this afternoon and not doing my dishes or reading this morning's chapter or picking blackberries but just sit and sew and sew and so forth. Okay, well, I do have binding material already cut into strips, but those strips aren't attached and it's nearly two p.m. and my dishes aren't gonna wash themselves, although I am about done here, and reading that chapter won't take long and, and, and....

OMG! What I'd give to sit with honest tea and biscuits and a Fat Rascal, but hey, I'm in California not Yorkshire and I've given up caffeine before (and survived quite nicely) and maybe for Christmas we'll order some British Christmas cake (although one can really only get Fat Rascals in Great Britain although maybe I could find a recipe and make some and....). Yeah, that's the plan.

Um, Future Me says, what's your plan?

She said she's gonna do this, that, and the other, Past Me replies.

Oh, Future Me nods.

Yup, Past Me smirks. That's the long and short of this Friday in the middle of September, 2023....

Plotting further afield

A jewel not of my making; read below for its story.

I spent a few days away from home, gifting some autumnal quilts which garnered gushing affection, which is always so lovely to witness. Meanwhile my husband hosted a friend he's known since high school, and that friend also enjoyed the myriad quilts draped over the sofa, lol. It's always nice to be appreciated and prepared.

Speaking of prep, last week I started to wrangle with future installments of my current fictional series. I had ideas certainly; this saga has miles to travel until reaching The End. But I hadn't given it much hard thought, kind of caught up in Halloween quilts and cleaning for a guest, ha ha. Yet now I have a plan, or maybe it's more concrete than an ethereal notion. I won't know till I reach those stories, but at least a pathway has emerged from the foggy mist.

At times it's a difficult journey when relying on the muse, my faith, the twists and turns of life. I chatted about life's surprises with a few friends this past weekend, how much remains beyond our scope, and that's good because sometimes TMI hampers the here and now. I adore Future Me; she's like the better part of myself as well as the keeper of knowledge. But I'm grateful to be Present Me right here on this now suddenly smoky day. Half an hour ago blue skies were trying to overpower the cloud. Then the winds shifted and it's smelly outside, murky too. One never knows exactly what's going to happen next.

In June we visited our son and I spent time at a local craft market, where I admired the back of a fascinating hand-sewn quilt top made of half-hexagons and squares. The front was obscured by items for sale; the quilt top had been hung as a backdrop between the adjacent stall, but that's where I went to study the seams, finding in their aged beauty an EPP possibility. A few weeks ago that photo turned up and I made a reminder for today to sew a few of those blocks as a trial. Not sure how that will go, but it was wholly unexpected to find it today on list of To Do's, and certain advantageous to note in this post, which a few paragraphs ago I thought was going to be about my novel, LOL!

Such is the marvel of life, how priceless are these surprises that occasionally turn into new roads we stumble across or that jut into our current route, greatly (or mildly) altering our expedition. Concerning my novel(s), I have pared down the number of stories, instead telling the most vital slices of these characters' lives. We'll see how that goes (ahem) in that I really like all these characters, but I'm also fifty-seven and there are other tales to tell. Lots of quilts to sew, Future Me adds, not that I desire one more hand-stitching project on my plate. You didn't need this slew of novels either, Past Me frowns, but her angst is more to do with how this series came to be, from a dim place steeped in sorrow. Yet from the darkest night dawns a bright day, or a not as cloudy start as previous days or the haze will lift eventually. That's Humboldt County in a nutshell, fires notwithstanding, as well as life in general. Best to roll with the blessings plopped in my lap and go from there. Future Me nods and Past Me harrumphs while Present Me closes this post with a smile.

My love for English paper piecing

An early Cornflower block, 8 August 2021
 

Five years ago I took the plunge into the world of EPP. Spurred on by the magical creations of Jodi Godfrey and Florence Knapp, I bought some 1.5" hexagon papers at Joann, then began to thread baste scraps given to me from my eldest daughter's mother-in-law, who was starting to purge her fabric stash. Most of these prints were whimsical in nature from collections of days past, and the notion of making my oldest granddaughter a Grandmother's Flower Garden quilt seemed absolutely ideal. I basted hexies while visiting my mom, who unbeknownst to us was ailing from cancer; I recall sitting at her dining table while she napped, using her thread as I had run out, which now is my thread. It's very special to me knowing those threads are included in that special quilt (as I don't remove the basting threads, way too much work).

Quickly I gathered other patterns into my EPP realm. Those initial papers were stiff and I learned that while they were great for basting, when stitching those flowers into a larger whole, more flexible papers were better. I went between Paper Pieces' products and Godfrey's own papers, and to this day those are my shapes of preference. I adore Jodi's patterns; I have several of them, lol. I've made Mandolin and Cherish quilts, the Seedlings Sampler from her book, and am currently working on a Lavender, Cornflower, Myrtle, and a second Mandolin, whoa! I've also completed a second Grandmother's Flower Garden for my youngest granddaughter, and SO MANY HEXIE tops and onesies! I possess a small tote filled with finished 1" hexie flowers, I have orphaned EPP blocks that I want to use to a make a Wandering Wife quilt, and I keep a stack of completed Lucy Boston blocks in another tote, but I don't have the wherewithal to baste and sew all those joining honeycombs and squares. Hopefully one day I will machine applique those blocks to large squares of fabric, then sew those together for a completed quilt top. Yeah, I'm an English paper piecing addict.

But how does one become an addict to something so old school? I have been into handcrafts since learning to cross stitch over twenty-five years ago. I taught my kids, at their requests, to use a dull-tipped needle and embroidery thread, and my eldest is teacher her daughter the same, woo hoo! After I started quilting, I used my evenings to hand-stitch bindings or hand-quilt a project, but my goodness English paper piecing looked beautiful and doable both. I dived in with those rather stiff papers, which in hindsight was a great way to learn to baste and to stitch the flowers. But as I said, sewing multiple stiff papers together en masse was a steep curve and I quickly moved on to other suppliers.

And supplies I have, oh my goodness, but I am grateful for the plethora of shapes and sizes because I simply adore choosing scraps or cutting specifically for this or that block or pattern. I like thread basting over glue because glue is sticky and can't be done while seated on the sofa listening to sports, lol. I take a very slow approach to my slow stitching; there is no hurry, not even if I wanted it to proceed quickly. My EPP projects are so separate from what I craft on my machine, at times more fabric cut than there are enough hours in the day. It's meditative, it's creative, it keeps my hands busy and my heart skipping with excitement at what amazingly gorgeous (to me) colour and print combinations emerge. I'm not big on fussy cutting, but when I do it, the joy of precision alights my soul. And beloved scrappy assortments thrill the same.

Then there is the actual needle in the groove element; stitch upon stitch leads to this square attached to that petal, this diamond nestled against that square, a hexagon forever another's buddy until love and laundry do they part. I can sew together all the triangles I want without fear of losing their perfect points, I can arrange pieces artfully or place them as solo stars while patching blown-out knees on leggings and jeans. Scraps considered trash turn into heroes, awkward strips transform into marvelous borders, all the while slowly and silently adding into a magnificent whole that dazzles in a lost art sort of way.

Perhaps that is what appeals most, the manner of how paper pieces are brought together by an ancient but necessary method. For centuries hand sewing was the only way to fashion garments and required linens. In this rather techie world, I revel in stepping back to the past, be it in sewing or writing letters, lol, maintaining ties to undeniably necessary parts of our planet's collective history. Yes I love releasing ebooks and using a computer to write said novels, but each night I await those quiet few hours on the sofa with my papers, needles, thread, and striking fabrics. Eagerly I stitch over and over, adding to this perimeter or that stack of blocks or basting in the great anticipation of doing it again tomorrow and the next day and the next day.... I am never bored with English paper piecing; heck I would be doing it right now if not for real life. LOL; paper piecing is my haven where I immerse myself thoroughly in its peaceful cadence of creativity.

Not quite finished most recent Cornflower block.

 

Now it's time to do some laundry. But in nine hours I'll be seated with projects and US Open tennis. Nothing beats sewing while listening to the whap whap whap amid whoops and grunts. Go Coco Gauff and Madison Keys (stitch stitch stitch)!

End to the holiday

Our granddaughters have left for home and what a lovely weekend we all shared! Many blackberries were enjoyed fresh off vines, the frog above hopping onto a large stalk, deserving a photo. I took lots of pictures over the last few days, read heaps of books, built hordes of Lego creations, watched a little Bluey, and patched a pair of pants, lol. The girls departed with new hexie shirts from hexie flowers they helped sew while we were together during the July Midwestern vacation, about all the stitching I managed after they went to bed. The house is SO QUIET now, such a different flavor with guests, especially kids. Toys and books are drawn from the large collection in the living room, and three stuffies remain on guard along a sill, my youngest granddaughter placing them there to watch for deer, which did not make an appearance much to the girls' chagrins.

We had glorious weather, which of course demanded a trip to the beach, albeit it at high tide, but sand castles were fashioned clear of the ocean's reach. We sat in camp chairs as youngsters sought after shells, made sand angels, and formed moats. Recent rains have cleared the air from northern fires, but the marine layer stayed away, proffering beautiful late summer sunshine that we joked the girls brought with them.

When my oldest grandkids were tiny, I assumed I would be an integral part of their lives. I wanted to be that kind of grandmother, even to my youngest daughter's family who didn't leave nearby. All four grands were born before COVID hit, but the pandemic altered everyone's life in varying degrees, and we ended up living far away from all our kids. I love living in Humboldt County, I'm so grateful my husband could retire, but I do miss being a part of my family's lives beyond holiday weekends or summer breaks, etc, etc, etc.

There is much about my life I can control; fabric choices, quilt patterns, even pesky characters feeling full of themselves within a novel. But I have struggled with how this change of location works with staying relevant beyond phones and letters. Yes we raised our kids in England and for eleven years we were FAR AWAY from family, other than our trips back home every couple of years. Once my daughters had their kids, I couldn't imagine separating myself from those clans, and yet we did. We moved to a remote area along the North Coast several hours away from all of them. Would we have done that if not for the pandemic, I can't truly say. But even living in the same town as our eldest, for nearly two years we didn't hang out with them as before. That precipitated moving away, and obviously I'm still not sure what I think about it, in that here I am blathering on about what was, what is, and what might have been.

I assuage my uncertainty by telling myself this is where I am supposed to be. And I do believe that, yet.... Now they are gone and the house is quiet and I have time to write this post and use the loo without having to notify a granddaughter that I'll be right back after I use the bathroom. But who am I to them, just this person they see every once in a while? I wanted to be a bastion of familiarity, I wanted to be....

Just now, in crafting this post, I pondered the notion that as I like to say my life isn't about me, well who I am as a grandmother, and a mum, isn't about me either. In that overthinking it and fretting about it is just making it about myself, which seems pretty self-absorbed. My kids and their kids know we love them, even from far away. Maybe we're not in their proverbial backyards, but perhaps that's some idyllic dream from days long past. Whatever it is, me whinging about it two years after having moved away does no one any benefit. Yes I miss them, but whatever this chapter of my life is to be cannot be fully expressed if I'm mopey.

And that is how I am right now, in the quiet. Yet life is about living for others. Which is hard to do when navel-gazing. Go check the laundry Present Me, and don't lament the past nor grouse about the future. And have a little piece of chocolate along the way. 

Eighteen chapters

Why I call it a floral Halloween quilt, hehehe.

Our granddaughters are spending the holiday weekend with us, so the only writing I will manage will be an early morning read-through of what has accumulated since the fifth of August. Which is both pretty cool to have amassed over fifty K in those weeks and also very necessary to see what in the heck I've written throughout most of last month. Wow, it's September; that's a little bit of crazy! August seemed to slip away like sand running through my hands. I had hoped to get a lot of writing done in the eighth month of the year and I sure did. I also made quilts, worked on placemats, picked blackberries, and um, gave up caffeine.

That achievement has been due to my tinnitus, which so far doesn't seem extraordinarily improved, but machine quilting over the last few days isn't a big help so.... Yet I am over the worst of the withdrawal symptoms, which mainly meant really achy leg muscles. I tapered off slowly, no headaches, but my goodness I felt it eventually. We'll see how long I eschew honest to goodness Yorkshire Tea; September will be a month without caffeine but hopefully a novel finish, a few breaks aside.

I am looking forward to reading through Book 3 of my fledgling series; written on the fly, I really need to make notes of which species are various characters thrown in somewhat haphazardly. A few names were inserted that went absolutely nowhere, those need to be tidied up. Unplanned but so far seemingly working out okay are references to a different sci-fi story I wrote a decade ago, although I have taken liberties with timelines, but if I never publish that book, no one will know the difference. LOL. (And if I do publish it, I have covered my backside by referencing within the current story a reason for those unexplained occurrences, so go me!)

Writing a book, even after all these years of crafting stories, remains an activity that for as much as I compare it to quilting requires a focus unlike sewing, as well as a willingness to HANG IN THERE. Making a quilt is so TANGIBLE, as pictures throughout this post demonstrate. I spent much of last night hand-quilting the floral Halloween project, so easy to complete when I can grasp it close, admiring it as stitches weave in and out of the fabrics. Yet a story is ethereal, built up over days, weeks, months and sometimes YEARS of thrilling flashes of brilliance and many moments of ARRRGGGG! It can't be appreciated in one quick glance; I can't snap photographs of tangled plot lines or witty dialogue or questionable characters whose motives are constantly aflutter. I did realize yesterday that Books 3 & 4 will feature folks whom the reader cannot be sure are telling the truth, that's a nice theme. But Book 4 is a mere half-chapter at this point, which was written well over a year ago then abandoned, then used as a basis for moving forward with this series, and boy that's a lot of convoluted blah blah blah that quilts just don't possess. Not that I start a quilt, finish it, then move on, but novels are steeped in SO MANY WORDS. I might have one helluva fabric stash, but what goes into a novel bests all the prints every time.

Yet I can't stop spinning yarns in my head that translate to words from my heart spilled like precious blood onto a document. That chapter written last May didn't go anywhere and I thought it was merely like sewn-together scraps that float around my office, destined for an eventual dump in the trash. But no, those twenty-five hundred words were biding their time as Future Me waited patiently for then Present Me to turn into Past Me, who thought, "Hey! I know why I wrote that little bit of magic." (Nice that my writing stash takes up far less space than prints waiting for their moment in the sewing machine sun.)

From the back; my sister LOVES a grumpy cat, so this had to be included.

I don't know what will become of these stories, but that matters not. What is essential is that I tell them, in fits and starts, in solid chunks of morning butt in chair, in last year's throwaway that turns into this year's autumn love affair. If all goes well this month, I'll complete Book 3, then start prepping for Book 4, which is indeed a love story. I like writing love stories, hehehe. That's the best kind of tale to tell.

Halfway done

Last night's moon.

At a smidge over fifty-one thousand words, it's safe to say that my current novel is on the downhill slide. The first in the series stands at one hundred six K, the second in the mid ninety thousands. Within the story I have recently introduced the objective, which might seem a little late in the game, but this book will directly correspond to the next installment, and there was a lot of backstory to establish. And just as I cemented where this novel is heading, I inadvertently threw in a wrench, like just as I was writing then WHAM! Whoa, well okay novel, you do you and I'll just sit here and keep typing. Sometimes stories are pretty full of themselves, but sometimes they know more than I do, because within that unexpected twist emerged an opening that will make this novel's conclusion more poignant, hey hey hey! I call that a win and another example of letting the muse lead the way and reveling in the writing for creativity's sake.

Yesterday's chapter, number sixteen I believe, explored the protagonist's past and why this out of the blue trauma is important. It was fun to bring to a galaxy far far away some Earthen touchstones, another element of this series I want to keep active even when the setting veers off far past our planet. The photo above was taken last night on a rare clear evening. The moon looks a little orange in this shot, and it's not super sharp, but there is a vast cosmos out there ripe for the dramatic picking, lol.

I'm trying to not get ahead of myself with this series; it is just two books currently. And a half, don't forget the third is halfway done, ahem. More LOLs, because the scope of this saga is, uh, many more books in the making. Or at least with what I've currently plotted, several more books. But I didn't imagine how this immediate section would unfold, so it's a little dicey to make such a pronouncement. It's important to allow spontaneity its due. Future Me isn't giving any hint to how this series will progress while Past Me is still full of herself that there's a series in the works. She keeps clearing her throat as though noting that it all started with her throwing caution to the wind and writing from the heart. Did I forget to mention that Past Me wants everyone to know this saga began because she was brave enough to just sit and pants-out two-thirds of a story that did fall flat on its face. Past Me frowns at Present Me, but it was Present Me, in a recent alliteration of Past Me, that had to take that initial story and rework the heck outta it! A lot of going back and forth right now, but that's indicative of this series, as the next installment will be set in....

Stop right there, Future Me calls, wagging her finger. Don't give too much away, especially since the actual year has yet to be decided.

But I thought we'd chosen 1971, Present Me says.

Arrrgggg, Future Me growls, gently slapping her forehead. Can't you keep anything under wraps?

Ha ha, Past Me giggles. Present Me can't keep her mouth shut!

And so it goes, dear Reader, the great debate about exactly where in the past Book 4 will be set, here on Earth thank you very much. And of course remains the next big hurdle of what will Books 5 & 6 center on, as there are several plotlines weaving in and out of each other's business. Currently Books 1 & 2 are companions, the next two stories aligned together. I've been contemplating several options, nothing yet grabbing me by the throat and saying, "Yes, this is the WAY!" But two days ago I was so enlightened, which means I need to be patient while the muse works its literary charm not merely within the writing, but the plotting too. Logic is completely being challenged, but in a manner that allows a living essence to coalesce within these stories, bringing to the noveling table something far greater than I could envision. That is what Past Me is crowing about, and what Future Me slyly acknowledges. Just keep writing, she says, well not today. Today is about other things, like this post, and maybe working on a quilt back, and possibly writing letters to beloveds. But don't give up on this tale, spun from a yarn fragmented and frayed. From the ashes of despair this saga began, yet where it will end, aha, now that will be a very good day.

Floral Halloween quilt

I literally finished this about twenty minutes ago. Well, forty minutes ago, but I took a celebratory ice cream bar break before pressing the final seams. Then I pressed, then hauled it downstairs to the laundry line. Snap snap, then slapped it back on the design wall. And now I'm writing this post because 1) The quilt is done (for now) and 2) I wanted to talk about simple quilt designs.

I love admiring elaborate quilts. Curvy quilts. Angular quilts. Modern quilts. There are few designs I frown upon, and maybe it's not even the pattern but the fabric that makes me feel meh. I've made a few quilts that are slightly challenging, not including the English paper pieced quilts; those are a category unto themselves. But I'm drawn to basic patchwork squares for a couple of reasons; they are EASY, 'nuff said. The other reason is I make A LOT of quilts, or it feels like I do, and fancy quilts take extra time in cutting fabrics, etc, etc, etc. My patchwork quilts usually run at four and a half inch cut squares, some eight and a half inch squares thrown in for variety, as in the quilt top above. Nice to rummage through my stash of pre-cut squares when I need additional fabric, like I did for this quilt, why it has so many flowers in it, hah! After all these years I am always short-changing myself when I cut fabric, forgetting just how many squares it takes to get to the center of a quilt lollipop (lol).

I've signed up for an angles class, because triangles scare the crap outta me, all those points that if they don't line up or look sharp then the essence is lost. Squares are far more forgiving, nesting seams one against another and for the most part even awkward corners don't show. I was so pleased with this quilt, in that the corners are fairly spot-on, such a win! But even when they aren't so plentifully correct, the result is still pretty, and I have yet to hear back from anyone, "Hey, these corners look kinda ragged."

I sew wholly for the pleasure of the make. Of using my hands to fashion a treasure warm and wonderful. To share colour and joy with those I love. I don't enter fairs or competitions. I like learning from my mistakes, moving forward on my sewing journey to wherever I feel led. And ultimately I end up back at four and a half inch squares or something akin. I made a new comforter for our bed of four and a half inch tall fat quarter cuts, and I think I like it, ha ha. Well, I've made the top, need to finish that baby before winter hits. I'm itching to make the Framed Flowers quilt by Kaffe Fassett, although I might scale it back a little, it's a big quilt. And then there are five angular patterns that come with the class, and I'd love to dip my toes into one of those after I feel capable. But friends of ours are expecting a first baby next year, along with one in our family also in the family way. Unless I happen to immediately master flying geese, those quilts will be simple patchwork squares, with some EPP appliqued onesies on the side.

A multitude of patterns and fabrics, but only so many hours in the day; as long as I'm happy with what I'm crafting, it's all good. Now if I could just stop experimenting with new EPP blocks, maybe I'd finish that Cornflower quilt. More about that soon!

Fabric and fiction (and Chapter 13)

I'm sewing together the autumn quilt for one of my sisters. This sister ADORES Halloween, and I think she'll like the quilt, once the temperatures drop in her area, lol. It's warm here today, a sultry kind of heat, and smoky too. The AQI keeps jumping, then slipping, then spiking again. Fortunately I have plenty of indoor fun to keep me busy and if the air clears considerably, I'll spend an hour outside picking blackberries.

I don't mean to rush summer off prematurely, what with fall-like quilts, but summer seems faraway, probably exacerbated by murky skies. We enjoyed a marine layer-free morning, but seeing how far the sun has moved south was another sign than autumn is approaching. Maybe writing also prods my feelings; I became a writer due to National Novel Writing Month, which occurs in November, so the sense of butt in chair truly blossoms as August winds to a close.

So, that novel.... I'm not quite halfway done, but edging toward that marker, and I like how the story is progressing. I'm quite fond of a certain character that popped up all on its own, hehehe, and I might continue its story further than initially planned. Which means adding a storyline to what I had coined Four Corners several posts ago, but we'll see if that works out. One nice aspect of writing sci-fi is that characters aren't required to have birth dates, so I'm able to write without thinking, "When was Starn born and where, and what about Olmos, or...." Plenty of pantsing going on in this installment, which won't be the case in the next novel, and I need to decide when that story will play out as in the late 1960s or early 1970s. Probably 1971 or '72, but that could change.

Being at this point in the story requires a little consideration; just today I spelled out the focus of the second half, although plenty remains to be told, as well as what I don't know that requires expression. The surprises amid the actually typing are always a thrill, like today realizing the importance of what the protagonist's ship used to be called, as well as that it had a title in the first place. A small detail, but foreshadowing a future link is always cool, especially when the muse plops such nuggets onto the document for me. That's not pantsing, but a gift like finding a twenty dollar bill stashed in a drawer or realizing one more chocolate waits in the packaging. A treat, if you will, that should be savoured not only for its brilliance, but merely that it is.

The above fabric is that way too; I absolutely love the colour, the design, the whimsy. Not sure if my sister appreciates flowers as much as she does Halloween, but I do, and to spread some floral beauty among ghosts, spiders, pumpkins, and the like makes this quilt truly from my heart. I don't put Made by Me tags on my quilts, but flowers are essential. Perhaps I need to squeeze some alien blooms into my novel; we'll see what emerges in the next batch of chapters!

Blackberries for the (emotional) win!

Come to me my pretties, hehehe!

Amid fires here up north and a tropical storm far to the south and east, my home state is feeling the brunt of nature's power. I'm feeling better thankfully; all it took was getting off my butt and spending two of the last three afternoons picking blackberries. And quilting, writing, and prayer of course.

But to be honest, as soon as I wrote the previous post, then explored the horizon for blackberries, my mood shifted upward. In two days, an hour each afternoon, I gathered nearly five quarts, about sixteen cups' worth. I gently wash them, basically swirling about a cup and a half at a time in tepid water, then drain them, freezing them first on baking sheets lined with parchment paper for about four hours, then transferring them to plastic freezer bags. All those steps lifted my malaise, especially when combined with elements of my life that usually bring me the the most joy.

Momentary lows beset everyone, the blues for whatever reason creeping upon my heart, perhaps only to get me to start harvesting summer's bounty. I'll pick again this afternoon, slowly wandering from plant to plant, carefully plucking the fruit that comes right off the vines, discarding what slips too easily, lol. Sometimes I collect berries that could have used an extra day or two; they are pink after the initial freezing, but oh well. Most of my haul is fine, some of it a little past fine. A good mix and so many remain, not counting all the green ones. If those properly ripen, OMG we'll have berries coming out our ears all winter long!

I am not an outdoorsy kind of gal, if you haven't noticed. My pastimes revolved around desks and tables and cozy sofas. But being pushed out of that comfort zone is necessary, both in being surrounded by nature and stretching myself within my beloved hobbies. My fictional WIP is veering into a little action-adventure; I wrote a chapter of that genre this morning with which I am pretty happy. In the fabric realm, I'm gearing up for an autumn of angles, whoo-boy! Truth be told, I'll spend this fall learning how to sew angles properly, or I'll do my utmost to keep pointy as many triangles as possible. My marigolds are still blooming, meaning the deer have yet to find them, another victory. Our amaryllis belladonna flowers are just starting to edge their way from the ground. Both my husband and I thought they should have been growing already, but having checked last year's photos, they won't be out in full until September, which is NEXT FREAKING MONTH ALREADY, dude! I hadn't copied pictures from my phone all year long, ahem, and spent much of last night doing so. Photos from late April and early May seem so innocent, in that the days were lengthening, the sky so brightly blue, the sense of summer's approach like a lover's return from ages of absence. Now our skies are murky gray from smoke and lessening light, definitely a season's end in sight. The blackberries are ripe for the picking, autumn knocking on the door.

Despite summer being my favourite season, I am ready for change. Ready for amaryllis to explode not only at my place but all over Humboldt County. I'm jazzed for slow-cooker soups and yummy stews and maybe even making a little bit of jam, we'll see how our ancient apple tree provides. I'm anticipating visits from and to the grandkids, hearing of new teachers and classmates. I'm eager to revel in some previously owned but new to me items of apparel, my autumn wardrobe getting a makeover. And I'm ready to no longer feel horribly guilty about being in the house when the weather is so beautiful outside, although last fall the days were gorgeous through most of October; we joked that this day was THE LAST NICE DAY, then another followed just as pleasant. By then the blackberries will be done, the amaryllis fading, the irises cut back and perhaps even culled. The garden will be long finished, but we'll ponder the almost daily green bean collections, as well as a few last strawberries enjoyed. Probably by October I'll have finished my novel, maybe even started the fourth of my series. I have high hopes, but nothing firmly set in stone. Life changes as we blink. Best to roll with the punches and celebrate the berries, for despite copious plants, plenteous cotton prints, and a plethora of plot lines, these exact moments will not come again.

Life speculation

Finished quilt top.

A quilt came together yesterday afternoon wholly out of the blue. I've been feasting my eyes on a placemat made of scraps from sixteen-patch blocks that have been languishing in a stack upon some surface area in my office. Those nine blocks merely required pinning, stitching, then pressing, but it hadn't been pressing within my soul to do all of that with them, lol. After lunch and laundry folded, I took stock of that stack, brought up the photograph below, snapped back in May when I decided their placement. Confirming which block went where, I pinned, stitched, then pressed. Suddenly I had a forty-eight inch square quilt, ta da!

But I wasn't finished; forty-eight inches all the way around was a little small. Scrounging through scraps recently used, I came up with twenty-eight squares, made a top, then a bottom row, then spent the rest of the afternoon completing the quilt, which included ironing the entire top, what with rows pressed up, down, and side-by-side.

By suppertime a quilt was photographed on the laundry line. Meanwhile there was laundry to put away, guest beds to make, our bed too. Dinner to prep, a whirlwind of activities, but somehow a little quilt emerged. I would love to find it a new home, but I'm nervous about the narrow-for-linen seam allowances, and for now it will reside here, unless a very brave soul wishes to liberate it, lol.

I wrote another chapter today, a little bit of fits and starts, kinda aggravating in that before the writing break I was so in a groove. Things could be worse; currently my husband is suffering greatly from either a whopper head cold or massive allergies. I'm hoping it's the latter, as I don't want to get sick. After lunch I pulled out all my flannel and minky scraps and arranged a backing, then proceeded to sew that together. Then I dug through large batting scraps, found three strips of the correct lengths and widths, but the sun was out and I felt slightly guilty for hunkering inside when a gorgeous day beckoned, So now I'm typing this on the back patio, a mild breeze blowing, birds chirping, marigolds blooming. These were started from seed back in mid June when our grandson visited and somehow the deer haven't found them (yet).

For all my getting stuff accomplished, be it crafty or wordy or fold a lot of laundry-like, I'm not feeling happy. My mood isn't sad or depressed, more of a huge dose of MEH shoved down my throat. I don't know why; the weather has been marvelous, our recent guests were fabulous, and hey the washer works! Other than my husband's malady no one in my family is terribly sick. Maybe I'm just in a mid-fifties funk, which certainly occurs once in a while. I'm behind in my sleep, that I know, and if I was smart (and really brave) I'd give up (or at least severely curtail) my caffeine intake, AHEM.

Or maybe it's just that every once in a while life feels hard. Fruitless. Rootless. Those big existence queries seem to weight many tons; why am I here, what's the purpose, etc, etc, etc. Normally I don't ponder too hard those inquiries; I live a life of grace and try not to get all worked up about what is beyond my control. But I'm also very human. I make mistakes. And every once in a while those big questions trip me up. Why am I here, why do I write, or sew, or do laundry? Okay, the last one is easy. But the other two.... 

I like keeping busy, I dislike being idle. Maybe I need to slow down and find joy in just BEING. Writing is great and quilts are cozy, but there is more to life than those activities. LOL. Recently I've incorporated stretches for my back and hips into my daily routine, and while i felt better physically, it was DAMN DIFFICULT to make the time for those necessary elements because I felt I wasn't accomplishing anything tangible. Making peace with exercises took weeks, perhaps another round of personal peace talks needs to occur. A meditative accord, if you will. Maybe over a lovely cup of decaf even; I'll let you know how it goes.

(Postscript... After writing this I got off my keister and picked about eight cups of wild blackberries. It was a slow process, as I didn't wish to rip up my hands, but very pleasurable and mind-clearing. Said berries are washed and in the freezer. And boy it's healing to be outside in the sunshine.)