Anna Scott Graham's Blog, page 9

Going, going, not going

Shortly after writing the previous post, I decided not to join my daughter and her family on their holiday. It was the best choice, albeit not easy, yet I felt peaceful afterwards, and was glad to have made the decision without further stewing about it.

Today I am REALLY GLAD I'm not going because my knee is VERY ACHY. A visit to the orthopedist is in the works, and I'm ready to acquiesce to whatever will fix the issue, which is probably a further tear in the meniscus. The last two days haven't been bad, but I took ibuprofen three hours ago, with no relief. Such is the way of aging, just have to accept the less stellar moments as they emerge.

I snapped this a couple of days ago during a break in the rain.

To my delight, the nasturtium has bloomed (pictured above), although once again it's raining, which will be the case tomorrow. Which is great for keeping me inside reading through Brave the Skies one more time, a probable release date of next Monday on my calendar. If I'm going to be home, best to put that time to good use. I've added the Lucy Boston blocks to the prepped back and batting, will sneak in a few orphaned EPP blocks as well as some large basted triangles and hexagons, then I can start sewing that quilt of grace, pictured below. I've noticed mild pain in my right shoulder, from the shingles, when hand-stitching for English paper piecing, but fortunately hand-quilting sewing, what I do for Kawandi, employs a slightly different set of muscles. My goodness, when it rains it often pours, literately and figuratively.

In the open spaces I'll affix the orphan blocks. Going to be a very colourful quilt!

As it's the last day of March, I'm pondering what happened ten years ago at this time, the passing of my dad after a long bout with cancer as well as congestive heart failure. He was seventy at the time, odd to think of him as an eighty-year-old. I was nearing forty-nine back then, already an abuela, moving about with ease. Ten years makes a big difference once fifty hits. Both my parents have passed, two elder brothers-in-law also deceased. My cholesterol was high in my recent lipid panel, but the good cholesterol was too, cancelling out the immediate need for statins. My decent AC-1 number assisted in the doctor's decision to spare me taking daily medication, all the things that come with getting older. If I need surgery to repair the meniscus, so be it. Beats hobbling around, let me say.

Not much else to note; lately it's been rain, health concerns, edits, some sewing. I have several orphaned EPP blocks, but most are too large to use for the Grace Quilt. Instead I'll turn them into coasters, Kawandi-style. I made one from flag leftovers, I just need to wash it. This is definitely a time to embrace what is pleasing while grinning and bearing that which pains. Maybe that's why a quilt of grace is necessary. Time moves forward, no moment static. Our memories permit us to linger over this or that event, yet we are firmly right HERE; a rainy dark day, some pain, but a healing stretch awaits for the physical and emotional aches. I'm inching toward fifty-nine years, but Mom didn't even hit sixty-eight, proving life is precarious. Best to utilize my time and talents accordingly.

Shingles mild, knee balky, blocks coming together

The title says it all. Yes I have shingles, but it's a very mild case and I'm on an anti viral. My knee is achy unless I take ibuprofen. Mandolin blocks are designed, and I left out the fabrics, (pictured above) also used for the Myrtle quilt, which needs four blocks arranged, which I'll sort later today.

But not everything makes it onto this blog; in a week I'm supposed to join my eldest daughter's family on holiday. Flight is involved, travel out of our home state. Suddenly my participation is in doubt, especially for how wonky my knee feels this morning. Shingles isn't the issue, or it's not at this moment, lol. More is how feasible is loads of walking when one's meniscus is dodgy.

How difficult is life when delightful plans are thrown askew by ailments (and I won't mention an abysmal government); it's not a crisis of MASSIVE proportions, yet I am stymied by what to do, or more rightly I am (not so) patiently waiting until Monday to make a decision. The flight and my hotel room can be cancelled, so that's relieving, but the notion of not sharing that getaway with beloveds ISN'T what I'd imagined when this trip was initially organized. Shingles, really? Messing up my knee by half an hour of weeding, seriously? Well, three days of forty minutes of weeding, but good grief! Yet these impediments are in the road, my road, and I can't ignore them. All I can do is give them another couple days, then....

Then I'll listen to my heart, and go, or stay, where it indicates. I haven't packed, although a list is lengthy. I haven't checked the destination's weather since finding that tell-tale rash on my left shoulder. All I've done is see a physician, get a prescription, then take it easy. I cut most of yesterday's fabrics, or a good half of them, while seated at my work table. I haven't enjoyed my daily walk, though I'll probably go out this afternoon. I've ingested pain meds and the anti viral, both of which are doing what they're supposed to do, for which I am GRATEFUL. And of course, I have prayed for healing, patience, guidance, and to cheerfully accept what I didn't anticipate. 

One rarely expects the Spanish Inquisition, you know.

What did/do I expect is a curious query. I expect to gracefully accept whatever comes my way, albeit with a smirk or slight scowl attached if the result is staying home. If the answer is to travel, I'll take all fortifications I can squeeze into the luggage, as well as the honest attitude of This isn't going to be the holiday I thought it was. Yet, when is life exactly as we think it's gonna be? Raising chickens huh, where'd that idea come from? Kawandi quilting, what the heck is that about? No writing for over a year and a half, are you kidding me? Publishing three novels in less than three months, no freakin' way! And that's just what I've experienced since the start of the year, not to mention sewing flags, joining protests, contacting my congressional reps.... Um yeah, 2025 has been one WEIRD year. Why not add shingles and an aggravated meniscus to the pile.

What happened to my Alexandria quilt being completed this year, huh? Where's all the Enran Chronicles books I'm itching to draft? How am I supposed to clear garden space for flowers if I can't even be on my knees for a few hours on a few straight days? (Not to mention clean the shower, ahem, but that's not a major loss, lol.) Life is TEEMING with the unexpected, inexplicable, the surprising and unplanned and at times wholly infuriating and at other times wholeheartedly MARVELOUS. We plan and God decides is one mantra, and often I embrace that, usually after something previously arranged goes pear-shaped. More to occur is my quiet, usually thankful acceptance of this, that, or another shiny that pops out of the wild blue yonder, for I am creeping toward fifty-nine years of age, this ain't my first rodeo of shite or miracles happening. And yes, it's unfortunate I wrote shite before miracles, because the miraculous SHOULD come first, but my knee aches and my shoulders feel itchy/twitchy and I really wanna go on holiday with my family, but somehow I don't think that's gonna happen.

Or if it does, I'll be limited, but better to be limited than not with them at all. Better to be planning out the ends of English paper piecing projects than fretting about them dwelling in totes forever. Better to be actively engaged with like-minded Americans than to be stewing in silence, although my balky knee precludes much marching at rallies. Next Saturday either I'll be on a plane, or hanging out at home while family heads for their brief vacation and many within my nation gather to protest the current administration. Which fork in the road remains undetermined on this Saturday morn.

Patience, Future Me whispers. Stay the course, she adds.

Uh-huh, I nod, wondering if I should take some pain pills.

Finish your chapters, she smirks. Then if you need something.... She walks away, fully aware of what happens in seven days, but not proffering me any hint. Which means: Wrap up this post, get back to Brave the Skies: The Hawk Book Two, then see how the knee feels. And on this marvelous, miraculous life goes....

More done than I thought

How can I NOT finish this quilt?

Mandolin musings....

So a couple days ago, probably right after I wrote the previous entry, I considered using six-point diamond papers from my Mandolin pattern for Alexandria, which is in desperate need of diamonds. I've been pondering the Mandolin EPP quilt-in-progress, as well as the Myrtle design, Lavender, Ice Cream Soda, ummm... Lots of English paper piecing WIPs, and sometimes I rob Peter to pay Paul, so to speak, to keep them all supplied as I don't have exact kits for each. The Mandolin quilt, blocks pictured above, is my second version of this pattern, and the first one I actually use the proper kit to construct, lol. Why not steal some diamonds for Alexandria, then get to work on that, I blithely considered.

Until I found I had finished eight Mandolin blocks! I thought I had maybe five, six tops. But eight, out of the dozen I had planned, wow! Slight guilt crept over me as I examined them, all made from autumnal Art Gallery fabrics, Karen Nyberg's Earth Views prints, and random Kona solids in earthy shades. I found another block just needed to be basted and stitched; that would leave three blocks, plus the connecting sections, then Mandolin #2 would be DONE.

I have made the executive decision to set aside Alexandria (once again, poor thing!) to complete this Mandolin quilt. The kit came with enough paper pieces to configure twenty blocks, but that's a LOT of large blocks, for a large quilt, and honestly I'm too in love with Kawandi to put that much effort into an EPP project. Also curtailing my enthusiasm is that while the fabrics I chose are very pretty, I prefer primary hues, also a more scrappy vibe. This Mandolin isn't for a particular recipient, but if I choose not to keep it, that's absolutely fine. Yet I can't give it away until I finish it, so....

So now I'm on a different mission, unplanned but just as pleasant as working on something else. Which is often how life goes, like when you're searching for something, but discover a different missing item. I don't even know when I started this version of Mandolin, at least a couple of years ago, and when basting the papers last night for block #9, I was a little cross with Past Me for not cutting the fabrics with a more generous seam allowance. She huffed, noting that when those prints were cut I seemed JUST FINE with a scant allowance. Future Me smirked, adjusting her glasses, while I basted very precisely, noting to all listening that when I design the last three blocks, the seam allowances will be nice and WIDE.

Meanwhile, the chicken plan continues to gain steam. We've found a style of brooder we like, and will purchase it with enough time to test it out for proper heat output. And...I think I have shingles again. I endured a mild-ish case in spring of 2019, got the vaccine later that year, had a tiny touch of it in spring of 2020, then nothing until this year. The Shingrix vaccine is allegedly good for up to seven years, so I wonder if having Covid last summer messed with my immunity. I'm seeing my doc today for confirmation, but dangit, this is a BFD (big fat drag).

Happy Thursday everyone, no matter what's happening in your sphere.

Grateful for spring

For MANY reasons I have been especially thrilled for lengthening days and warmer temps, although gobs of rain have stymied a bit of spring's arrival, or the sense of its presence. The last two days have been GLORIOUS, and today will also be lovely. Tomorrow a little less bright, but certainly warm, then rain returns. This has been one of the wettest March's I can recall.

One question is will April remain soggy, or will it dry up as though winter never occurred, as the last two April's have been. Won't know that answer for over a month, but it will be fascinating to discover. In the meantime, I have books to peruse, currently focused on The Hawk Book Two, which I began reading aloud today. Brave the Skies is the title; I'm still getting used to each installment having a title, lol. I'm also becoming accustomed not only to the joys and healing properties of spring, but of an idea my husband introduced a few weeks back that has been growing on me. We're considering getting baby chicks at the end of May, entering the realm of hosting chickens upon our property!

A few days ago I asked him what had brought on this notion of being keepers of chickens, and he smiled, said he couldn't actually recall. When we purchased this place, the previous owner had chickens in a well-maintained coop, but we didn't want to continue that activity, in part we weren't going to be immediately living here full time, nor could we fathom adding that to the long list of items needed to maintain/upgrade. It was enough to have chosen this lot and home, and despite being raised on a farm, one that did indeed include chickens, I had NO DESIRE to deal with chickens. LOL! Yet, now I, um, do.

We'll see how that pans out, both the getting chicks, then raising them. We've investigated our local feed and seed shops, gathered information from relatives and friends as well as online and through videos. I think that's probably what stoked his interest, watching chicken videos, hah!  One can learn just about anything from various sources, how I began quilting certainly. But quilts don't require feeding or watering, they look after themselves quite well, as do books. Chickens will be another force altogether.

And assuming they become part of the family, they'll end up on the blog. I've already decided to name some, characters from Far Away from Home lending their monikers; Sooz and Squee are top of my list, as well as Gracie, which was the name of a gorgeous fragrant rose we had in Silicon Valley. We're hoping to start with eight chicks, and I'll wait to bestow these names until the chicks exhibit said personalities. We're favouring docile breeds that aren't broody, depending on what's available in our area.

So nice to find a couple of flowers close to opening!

Chickens, dude! In the meantime, one of my volunteer nasturtiums is almost ready to bloom, and I have the border attached for my next Kawandi quilt. More about that in a future entry, as spring continues sharing its healing propensities, thanks be to God!

A long time coming

The last Lucy Boston block DONE! The inner honeycombs are from the Maine fabric store, some not bad fussy cutting if I do say so myself, hehehe.

Sometimes things you don't think you're going to finish get completed. Quilts, books, um.... Well, for me quilts and books are what I enjoy most as pastimes, and washing dishes and doing laundry are in a constant cycle of gathering, then getting sorted, so books and quilts it is.

Okay, rainy weather too. We have had HEAPS and GOBS of rain this month, which is already on the twenty-third day, how the heck did that happen? Where has March gone, or is going, and am I actually going to put thirty Lucy Boston blocks to use and close that quilty-EPP chapter of my life?

Yes, I believe I am. Dang, that's a weird, unpredicted aspect of this year!

Okay, just a little bit of backstory on my Lucy Boston experience. In 2018, when I started English paper piecing, I bought 1.5" Dritz hexagons from Joann, stiff and easy to baste but a bear to fold when sewing blocks together. At some point that year, or early in 2019, I moved onto honeycombs from Paper Pieces, less stiff and certainly smaller. I chose to make blocks for a Lucy Boston design, ordering fabric and more papers from a quilt shop in Maine, if I remember right, as they sold Lucy Boston kits of four different fat-quarter sized prints and the accompanying papers from Paper Pieces in Kentucky, which I do like for many of my EPP projects. They're about the same prices as Jodi Godfrey's Tales of Cloth papers yet the shipping is far cheaper, especially if you order $50 or more, then it's free. The papers are thicker than Jodi's and at times seem just a smidge bigger, but maybe that's just me. I use them interchangeably, but over the years I've become more fond of Jodi's papers for the ease of folding them, that slender difference in thickness noticeable, especially the smaller the papers are. And I'm TRULY finding that now using one-inch honeycombs.

Yet five or six years ago I knew so little about EPP, other than I LOVED IT! I employed fancy fabric and random scraps as I cut slips of prints for those small honeycombs, using a homemade fussy-cutting device I fashioned from cards included in stamps bought online to keep the stamps from being folded. Heavier than cardstock and certainly thicker than the Dritz papers from Joann, I played around with fussy cutting, those fabrics from Maine geared toward that level of futziness, lol. Yet I preferred the scrappy nature of making Lucy Boston blocks because, well, I'm not that detail oriented. Better to cut fabrics, then bag them with papers so I could sew them.

Except that quickly I found other patterns more to my liking, Jodi's papers easier to use. The Lucy Boston quilt lost its appeal, ending up in a tote. Occasionally I made a block, all the while wondering why I was spending my time on a project that no longer stirred my heart. The enthusiasm was wholly absent, replaced by a sense of duty. Yet not that of me kicking and screaming my way through the stitching, more like reminding myself that small stiff papers, even those from Kentucky, weren't my thing, and yet, why not do just a wee bit of sewing on it instead of fully abandoning this project....

Anyways, last summer when I had Covid I stitched a few, but one was left aside, stacked on the totes under my sewing table. I stared at it occasionally, curious to its purpose. Then I picked up Kawandi, incorporating the Red Sky at Night blocks. I ADORED that process, then suddenly one day, fairly recently, I gazed at that unfinished Lucy Boston block and thought, "AHA! I'll gather all the prepped pieces, stitch them, then make that quilt ala Kawandi!"

And now with the last block sewn, and a backing and batting waiting on the guest bed and blocks arranged, maybe I will do just that.

You will, Past Me asks.

Uh, maybe, I reply.

A quilt of grace indeed, Future Me mutters under her breath.

Yeah, I agree.

You're crazy, Past Me chuckles. That's one big-assed Kawandi quilt you're talking about.

I, uh, realize that, I answer.

It'll be fine, Future Me says, glaring at Past Me.

You're both nuts, Past Me chortles, returning to making an EPP quilt, looks like the autumnal Cherish from Jodi Godfrey.

I gaze at her handiwork with fondness, in that I was making those blocks when my SIL and BIL visited in 2019. He thought they were beautiful, Stan was his name. Past Me isn't aware Stan only had a few years left to live, funny how the different parts of me know this, that, and the other.

Future Me clears her throat as Past Me still snickers. Past Me doesn't look up, but I gaze at Future Me, who wears a look of all she knows, some of which I am now aware, but the bulk is beyond me, for which I am truly grateful. Finish this post, she says softly, read a couple more chapters of Book Four, then get to that quilt.

Crazy women, Past Me mumbles.

How much grace will be required, I ask, giving Future Me my attention.

Enough, she smiles, walking away.

And I'll have it, I inquire.

She turns back, smirks, then nods. You always do, she adds, shoving her hands in her pockets as she leaves the conversation.

Kawandi coasters (and a little more book stuff)

As I prep Lucy Boston blocks for a BIG Kawandi project, I'm wrapping up loose ends on Far Away from Home: The Enran Chronicles Book Three. Now that the novel is available in major online retailers, I've made a link for it on my books2read page. That I've released three novels since December, I'm remembering more easily how to update that site, lol. In addition to Smashwords, you can find it on Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Everand, and Angus & Robertson. And if I ever feel motivated to put it in print, I'll be sure to let you dear readers know!

In the meantime, I've made two Kawandi-inspired coasters, with another waiting patiently on the work table. They come together so quickly, and QUIETLY. No loud machine with a walking foot, no binding, just a bit of pressing the edges of the backing fabric inward, fitting in some batting, then adding fabric. The larger one below needs to be washed, and I'm curious how much it might shrink. The small one above decorates the coffee table where I stitch at night, and I'm extremely pleased with both!

What I've found in my brief Kawandi journey is how unnecessary bindings seem, although for traditional quilts they are indeed wholly necessary. Yet now I find all my table linens looking trapped within those bindings, all the work that went into them, especially on smaller pieces, feeling so, so.... So much like time wasted. Which sounds awful, it's not their fault! Which also sounds ridiculous, lol, like a quilt binding has feelings. Oh my goodness, this is not what I meant to get into today, but there it is. How many mug rugs or cup cozies have I made, placemats too, all with bindings. Kawandi has liberated me from that essential traditional quilting step, and I am EVER SO GRATEFUL!

Often I link quilt making and writing, but there is no direct comparison I've yet discovered between Kawandi and my style of fiction. Not even pantsing a draft is like Kawandi. It would be like writing the last book first, and writing it from end to beginning. And while I'm all for new methods of crafting, that's excessive. Although.... I still don't know what book of The Enran Chronicles I want to write next, so maybe it's not so wild. Could I actually write the last book next, maybe not from the end to the start, but....

Who knows? Eleven years into my quilting journey, I've landed on a way that's been around for hundreds of years yet is very new to me and has grabbed me so tightly, albeit lovingly, that I can't imagine sitting at my machine making a patchwork quilt top, or placemat, or coaster. I don't want to deal with binding strips, or figuring out the back as though it's an afterthought. Kawandi is like a gentle, necessary breeze drying icky sweat from my body, cooling my mood and easing my burdens.

And isn't that what life is about? I think so, insert smiley face here!

Far Away from Home

I am not a hard-core sci/fi author. I like to dabble in science fiction certainly, yet the notion of that sort of world-building has always felt beyond me. In Far Away from Home: The Enran Chronicles Book Three, set mostly within an outpost upon a distant planet, I developed a society that despite being written in 2023 feels much like America today, an alternate universe gone horribly awry.

That somber premise aside, Far Away from Home is a rollicking adventure, as Noth, a human from present-day Earth, finds himself in the twenty-ninth century millions of miles from where he previously dwelled. Yet Humans reside on Mordan Station on the planet of Enran, and he gains the acquaintance of one in particular. Sooz is a physician; she's also surreptitiously engineering the regeneration of Chelak, a Tyrah citizen who Sooz hopes to keep hidden from the Tyrah authorities, eager to enslave those able of childbearing. Many of Noth's memories from home have been purged from his consciousness, yet he clearly recalls the hypocrisy suffered by women, and longs to liberate Chelak from Enran before the Tyrah abduct her. He also wishes to free Sooz from her self-imposed isolation, and is willing to sacrifice going home to do so.

In his corner is the ageless Donsaret named Squee as well as Dardram, an irritable Human. Opposing them is the duplicitous Chief Ryder Renavier, who at times appears Human, but possesses a hybrid lineage allowing Renavier to change form. As Noth absorbs the rules of his new locale, he also realizes his purpose might be occurring far more quickly than he'd assumed. That accelerated timeline hastens his and Sooz's plan to get Chelak off the planet, yet the Tyrah have other ideas....

Plenty of humor exists as do poignant moments as Noth uncovers Sooz's background. Often Noth feels uncertain of whom to trust; conspiracies and corruption are rampant. Yet Noth is bolstered by The Other, a vital yet odd entity that has taken over his ship, their vines also fond of Sooz. One of them has to stay behind, she tells Noth, as The Other won't permit both to leave. Who stays, who goes, and who exactly can Noth rely upon as a rampage looms, endangering not only Chelak, but the entire populace of Enran.

Hey, hey, hey.... Now that's a wing-ding for you! I knew great trepidation in crafting this novel, mainly in stepping out of my melodramatic Earthen comfort zone. Yet the characters welcomed me warmly, and I am often pondering their fates, as this series has plenty left to explore. Switching between spoken dialogue and internal conversations hearkens back to A Love Story and Life Stories, but Far Away from Home is singular in its danger and intrigue. And copious aliens, lol. But underneath all those differing exteriors beat many hearts wishing for joy and dignity, staples of my prose. Also a layer of faith that Noth embraces and Sooz shuns. And certainly love, which provides the necessary impetus for change. And while not to get ahead of myself, change hovers in Book Four, of which the first chapter is provided at the conclusion. That's planned for an August release, just to let you know.

For now, if science fiction mixed with humor and pathos is your bag, Far Away from Home is available on Smashwords for FREE, as all my novels are priced. Below is the first chapter; please enjoy this exuberant tale, and thanks for reading an indie author!

 

 

 

Chapter 1

 

 

 

Standingat the observation window, Sooz frowned at the odd ship landing on the exteriorpad. It wasn’t a Tyrah vessel, but didn’t look at all familiar. Dardram mightknow its origin, but his mood remained poor and she would pester someone elsefor information if it became necessary.

Pattingher pants’ left pocket, she sighed, then retrieved her pad, scanning messages.Tapping the screen, she studied her patients’ vitals, then closed her eyes,clucking at one in particular. Again she glanced at the large window, then putthe device in her pocket. A jetway emerged through drifting clouds, then wasattached to the peculiar ship, and Sooz sighed inwardly, cracking her knuckles.“As long as you stay away from me, I don’t care who you are.”

Othersnow gathered near her, several species chattering in various languages. Sooztried to ignore their gossip, yet no one else knew what kind of vessel hadlanded. Identities were bandied about, though none spoke of the Tyrah. Finallyan Ahlem tapped Sooz’s shoulder. “Who do you think it is?”

Soozshrugged, pulling back her long dark hair. Curls sprung tightly and she shookout her tresses, wishing for a ponytail. Instead she took a long thin stickfrom her other pocket, twirling her hair atop her head, then maneuvering thestick through the bun. Her curls seemed affixed, and she twitched slightly,then sighed. “Whoever it is, they better have a good reason for being here.”

“Theywouldn’t have been allowed to land otherwise,” a tall being to Sooz’s righthuffed.

“That’sfairly obvious.” Sooz didn’t face the Gonquil, but she shrugged again, thensighed, wishing she hadn’t left the infirmary. If she had stayed put, all ofthis would have been a footnote to her shift. Now she felt as drawn as the restto this spectacle, the jetway still in place against the side of the vessel.How many were departing, what did they want, Sooz wondered, shoving her handsin her pockets. She gripped her pad, wishing for a vibration that would tearher from this spot, but no one urgently needed her, and she grunted softly asvoices in a variety of cadences discussed possibilities.

Allthose sounds were filtered into her brain as discernable speech despite thediffering manners of communication. The only species she couldn’t fullyunderstand was foreign to all on Enran, although at times Sooz was able tocomprehend their…. It wasn’t actual language or the multix would havetranslated it. Instead The Other transmitted a melody that most assumed was howthat species conversed with itself, though some considered its songs only asmusic. Briefly closing her eyes, Sooz permitted a snippet of melody tooverwhelm the cacophony now filling the observation area. Then she grunted,stalking away from the group, heading back to her workstation.

Yeta newcomer’s arrival was all anyone could discuss. By the time Sooz reached theinfirmary she had inadvertently learned one individual had been processed,although that person’s identity wasn’t yet for perusal. Gazing at her patients,Sooz wondered if another species would join this motley crew, most of them herefor basic care. She didn’t ponder the iso unit, then sat at her console,glancing at the display. The same messages she had ignored on her pad filledthe screen and she swiped away those unimportant. Quickly she read ones tomatter, then paused at a missive from Dardram. Sent moments previously, hewanted to know if she was aware another Human was joining their collective.Sooz trembled inwardly, then sighed aloud. She was grateful Dardram’s attentionhad been piqued, but why had a Human made contact here?

Movingfrom the console, Sooz gazed at the clear partition along the wall, herreflection staring back at her. Her hair was a jumble, but stable upon herhead. Her dark eyes were large, rings barely discernable under them. Her nosewas wide, her mouth ample, her cheekbones prominent. She didn’t like how herlower jaw protruded, but that was the only feature displeasing. Her skin wasn’tthe same hue as Dardram’s; his was far more pale, but they were the only Humanscurrently assigned to Enran, and often she found his company preferable toothers, though lately he’d been a miserable sod and she avoided him wheneverpossible. When in a sociable mood, Sooz gravitated to the Ahlems. Sheappreciated their wisdom and sense of humor, as well as their need forsolitude. Dardram had scant wit and even less patience and she vaguely hopedwhoever had landed was here to replace him.

Inwardlyshe berated herself for such insensitivity. Yet she was tired of his continual irritability,he should have known better. She winced, then glanced at a door to a backcubicle. One patient required that privacy, the rest now calling for her. Soozfirst checked those seriously ill, then she approached Hosta, an Ahlem nearingits end of life. “What do you need,” Sooz said softly, grasping Hosta’s hand.

“Whathas happened?” Hosta squeaked.

“Nothing,”Sooz smiled. “Can I get you anything?”

“Youare a terrible liar,” Hosta sighed. “One of my people is nearby. Are they herefor me?”

“I’llcheck.” Sooz released Hosta’s hand, then returned to the console. No newadmittances waited on the screen, though Sooz expected the newcomer to make itsway here eventually. She returned to Hosta, then retrieved a nearby stool,seating herself beside this patient. “No one’s slated to join us,” Soozcrooned. “Perhaps you’re sensing retrieval.”

“Youaren’t getting rid of me yet,” the Ahlem snickered weakly.

Soozchuckled, again grasping Hosta’s hand. “Well good. You’re one of my favorites.”

“Butnot the favorite,” Hosta grinned.

“That’sa long time in coming.” Sooz smirked.

“Perhaps,or not.” Hosta sighed, then squinted. “Regardless, I feel my people near. If itis my time, let me go with ease.”

Soozblinked away tears. “Maybe.”

“Andif another takes my place, may they be as well cared for as what you haveproffered me.”

“Stoptalking like this,” Sooz whispered sharply.

Hostasqueezed Sooz’s fingers, then clucked. “How did you become a physician in thefirst place? Never mind, I don’t mean to pick at you. Check your console, bynow someone must have information.”

Soozwiped away stray tears, then stood, but she didn’t release Hosta’s hand. TheAhlem’s grip felt like a vice, yet not painful, although Sooz didn’t expectHosta to survive much longer. Hosta released Sooz, but a physician didn’timmediately step away, and only when another patient called for care did Soozleave Hosta’s bedside.

 

Anhour later the newcomer was escorted to the infirmary. Sooz nodded at theGonquil who grimaced while making introductions: the being was indeed a Human,but not like any Sooz had previously encountered. “It claims it’s from Earth,”the Gonquil sneered. “Let us know what you discover.”

Soozshrugged at the Gonquil, then quickly assessed her new patient; the being wasprobably male, was definitely young. She led the Human to a nearby gurney, thengestured for the being to sit. It frowned, then spoke, but the dialect wasn’ttranslated. Sooz tapped the side of her head. “Don’t tell me you don’t have amultix,” she huffed.

Againthe being conversed, but still Sooz couldn’t comprehend its words. It soundedangry, also disappointed. Then it sat on the gurney, gripping the bed withforce.

Retrievingher pad, she brought up this being’s file; it had arrived with a documentasserting it was a Human from the past, allegedly from Earth. It had traveledthrough the rift in a ship previously belonging to Enran from eons ago, butalready that vessel’s modifications had been noted. Sooz ignored those details,focusing on one key point, that no multix had been discovered in initial scans.

Sheput the pad on a table next to the gurney, making mental notes that would be relayedinto the database. Her multix permitted that ability and as the being againspoke, she hoped her implant could figure out what it was trying to convey.

Shesighed, the language still indecipherable. Softly she patted the being’s leg,then made eye contact. “My name is Sooz,” she said clearly, pointing atherself. “I can’t yet understand you, hopefully soon. For now I’m going to scanyou for any ailments.” She collected a device from the table, waving it firstat herself, then showing the being the results. It frowned, then shrugged,still grasping the gurney.

Soozfought the urge to roll her eyes, placing the device near the being’s head. Nomultix was located, nor was there any such implant in the being’s upper body.She scanned its trunk, the results making her inwardly tremble. The readingswere indeed of a Human, but not like any she had previously treated. Herphysiology was similar, Dardram’s too, but even they weren’t like this being.

“Youmust be from Earth,” she muttered, digesting the results, then mentallydirecting them into the mainframe. Then she stared at the being. “I’m Sooz,”she repeated. “Sooz,” she then said slowly, tapping at her chest.

“Sooz,”the being said.

“Sooz,”she murmured as a chill spread along her back. The being was male, speaking ina youthful tone. She tapped on her pad, finding in this man’s file his name.“Noth?” she said slowly. “Is your name Noth?”

“Noth,”he answered quickly, pointing to himself. “Noth.”

“Noth,”she muttered, rereading his file. Then she met his eyes, which were gray,stirring a memory. She ignored that flashback, then grasped his hand whichstill clutched the gurney. His fingers were cold, his skin relatively soft. Hewasn’t from anywhere near, yet he seemed…. Sooz released him, then patted hisshoulder. “Speak to me,” she said, making with her hand a talking gesture. “Theonly way we’re gonna communicate is by you talking. Whatever dialect you’reusing, it’s not in our databanks.”

Hebegan to speak, still nothing she could understand, nor did anyone in theinfirmary attempt to translate. But those able to pay attention did so,discussing if it was indeed possible that a Human had breached the rift, andhow had it gained such capable transport?

Justas Sooz thought she might grasp his dialogue, two Gonquils entered theinfirmary. “We need access to it,” one said.

“I’mnot done with my examination,” Sooz said stiffly.

“Enoughinformation has been retrieved,” the other Gonquil announced, coming towardNoth from behind.

Nothleaped off the gurney, backing away from the Gonquils.

Soozstepped between the young man and the Gonquils. “His language can’t yet bedetermined. Until then, I’m in charge of his welfare.”

“Accordingto what treaty?” the first Gonquil asked.

“I’mHuman, so is he,” Sooz grunted.

“Suchdistinctions are irrelevant,” the second Gonquil snorted.

“Notsince Melor was abducted,” Sooz said flatly.

TheGonquils stared first at Sooz, then at Noth, then muttered under their breaths.The first one cleared its throat, then glared at Sooz. “We will be back for it.Do not attempt to allow its departure.”

“Hecame to us,” Sooz said. “But until we can understand him, nobody’s taking himfrom my authority.”

TheGonquils grumbled, then departed. Sooz turned to face Noth, fright apparent inhis face. She hesitated from touching him, then patted his shoulder. “Thesooner I can understand you, the better for all of us.”

“Sooz,”he sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Sooz,”she repeated. “It’s a start.”

 

Seatedin a corner of what must be a medical bay, Noth ate tasteless food, wishing tobe back in Jeannie and Caroline’s care. They had insisted he land here alone,asserting while his ship contained various improvements from the future, thatwas the only aspect of their connection he could share with authorities, mostof which were tall aliens with minimalistic facial features and extremelyunpleasant voices. Only Sooz looked like a human, the rest of the medical bayfilled with a variety of species that Noth inspected only to acquaint himselfwith this…. He was in what Jeannie had claimed was the twenty-ninth century, ina universe so far from what he considered as home it was no wonder the food wasbland and that he was considered a fugitive, but Sooz provided him a glimpse ofthe familiar. Her language wasn’t anything close to what he recalled from home,although it wasn’t the guttural cluck of the tall aliens. Sooz wanted him totalk, probably to prompt the multix she employed like another limb.

Hehad yet to see her make any kind of physical notes about her patients, thoughoccasionally she sat at a console, reading the screen. Noth recognized thewritten dialects scattered about the medical bay and while he was grateful fora minimal level of comprehension, if English wasn’t in the database, it wouldtake time for him to accomplish anything meaningful.

Carolinehad implied that for now, his goal was to become acquainted with this planet,that Dorvuun wasn’t an issue at this moment in time. Noth had balked at beingmade to land here, what was the point he had argued. Yet the women had beenfirm, even Jeannie, with whom he had grown close after the memory sweep. Overreplicated bowls of chicken soup they had shared stories about his mother, butnow Noth put Dana from his mind, although in how Sooz stared at him, hewondered if somehow the women were related. He cleared his throat, thenapproached where Sooz sat at her console. He could vaguely decipher themessages, some about himself, the rest of a personal nature. Then he tapped onthe console, making a typing gesture.

Shestudied his movements, then smiled. She said something he couldn’t understand,but her tone was upbeat as she went to her feet, rummaging through a drawer tothe right of the console. Then she squatted, searching anxiously for what mustbe something akin to a pad. Noth tried to ignore messages still on the display,but someone was asking about him; how Human did Noth appear, what was his trueagenda? He tried inputting information on the console, but was locked out as hehad been in the office where he was initially processed. The officials hadn’tprovided him with a pad there, probably to deny him access to their databanks,which Noth assumed was a security protocol. How the hell are we gonnacommunicate, he wondered. Then he rolled his eyes as Sooz stood, her shouldersslumped, nothing in her hands.

Shegrumbled, plopping into her seat, then tapping on the console. She shrugged andNoth smiled, grateful for a familiar gesture. Sooz gazed at him, a small grinon her face. “Thanks for trying,” he said.

Hertone in reply was apologetic and he chuckled, then cracked his knuckles. As hestarted to walk away, Sooz grasped his shoulder. She cracked her knuckles, thenshook out her hands.

Nothagain cracked his knuckles, meeting her eyes. She nodded, then smiled, thenwaved him off. He sighed, heading back to the corner, but an alien gestured forhim. The being was small, fragile in appearance, and Noth approached slowly.Then it smiled, or what to him looked like a grin. “Do you know who I am?” heasked.

Thebeing’s mood didn’t change, nor did it speak. Then it reached out in thedirection of Noth’s right hand. Noth gently grasped the alien’s digits, feelinga spark of recognition tingle through his fingers.

Thebeing whispered in a cadence Noth had heard Caroline and Jeannie occasionalmurmur. “Are you an Ahlem,” Noth asked.

Hushedconversations stopped as Sooz stood from her chair, joining Noth and the alien.Sooz spoke to the being, then softly grasped their hands, still clutchedtogether. Noth nodded, assuming this being’s life was ending. “I’m sorry,” hemuttered, feeling slightly flustered. “I’m sorry I don’t understand.”

“Sor-ry,”Sooz whispered.

Hestared at her. “You know what I’m saying?”

Tearsfell down her face. “Sorry,” she muttered.

Nothshrugged, then gazed at the alien. No longer was it alive, but that small grinremained in place. Sooz caressed the alien’s cheek, then took a deep breath.She recited something Noth couldn’t comprehend, but it sounded like a prayer.Some spoke with her, their differing cadences and dialects blending like aheavenly harmony. Then Noth gasped as suddenly the deceased disappeared.

“Whatthe hell?” Noth said. “Where’d it go?”

Soozreleased his hand, then moved from the gurney. She closed her eyes, but tappedher foot in a rhythmic pattern. Noth wondered if she was praying or makingmental notes, or allowing herself a moment to grieve. He returned to his seatin the corner, pushed aside the table with his meal, then observed all thosegathered. Some seemed to weep, others spoke softly. A few rolled to theirsides. Sooz opened her eyes, then stared at Noth. He nodded, then spoke. “Again,I’m really sorry.”

“Real-lysorry,” she said slowly.

“Really,”he sighed.

“Real-ly,”she repeated.

Heshrugged. “That word isn’t gonna do us much good.”

She rambled incoherently, then threw up her hands. Noth had no idea whatshe meant and he shrugged, then cracked his knuckles. Sooz had been frowning,but she flashed a smile, cracked her knuckles, then hastily walked to what Nothassumed was her office. But instead of sitting at her console, she steppedtoward the back wall, tapping on a small display. Security protocols werefollowed, then a door slid open and she met his eyes. Then she slipped into thedarkness, the door quickly closing behind her.

A quilt of grace

I'm going to publish a novel tonight, I think. Book Three of The Enran Chronicles is formatted, cover made, blurbs written.... All I need to do is upload it all onto Smashwords, then by morning it will be featured on their home page, lol. Since merging with Draft2 Digital, I have found it takes HOURS for a novel to appear in the Smashwords store. Might as well make time work for me overnight, then find a pleasant surprise tomorrow when I wake.

In the meantime, I have been moved to stitch Lucy Boston blocks, of which I have over twenty-five done. That project was one of my first EPP thrills, but the honeycombs are small (one inch per side), and the papers from Paper Pieces are somewhat stiff. I had tucked away all the finished blocks, but pulled them out today, trying to size up a Kawandi-version and I think it will work. This will definitely be a quilt of grace, because only by God's grace will I get it sorted, LOL! I have four blocks left to make for a total of thirty, and hopefully I'll start a new Kawandi project later this week or early next week.

What exactly is a quilt of grace, you might wonder. It's something I didn't think I needed to make, and only by accepting such grace will it emerge. I especially felt that last night stitching the block above; the dark blue fabric was stiff, and the honeycombs nestled against it were even MORE STIFF, in part that the selvedges of the fabric were included. Made for a LOT of tough fabric to work a needle through, and I used a stout needle instead of my slender EPP needles. Yes I poked my finger, and yes I have bandaids on the coffee table, usually employed as thimbles. Sometimes they are used for their intended purpose.

What I knew during that somewhat difficult stitching was a massive sense of peace, ease, meaning. Even if the sewing was tricky, it was doable, slowly and carefully. I thought about the dark pink fabric from a collection I used in a quilt for my eldest daughter. I considered the navy center honeycombs, that print one I bought years ago at Joann. The other outer print is also from Joann, while the thick sepia toned fabric was from a collection I ordered right after Covid hit. All the Lucy Boston blocks contain similar memories; I cut those fabrics over five years ago, and I am eager to finally give those blocks a quilty home.

We had a heap of rain today, more coming tomorrow and later this week, which is perfect sewing weather. I don't have a book to prep for immediate release, or I won't after tonight, so I can delve deeply into a new Kawandi joy, or work on EPP hearts, or maybe dabble with Alexandria. All these outlets are made possible by grace, varying levels of grace required. Yet grace permeates, because without that beautiful essence, the handiworks lack purpose, sparkle. They lack....grace.

And right now, we need as much grace as we can get.

Thanks be to God, and to Past Me for listening and stitching

I'm a Christian. I don't talk much about my faith directly, though I allude to it. Yet it's the core of my being, and maybe it might be perceived as weak faith from my discretion, but in following the edict of my soul, I don't blare it on this blog.

Today, I'm going to share first what I finished last night, some EPP/Kawandi sewing that I'll use in the kitchen by the kettle. Granite countertops that we didn't install are a nightmare with nice teacups, so I keep the counter covered and my mugs protected with placemat-sized linens. The English paper piecing on this one is some of the first EPP I crafted going on seven years ago. For two years I've been meaning to turn it into something, and a couple of days ago I did just that, finding that once the backing for a Kawandi project is made, that's how big whatever is emerging is going to be. This will be fine for a few cups, keeping nice dishes chip-free and giving me something to hand-sew besides the EPP projects piling on my coffee table.

I do love me some Kawandi-inspired sewing, what a blessing to have found that method of quilting!

Speaking of blessings.... Last night I pulled out my bible, leafing through it for excess bookmarks to use in another bible that screams for page markers. I located a couple of small sheets in the book of Ephesians, notes made in my handwriting from probably over twenty years ago. I've been graced to claim Jesus as my saviour for fifty-three years, but lately I've felt in need of renewal. All the crap in Washington D.C. has been a strain, as you might imagine. Yet in reading over those notes made at some earlier point in my life, I was shaken thoroughly at how clearly I had previously viewed my faith, my life, this gift of grace that boils down the essence of my existence to Love. Long before I began writing books or sewing quilts, I was a woman in her thirties, doing some cross-stitching, raising young teens, homeschooling them in the United Kingdom. Never would I have considered all that might occur in 2025, but firmly ensconced in that year, I am grateful to peek back to the past, grasping a Truth unsullied by all that seems atrocious today.

Anyway, here's what I wrote concerning Ephesians 1:3 - Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ.

This says it all - in Jesus we have everything we need. There is nothing beyond Christ; nothing past Him, and nothing less than Him. For true and real life we need only Jesus, all Jesus, as life is Jesus. This world and all its trappings, decorations, sorrows and joys, is nothing without Jesus - nothing without the love that comes from His cross. It is only through the cross, His cross, that we have life.

In all situations, circumstances, and happenings, we have Jesus. There is not one time that we do not - not one moment where He is absent, not one instance where He abandons us. He is always present, ever with us, and never away from us. We are never alone - every minute, every second He is around us, loving, caring, forgiving, providing and protecting. That is an absolute, and will never change.

What must be altered is out view of our lives - our lives as ours, our lives as a part of this world, our lives outside of Christ, for there is no life outside of Jesus. As John the Baptist said, "He must become greater; I must become less." (John 3:30) We must adopt that view, to fully partake of the goodness and purpose God calls us to. We must humble ourselves to the position of slaves, to best serve our Lord and Saviour Jesus, and to be a true servant to our brothers and sisters in this world. Unless we completely empty ourselves of ourselves, and be completely at God's disposal, we cannot know true peace, for we will always be driven by worldly passions and desires, and the sinful human emotions that are the triggers and drivers of those desires. While we are here on this earth, we will never be completely free from the longings of what we see and want, but we can, every day, pray for the grace to die to self, to carry our own crosses, and come closer to Jesus. Each day we must work toward the prize of heaven, with much joy and eager anticipation; that to see the face of our loving Father will be our ultimate pleasure, and to be wrapped in the wide-open arms of Christ shall be our biggest comfort. By the power and grace of God within us, the workings and strength of the Holy Spirit, we shall be so graced, and will come to God with hearts made right and pure.

Just a little of my headspace, and that of Past Me, during this Lenten season.

Kawandi method quilt finish

I took a shot in the sunshine, but the colours are blown out. Maybe I'll post it below...

However this quilt is labeled, let's call it Made With Love. Yes, it's also Red Sky at Night. It's Kawandi-inspired comfort, and oh my goodness it's free of pins and COMPLETED!

Free of pins, what? Yes, loads of straight pins kept rows (and chunks) mostly where I wanted them, which led to my fingers being pricked more often than I count. Minimal bleeding, lol, and none on the quilt so go me!?! I'm looking forward to making another, probably with Batting Creep Scraps (or whatever I called it in a past entry) affixed, but they will be a neutral shade so I won't feel compelled to include them in the design!

Stitching the center block this morning.

Anyway.... Stitching this has been a pleasure, straight pins notwithstanding. I loved the casual, improv nature. I adored starting with the back, no binding required. I enjoyed the haphazard process, and if I want to talk RSAN, I'm thrilled to have included the only machine-sewn traditional block I fashioned as well as nearly all the smaller blocks, wanting to harness that pattern into something of my own making. It's on the narrow side, currently in the wash, no idea how the shrinkage will commence. Or how structurally it will cope, lol.

That's my only concern, that the integrity will be lacking, but I sewed that quilt STOUTLY. Corners are NAILED, relatively speaking. It feels strange to be done; for a hand-stitched project I sped through it, so loving the method. I have some ideas for the next, but need to reflect upon this new manner of making quilts. Or maybe tomorrow I'll put together a backing for the next one.

PINS! Oh my goodness, that poor bird, or poor me including that bird, HAHAH!

I'm grateful to have incorporated Red Sky at Night into this, because while I wanted to make that quilt as per the pattern, machine stitching is truly not in my current wheelhouse. And honestly, all that futzy sewing, trimming of blocks, etc; meh! Not that this quilt wasn't a bit fiddly, all those scraps revealed, the pre-sewn blocks arranged and so forth, not to mention all the FREAKIN' PINS! Yet the pins allowed me to merely hand-quilt, well, last night I had to constantly push the pins back into place, that was annoying. Otherwise, I savored the ease of weaving a threaded needle in and out of gorgeous, vivid scraps, building a wildly bright quilt that will be employed on the sofa as soon as I get it out of the dryer. Such a wonder to take pieces of cloth, needles, some thread, batting too, then allow the creative process to work its marvelous magic. Voila; here's a pretty quilt for....

Looking as though it's already come out of the wash. Grateful for the sunshine AND a quilt finish!

This one is for me, unless someone comes over and gushes to the point where I smile, then lovingly bestow upon them Red Sky at Night. For now it's mine, until some new shiny emerges. LOL!