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More necessary heartspace

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First seven rows are done. The next two are on the work table, awaiting one from the bottom section. So, heartspace . The word came up in conversation a couple of weeks ago when I was pouring out my heart to my beloved. The issue was minor in the grand scope, yet meaningful, in that what we discussed didn't tax my intellect, but severely strained my, well, heart. Certain things we can wrap our brains around, but that inner chest muscle is a different organ entirely. When I put the above fabrics on the design wall, it was merely to decorate the space, and that stack of fabrics was within easy reach; I cut them last year when making a banner in October for probably the second No Kings protest. When I cut fabric, I tend to CUT FABRIC, because it's a process. It's gathering various prints that make me happy, then placing that stack near the ironing board, where I'll press them, cut them, and repeat until it's time to do something else. It takes a few days, in that it r...
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Necessary heartspace

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All that I write is a gift from God. Here's a sample of what I mean, a chapter from Nothing More Complicated: The Hawk Book Four .       Chapter 90   In the small room, Stanford paced between where his sisters sat and where Laurie stood, but Stanford didn’t approach where his father leaned forward in his chair near Constance’s bedside. Stanford kept his distance from his parents, in that he didn’t wish to disturb his dad, and his mother was near death. Stanford had never seen anyone die and hadn’t wanted to begin that ritual with one of his own relatives, much less his mother. Yet, there had been no way to excuse himself from this place at this time. Late on Monday, March eleventh, Constance Margaret Houseman Taylor would leave this world, but Stanford had no idea where she might be going. He’d had to cancel his appointments, well, Miss Harold had cancelled them, all but one. Stanford had personally called Dr. Walsh, but they would meet again on Thursday, at t...
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Meanwhile.... Chickens!

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Our first All hens laid an egg day! This was a few days ago, on the fifth. Yesterday again all eight chickens laid eggs. Maybe this doesn't seem blog-worthy, especially in the light of current world events. My prayers are with those suffering from abject cruelty all over this planet; strife isn't limited to one nation or continent. Yet much hope and goodness remain! And in my realm, a sliver of that golden sunshine are eight chickens, less than seven months old, laying eggs as well as enjoying free range freedom for much of the day. Camilla leads most of the posse a day or so ago. Photo courtesy of my husband. Well, most of daylight. We're only getting nine-plus hours currently, but in those hours, the hens are foraging without supervision and they are LOVING IT. That system has been the norm since maybe the second of January? Here it is, already the eighth, and I can't even recall what day we said, to ourselves of course, "You know, I don't want to stand out ...
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First Monday of the new year

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Which is kind of irrelevant, but my husband and I chatted about it yesterday, how the holidays were officially over, although tomorrow is Epiphany. After tomorrow, I'll put away the nativity sets and few random Christmas baubles. Christmas placemats, coasters, etc, have been landing in the laundry, then are tucked away. For all the December hub-bub, the trinkets seem irrelevant once New Year's is passed. Yet.... A deeper flame burns in my heart, a renewed pulse of my faith, of Christ, of a life lived not for self. Of a wisdom that makes no sense in what the world views as success, what I read about last night in 1 Corinthians 1:1-25. And in reading aloud a chapter from Nothing More Complicated: The Hawk Book Four , I am reminded how the horrors of this world are recycled time and again because we as a human race can't seem to grasp that love matters most. Not power or money or whatever seems to churn the engines of governments. This time last year I was swamped by last-min...
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