Seam ripping

Alterations afoot.

Think of it as HEAVY DUTY EDITS. Or maybe what someone experiences when the rug is pulled out from under them. Or Risks Take Rake Omg.... Whatever it is, it's not in-the-moment fun. But ultimately it hurts less than beating one's head against a wall.

Or maybe it doesn't; I can't assume or presume anything right now. All I can do is accept that hand-stitching an Alexandria quilt isn't for me. Realizing that late last night, then fully grasping the concept (and my seam ripper) today mid morning has been a huge decision; this EPP project had barged in like an overbearing character, muscling their rather expansive quilty self onto an already crowded fabric docket. I acquiesced because 1) I always wanted to make this pattern and 2) Why not? When writing, I don't shy away from those pushy, unexpected characters who always seem just what my story requires. I'm thinking Ronan from That Which Can Be Remembered or Seth in The Hawk, folks necessary to those tales although I had no idea they needed to be included. Alexandria was the same, or so I thought. But now with two blocks only attached yesterday firmly DETACHED, a deep-ish sewing peace flows through me. It doesn't quite blunt the chill which lingers, but it's welcome.

I'm not going to ponder what happens to the finished blocks, nor shall I mull over fabric purchased or diamonds basted. I have considered what to do with the inner circle, pictured below with seven of the twelve blocks; I laid this out just yesterday morning, surprised I had more than half the hexagon blocks done. Little did I know by evening's end this would be the only snapshot taken of this quilt-but-not-a-quilt.

The light blue inner bit will eventually be appliqued onto a large piece of fabric, probably a couple of them sewn together unless I use a wideback solid. It's pretty and I'm glad to have made it. Will make for a nice lap/baby quilt, one of these days.

But its original purpose no longer appeals. Maybe it was merely to forge the center, make the attempt. Like an unfinished novel, it was to put into practice but in a truncated manner that didn't require more than what it is. Sometimes lives are like that too, those who pass far too soon for our liking, be those years in the couple of decades or several. What remains is a beautiful mosaic that needs to be appreciated exactly for what it is, not for what we wish had emerged. 

Easier to rip out seams than reattach heart strings, which remains far beyond my abilities....