Lucy Boston blocks

Sometimes I forget key moments in my life, like the first book I wrote (and finished) after my brother Joe died, autobiographical in nature. It's tucked away in my computer under the file name enchilada, as in the Whole Enchilada, if you get my drift. I thought about it recently, not sure why other than Joe died when I was thirty-one, which isn't far from when I was twenty-nine, which indeed has been rattling around my gray matter. Maybe if I gather the guts and gumption to read that over that someday, I'll post my thoughts, but that's not what this entry is about. Today I'm rambling about lost EPP blocks, which perhaps subconsciously is connected to someone long gone.

Just a sample of a project from what feels like eons ago....

These Lucy Boston blocks are super scrappy, hardly fussy-cut, and languishing at the bottom of a tote specifically for orphan English paper piecing blocks. I had spare minutes before leaving for the dentist this morning, so first I Googled Lucy Boston images, then I retrieved the blocks, laying some on my work table. I certainly don't have the impetus to go the whole Lucy Boston attaching block route, but I could hook them together with single honeycombs, one-inch squares, and three-inch squares. I hauled out three or four bags of pre-cut fabrics with papers included, then realized I needed to confirm that my dental insurance card was in my wallet. It was, then I departed, returning with a new toothbrush, toothpaste, and appointments for another cleaning in six months as well as a crown, dang! And more musings about the future of Lucy Boston blocks.

Past Me clears her throat. "That was a lot of work stitching all those blocks, you know."

"I know," I say. "Um, thanks."

She smirks, then shrugs. "You've moved way past that pattern. I'm not bothered if you, you know...."

"If I what?"

"If you, well, don't do anything with them."

I sigh, because another option is to machine applique them onto solid squares, then sew those together and here's a finished quilt. Except that the honeycombs are one-inch and OH MY GOODNESS that would be a lot of fits and starts of the presser foot every inch to turn the fabric. Not that hand-stitching papers would be any less of a hassle, as I'd still have to turn the whole thing every inch. But hand-stitching is so much quieter than my machine, and after having just returned from the dentist, my ears are buzzing merely from the patient in the next room having a load of drilling done. Gotta remember my earplugs next time.

So, yeah. Lucy Boston blocks. Maybe if I had used slightly bigger honeycombs, like 1.5 inches, but one-inch papers are futzy. Tedious. They're what a novice might choose, in that they're not big, but now I know what I like with EPP; two-inch papers or bigger, although four inches requires a little dab of glue stick. Still, I don't like leaving projects in a lurch. Or a lurch lasting more than half a decade. These LB blocks have been in my sphere a LONG TIME.

I could try hand-appliqueing them, but that is one type of hand-sewing I'm not keen on; I only do it for hexie shirts and onesies. Still, I could make the attempt to know for certain I don't want to do it. Equally I could machine applique a block, again to cement a yes or no in my head. If I didn't have over half a dozen projects I LOVE, then I would wrap up this quilt. But more intriguing shinies make me squint from their adorable brightness, my heart pounding to complete the Cornflower quilt or work on Ice Cream Soda, or faff around with Lavender, or what about the dang quilt on the wall that needs to be sewn into attached rows so a certain baby quilt can get underway....

Future Me clucks about that, and I nod sheepishly while Past Me bastes honeycombs but doesn't say a word. Then I ponder this notion: Currently I have over a dozen sewing and writing projects in an ongoing manner. What does this say about my present creative mental state? Have I stretched myself too thinly, am I not wishing to actively complete this, that, or three other projects? Or is right now one of the rare times I need a plethora of THINGS TO DO, and if so, why? Twenty-nine times two isn't that big of a deal I shrug, not glancing at Future or Past Me to see if they are rolling their eyes. All these marvelous distractions keep me from boredom. Doesn't Lucy Boston deserve her place in the stitching sun?

Or does she? Time will tell, I guess. Well, I know it will. Future Me nods, then stares ahead, not giving anything away.