Still blocks to stitch

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One finished side block, another underway.

Despite beginning to stitch edge pieces to Mandolin blocks, other edge pieces remain left to hew together. Sometimes it feels like hewing, lol, but I am grateful to have underway the joining process for said quilt!

Which, as these things occasionally go, might not take as long as I thought because when sewing blocks, be they half or quarter-sized, all those little and large pieces need to be attached in a whole, of sorts, half or quarter element notwithstanding. But drawing all those blocks into a WHOLE is merely stitching edges to one another. And yeah, that's some hefty handsewing, but not quite as much as I thought previously.

So that means this Mandolin quilt top *could* be completed before the end of the year. Which if you'd asked me a few days ago, I'd have shaken my head, smirking. Next year fer shure, I'd have smiled.

Future Me is smiling, I see her almost breaking into giggles. Not sure over what, but something has her in happy stitches. Dare I ask? What the hell? What's so funny, I query.

She calms, chortles, then smiles. Just how certain you are of yourself, then constantly finding how erroneous are your calculations.

Oh My Goodness, she has me (or rather us, lol) pegged perfectly! I am quite often assuming this or that about this or that, and quite often finding I am quite WRONG. Not in an I should have my arse kicked kind of way mistaken, but HOW MANY TIMES do I confidently think or state blah blah blah, then said blah blah blah falls to the wayside.

Don't beat yourself up over it, she smirks. We'll probably do it till we die.

I roll my eyes, then breathe deeply. How old is this version of Future Me, I immediately wonder. No gray hair, other than the few I currently possess right north of my ears. She wears glasses, which I do more and more, although I'm not wearing any in writing this while seated at my computer in the office.

She frowns at me, then crosses her arms over her chest. I might be in the future, she sighs, but I am not without fault.

For some reason that's a HUGE weight off my shoulders. Perhaps all this time I've thought of her as perfect. Perfect Future Me, now there's a LAUGHING OUT LOUD if ever there was one! I smile, then grow quiet. Will I always assume this or that, then change my mind as though all my previous considerations were those of someone else? I'm doing that right now, vacillating about how to quilt the Lucy Boston quilt. I'd tossed aside the Kawandi notion, then hauled it back from the depths, albeit hedged in partiality. Which is better explained in photos than in text, one of these days. Perhaps vacillate is better than assume. I choose one path, then swing wildly another direction, sometimes doing a one-eighty. Is this some genetic thing or nature or....

Future Me smirks HARD. I don't know any more than you do, all right?

Really? (Is she serious, or just yanking my chain?) Oh, uh, well, o-kay, I blurt.

Again she smirks, then tucks brown hair behind her ears. I see the same amount of white hairs as I own now, so maybe she's not that far ahead of me age-wise. Future Me from next week or November or....

I'm far enough ahead to let you know.... She grins, then drops her arms to her sides. Just keep doing what you're doing. Everything is gonna be okay.

Two side blocks DONE! And a third is half-completed, lol.

I nod, feeling a lightness in my chest, not merely due to quilting placement or edge blocks to hew together. The definition of hew is to chop or cut with an ax, pick, or other tool. Sewing needles seem a bit feeble, but I've poked my right middle digit enough lately that it feels more like I'm using an ax! I've been hewing away at this, that, and how many other stitchy projects, and I won't even bring novels into the fray. Yet even if Future Me is only from later today, all is well. Everything is going to be okay is what she said.

I said gonna be okay, she huffs.

Now I giggle, pleased as proverbial punch. Because she's absolutely right. Everything is gonna be okay.

Gonna, she smirks, walking away.

Going to, I whisper.

One of these days, she chirps, then chortles, stepping out of view. 

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