Allegedly four blocks remaining

One of the four alleged blocks left to hand-quilt. And one of the four safety pins left to remove....

Last night I did a little hand-sewing on the Quilt of Grace. I'd already made a hexie flower, it was well past my usual time to pick up a new evening project, but something within me said, "You're not that exhausted." Which was true, though I was tired, lol. I ran a lot of errands early that morning, but not before Nadia presented us with her second egg!

Nadia's second egg!

Which is still thrilling, let me say. And this morning, when my husband was giving them breakfast, Camilla was scoping out the nesting boxes (Update: Camilla laid egg #3 today, bless her!). I'm also pleased they are upping their laying times to a.m. and not p.m. And I'm still gobsmacked they are laying at all!

But back to last night and that Lucy Boston/Kawandi mash-up: So I loaded some needles with light blue Coates and Clarks hand-quilting thread, then completed maybe three blocks? It wasn't many, as I was pretty weary, and, well, as sixty approaches, my creative output has suffered. I can't say otherwise, although I will also lay responsibility at the feet of my nation's outrageous government, but I don't wish to go further with that notion. I'm getting older, I can't ignore an underlying stress, and unlike my feisty hens, this abuela isn't a spring chicken.

ANYWAY.... (It's like I can hear Past Me huffing in my ear to just GET ON WITH IT. Which actually is a perfect sentiment in regard to this particular quilt, which has felt to exist since my initial annals of sewing time, and in a way it has because the Lucy Boston blocks were some of the first I ever made, sewed, designed, whatever!) Um, where was I? I'm so far off the mark, I need to go back and see where I was at the end of the previous paragraph.

Oh my FREAKIN' goodness, Past Me shouts. Just tell what happened last night!

I'm getting there, I counter, wishing Future Me would shoot one of her patented death glares at our younger self.

But Future Me has wisely kept away from this small fray, as Past Me taps her foot impatiently. I stare at her, then clear my throat. Why are you so worked up about this?

Be-cause, she drawls, I'm designing those blocks and I wanna know what happens to them!

Now I pause, not for dramatic blog effect, but in all honestly to wonder if I'm trapped in some space-time continuum. Like if I write more about last night, will Past Me not make the blocks, knowing for how long they sat in this or that tote. Will I go downstairs and find the entire quilt has disappeared? Am I being utterly ridiculous in even pondering such, well, nonsense?

Will you just GET ON WITH IT? Past Me hollers.

I shake out my shoulders, then shrug at her. Okay, fine, you wanna know? Well supposedly there are four blocks left to secure.

Four blocks? Past Me says in a tenuous voice.

Four blocks, I reply in a clipped tone. Allegedly, I add.

Now Past Me frowns. What do you mean by allegedly?

Well, I counted them last night, but I was tired and....

Past Me huffs, then crosses her arms over her chest. Go count them now, she barks.

Hardly! Why don't you just....

Suddenly I pause, because the hilarity and nonsensical nature of this conversation emerges like a thunderclap. If there are only a few blocks left, it means a lot of hand-sewing is about to be completed in a manner I sure didn't contemplate over half a decade ago, or even at the beginning of this year. I only learned about Kawandi in January, maybe February. And in God's marvelous timing, a quilt has coalesced amid an attempted dictatorial takeover of my country, through the acquisition of baby chicks, within weeks of said quilt languishing as though forgotten. Through all those obstacles and many I won't bother to list, English paper-pieced blocks have turned into a gorgeous cozy steeped in grace. How to properly detail such a miracle?

It is miraculous, Past Me says softly.

Yeah, I ask.

Yeah. I hate these friggin' blocks.

I laugh, recalling that sense of What the hell have I gotten myself into? I know they're a hassle, I say kindly.

That's putting it mildly, Past Me snorts.

But don't give up on them. One day, you'll, well, you'll....

I'll what, Past Me asks, raising one eyebrow.

I smile, not wishing to delve into how I finished them while enduring Covid, or fretted over them when searching through the Orphan Block tote, or wondered why on God's green earth had I begun them in the first place. One day, I say to my past self, you will be blessed with a fabulous way to use them.

Really?

Really.

What about all the connecting blocks and....

Don't worry about the connecting blocks, I smile.

You sure?

I'm sure.

Past Me huffs very quietly, then nods. Then she walks away, muttering under her breath. Leaving Present Me with a rather lengthy post to tidy, while still wondering if there are only four safety pins to remove....