In A Bookish, Quilty Mood

  Strange to complete a quilt, yet not share a single photo of it. Yet, as safety pins gathered in their container, I knew the end was near. All those pins pictured above were used in basting this quilt. A few nights ago I took a good look at how full the container was becoming. Yet, it seemed like a finish was days away. Isn't that how life works sometimes? We anticipate or expect this or that to happen far off in the future, like chickens laying eggs, lol. But occasionally we are caught off guard by immediate responses or occurrences, which throw our worlds into realms odd and surprising. That's what this quilt finish is, quite a surprise. Eggs from earlier today. Again we are gobsmacked at how prolific are our hens! A few of my novels have ended that way, in the crafting of a draft. I'm aware The End is nigh, then a chapter emerges and so does a story's All's Well That Ends Well, assuming the tale has a happily ever after. Most of my books do, I like happy ending...

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...

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...

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 ...