In A Bookish, Quilty Mood

Owl leads a crew of Barnevelders; all photos courtesy of my husband. Recently my husband walked some trails and found he had a pal, namely Owl Chicken. She does like to follow us around outdoors, and it was an adorable trait to add to her history, which months ago was fraught with not the best kind of adventure . Owl on her own, taking in the landscape. Owl and Nadia are our two most brave hens, weathering rain and wind and loving it! Fortunately all the chickies are becoming used to blustery days, as we get some of those here on the North Coast. But trail walking was a new trick, and Owl took to it in her usual style, sticking close to my husband until she felt comfortable wandering ahead, then returning to where he waited. Owl crosses the bridge! The part she DID NOT like was crossing the creek; she eventually did so, bless her, and I guess that point of courage stuck with her, because a few days later she again joined my husband, this time convincing some of her sisters to join the ...

The lighting was different due to the wind blowing the quilt top/back how a fabric project was wont, why I'm putting three versions of this photo within this post. And a cute chicken pic at the end from about five minutes ago, my husband snapping it while closing the coop for the night. Much to note about those trail-happy chickens, but before I write about the hens, I want to share a quilt top/back finish. I wrapped up this medallion project a few days ago, snapped the photos, then found myself hip-deep in writing and sorting photos of the chickens trailing around with my better half. I finished a chapter this morning, prepped lunch, then that better half learned how to make pad gra praw. After lunch, I read over what I'd written, cleaned the coop, then spent the rest of the afternoon folding and hanging up three loads of laundry begun hours earlier. Stacks of shirts, etc, still adorn the back of the couch, while one little sewing project awaits its moment in the proverbial su...

How empty are those who believe by hurting others, they become strong. This notion popped into my head this morning as the crescent moon rose along the southern end of our treeline. I woke at silly o'clock, wasn't sure why, but that moon was the reason, which brought to my mind the message above and below. How empty are those who believe by hurting others, they become strong. It applies to ANYONE who assumes such a pose. World leaders, drug dealers, teenagers who shoot other teenagers: This week in Hoopa , an eighteen-year-old was shot in the head by three teens ages nineteen, eighteen, and fifteen. How empty are those who believe by hurting others, they become strong. Meditating upon this, immediately my feeling was to pity one so deluded. Not to hate them, wish evil upon them, but such pity for the lack of love within them, the EMPTINESS. Such a vast void is their soul. How empty are those who believe by hurting others, they become strong. History proves time and again that d...

Hand-quilting the rainbow extravaganza is going to be a LONG PROCESS, but better than no stitching on it at all. And sewing! Although that's being managed like I'm on a minutes restriction. Sometimes writing feels that way too, half a chapter here, another half there. Yesterday, however, I wrote an entire chapter, which felt AMAZING. While today, ahem, this entry will be it. (Heads-up: Long post, lol.) Part of my stop-start fictional output relates to morning activities. Tomorrow we're celebrating a birthday with friends, sharing lunch as one of them turns eighty-one! I'm hoping to get a scene written before we meet with them, might be half a chapter's worth, possibly two-thirds, what I accumulated a couple of days ago, woo-hoo! Not quite as thrilling as turning eighty-one, but certainly noteworthy as sixty keeps knocking on my door, dude.... Didn't I just get into this writing gig, wasn't I just in my forties? Um, NO. Sometimes that feels like a LONG TIME A...

When I can't hand stitch like before, nor can I use my machine daily (or I SHOULDN'T use it daily), how do I fill those minutes previously spent DOING.... Oh, and we learned recently that according to the chickens, rice straw is NOT the same as wheat straw. Mostly in that wheat straw contains tasty little kernels of wheat, lol, while rice straw is merely, well, straw. Once we can acquire a bale of wheat straw, the hens will be happy. They LITERALLY were clucking and complaining vociferously when we put out the new straw....   Nadia and Owl permitted me a few shots yesterday afternoon.... But back to the topic at hand, ahem. I'm definitely a Do'er. I have lists, I like to be busy. Not that I don't like to relax, but relaxing at the end of the day used to mean sitting with a trove of English paper piecing or hand-quilting and I was happy as a dustbathing hen. Today the chickies found a new place in the sun to dig and dust themselves, all eight cloistered together like...

That writing a novel about miracles feels to defy the heartless and predatory natures currently wreaking havoc on our planet, which must be deterred as best we are able. I was going to write this post in the morning, Saturday morning. It's still Friday evening in California, Pacific Standard Time, lol. The time change occurs this weekend, we'll lose an hour. I've whinged about it already, far better things for me to blather on about tonight. Like how I wrote a pretty nice chapter this morning, hehehe! My novel about miracles is about a third-ish of the way there, or here, or somewhere. It's in a place virtually, existing on hard drives and flash drives, yet firmly wedged in my heart, giving me strength at a time when so much feels uncertain. Ironically, I ended today's chapter with a bit of a cliffhanger, HAH! My poor characters, put through various wringers with only 32K words accumulated. But as I said a post or three ago, writing about miracles means a fair amoun...