In A Bookish, Quilty Mood

Hexie basted earlier today. Today's title isn't a typo, but how my eldest responded on a family text thread this morning. You could also say it's apropos of how all in my clan are grappling with last week's disturbance in the force. Heads-up: this post may be littered with random well known and intimate familial sayings. Risks take rake omg could well become shorthand for various WTF acronyms. Feel free to adopt any and all that fit your situation. Today's forecast is for continued shivers and the occasional tremble, especially when photos of the recently deceased pop up on one's screensaver. There aren't enough words or pregnant pauses to adequately describe what my crew is attempting to digest, and that doesn't include my sister-in-law, suddenly a widow. I can't fathom her heartache, she can't really either. Says she's not thinking about it much, except when it steals over her. Or I assume that's a drop in the bucket, the writer in me.

Made for my mom when she entered hospice, this quilt graces our sofa. Our beloved has passed, a beautiful moment of affection, grace, and letting go. I was privileged to be among those seeing off this man to a new plane, my heart aching for the tears of his widow yet grateful for his presence in all the lives so blessed to have known him. This title was from a week ago when I was going to write about having visited my youngest daughter and her crew, but there was no time as I then caught a flight east to be with another branch of my family. The quilt pictured above was from when my mom died. A different one was made for my brother-in-law last summer, and it was in use all week to keep him warm. Roads home take us from east to west, back east and beyond. They flow over mountain ranges and vast swathes of our nation. They amble alongside rushing rivers muddy brown from violent storms or soar high over quiet snow-laden acreage. They are pleasant and pensive, poignant and painful. Sometime

Green and blue hexagons waiting to be sewn into blocks. Several still days of my writing life have accrued. The depletion of my emotional bandwidth is mostly to blame, what with aftershocks, bomb cyclones, and impending loss colliding. The result is I feel barely capable of cognitive thought, and very grateful for all the fabric I cut recently. Hand sewing takes little out of me mentally, although my right shoulder is beginning to protest from the uptick in slow stitching. Past Me has no good advice; she's dwelling in memories that occurred before last spring when cancer was diagnosed. Future Me is also staying out of the picture; perhaps she's quietly steering me to days when atmospheric and emotional storms are few. Right now it's me, myself and Present I bumbling about; drinking warm caffeinated tea, listening to the rain. Gazing at the still sparkling Christmas lights on the front fence, peering into the darkness of a winter morning. Well, I was doing that until I sat a

Hexagon block quilt top photographed in March 2021. The quilt above lives in the Midwest. Initially I made the EPP blocks assuming I would connect them not appliqued on solid squares but sewn together by hand. Yet my hands were achy back in late 2020, so that idea was scuppered for a more friendly version, which actually resulted in a twin being fashioned from excess blocks, call that a win. The photo was taken in our old Silicon Valley backyard not long before we moved to the North Coast. Relatives in Wisconsin were to be the recipients of the quilt, but it wasn't going to live in their Midwestern home; it was going to dwell in Humboldt County where they would visit us when their winters were bitter and ours merely cool. We had our retirement house then, but weren't yet living in it full time. That quilt top was carefully folded, then packed away. Then my husband and I made the big decision to jumpstart retirement living, and all our belongings were placed into boxes, heading

As an author of fiction, I draw on a fairly vivid imagination. Yet never have I conjured what occurred in Newport News, Virginia last Friday; twenty-five-year-old Abby Zwerner was shot by one of her students, a six-year-old boy. This child, whose identity and that of his family/caregivers has been concealed, took a loaded handgun to school and in an altercation he shot his teacher. A six-year-old youngster shot his teacher. I've been mulling over this absurd yet true statement all weekend. I've prayed for all involved, including the rest of those children within Ms. Zwerner's class, who were ordered to flee for safety. I've pondered some rather far-flung scenarios amid this nation's ultra-conservative right wing who claim any infringement on the second amendment is damaging to their rights as gun owners. I've wondered how the newly sworn in members of the House of Representatives responded, especially those that spent all of last week asserting their rights to k

Christmas lights offering an ethereal glow. With it being the twelfth day of Christmas, these lights, and the placemats on the dining table, are the last vestiges of our holiday decorations. I did very little in the way of sprucing up the house last month, our beloved's fight against cancer taking some of the wind from my sails. My lengthy sojourn away from home was another part of it; by the time I returned, it felt far too late in the season to scatter mementos. I had Christmas coasters lying about, lights on the front fence, and a few cards adorning windowsills. That felt like enough holiday decorations for me. My malaise turned out as a blessing after the earthquake hit; not only was there less to clear up, but the notion that some of my breakables could have been damaged. I try to follow the spirit in all manners of my life, and am grateful to gone with that guidance, not berating myself for being lazy or not wishing to partake of the usual festive air that December brings. An

A nearly finished Myrtle block; a dark blue perimeter remains all that is left to attach. Another large storm is hitting the West Coast today; our rainfall in Humboldt County will be measurable, but more worrisome are the wind gusts, perhaps as high as seventy miles per hour. Sustained winds could range in the thirty-forty MPH range and we are under a wind and flood watch until tomorrow morning. We've already lost power briefly this morning, but I had shut down my computer before that occurred, am currently writing this from an aged laptop that still gets the job done. Not any writing mind you, that solely happens on my PC. But I can compose this entry and poke around the internet until we lose power and our modem ceases to function. Yet that's a mere hindrance to life; my husband filled our petrol can last night so we can run our generator if necessary. We have water stockpiled, plus I filled extra containers this morning. Black and fruit tea await in travel mugs and our pantr

The centre of my Alexandria Quilt; I do like me some blue! Today's title emerges wholly from the desire to embrace all that is good in this world. maybe that's an excellent way to begin the year, or perhaps foolish. I suppose it's better to start off thinking positively, being mindful of blessings, according them all due. Life might get sticky later on, but how about some warm vibes to usher in 2023. It's raining here, an alternate kind of brightness. We're hoping for an exceedingly wet winter, and this week's forecast is plenty of precipitation! I received several new mugs for Christmas, perfect for plentiful cups of piping hot beverages. And some nice coffee was also gifted, which I'll enjoy until it's gone. Today's photo is of my Alexandria quilt; it's certainly coming along, and despite thinking I would work on it every other day, I can't stop sewing on it. Right now it's in a sew and sew again mode; I can't cut fabric for new sec