In A Bookish, Quilty Mood

In reading Straight to the Heart: The Hawk Book Three , I'm astonished at how timely is the message, despite being set in autumn of 1962. Below is a section from Chapter 76, when the Cuban Missile Crisis was in full swing. When he reached the studio, stars twinkled in the sky. Eric could make out the storage building, and turning back, the house blazed with light. Yet, he needed to set something to canvas, although he didn’t wish to work in the sunroom. He wasn’t sure what bubbled inside him, other than a sense of purpose. Perhaps this was how President Kennedy felt, his hands just as tied. Yet Lynne had been right, it was too dark to work. Again gazing upwards, Eric admired the night sky, chuckling at himself. Then he walked around the studio, standing in front of the storage building. Something tugged at him from within, so he pulled the key from his pocket, opened the door, then flipped on the light. There on an easel was the portrait of Marek and Jane. Stepping into the sma...

The Kaffe Fassett collection side. Recently I gratefully accepted that all my ongoing projects, both in writing and quilting, aren't a burden; right now I couldn't wrap my head around sorting out something new. I preface this post with that realization because it's good to embrace one's limits and other extraneous forces wafting nearby. Now, to the placemats. I began sewing them in a rather impromptu manner a couple of months ago, having blithely purchased some gorgeous Kaffe Fassett prints. Incorporating my love for Kawandi-style stitching, as well as wanting to use up scraps for the backs, I whipped through four or five, then made my way through three or four more, employing fewer scraps for the backs because that quickly lost its shine, lol. Then I bought a wee bit more fabric (LOL) because my husband actually said he really liked one of the prints, and I found it in three other colourways! And then I found myself with only a few of the original choices left, so I pr...

Sporting my Pride Flag, here I am after my walk. Waving that beautiful (if I say so myself) flag aloft always feels SO HEALING! Joining hundreds of others locally (and perhaps up to a million Americans nationwide), I marched along the recently opened Humboldt Bay Trail South late yesterday afternoon. The breeze was pleasant, scattered sunshine a plus, but best of all were those who gathered in the spirit of Congressman John Lewis to protest the inhumane administration leading our nation. Westernish view from the pedestrian bridge. It's important to denote these rallies because they are happening! It's vital to denounce a corrupt government and lame-ass congress who won't do their jobs. It's meaningful to continue making noise, stirring good trouble. My right knee wasn't thrilled, a slow pace due to a dodgy meniscus, but every step felt liberating, honorable, and correct.  A few of us were getting an early start. I wasn't certain if I would make it out there, but...

A sample from yesterday's work.... Reading through Book Three of The Hawk and being in the writing/revising zone.... Before I begin today's reading, I need to note how comforting it was yesterday to dive into a manuscript well known and steep myself not only in its realm, but the steadying manner of doing something related to writing. And how I didn't realize it would be so cathartic until dwelling there. There is a place I've enjoyed for nearly twenty years, the haunts of authorhood, of piecing prose, of writing. Revisions are a part of it, prepping manuscripts, crafting the first dang draft itself; all those elements are necessary if one chooses (or is chosen, lol) to follow the muse as far as it wishes to take us. Dragging us at times, yes, but only because writers are fearful of being shot down, of not being able to write, of bad reviews, of losing the plot, of whatever dark clouds that mar our vision. This of course can apply to artists spanning a wide range of ta...

I cannot be a channel of peace unless first I own it. Sometimes I forget I'm semi-retired. Books to write, quilts to make, chickens to feed.... Chickens, at my age? I'm in my sixtieth year for crying out loud. What were we thinking when deciding to get baby chicks? I'm tired, but not too weary to write a post. Just finished the dishes, not many, but our oatmeal bowls, my teapot, the stuff we need for the morning. Our kitchen is...old. Lol. No dishwasher, but a decent disposal. Big sinks. Lots of room to handwash all the dirty dishes we make. And thankfully we have an ancient concrete double sink in the equally aged laundry room to wash chick feeders and waterers. Hot water only, as the other two taps are hooked to the washer. For which I am also VERY GRATEFUL. Despite feeling exhausted, peace has been flowing through me in healing waves. Despite needy chickens, a despotic president, and other world traumas (like what's happening to women in Afghanistan for instance) , I...

Chicks we call The Clones as it's a little hard to tell them apart, lol. Slow quilt stitching, baby chicks, and a new book distributor.... Where has the first half of 2025 gone? I thought this year would slog along, stuck in a lousy government situation, but no. 2025 is speeding past as quickly, if not more so, than the last ten years have zoomed by. Like sand slipping through my fingers is each day, as though I wake, then suddenly it's four p.m., time to do my stretches! I won't ponder that element of my existence, but I can mull over the changes to my life that certainly has NOT remained as it was previously. Like chickens! LOL. The chicks have had outdoor time the last two days in what will eventually be their run. The first day they practically clung to one another for a good twenty minutes before finally stepping a few inches in their own directions. Today they seemed to recall the grass, the shade (oddly enough they weren't keen on going into the sun), and how muc...

The breaks in the cloud are faint, but cannot be dismissed! The sun isn't shining, a menacing marine layer keeping those of us along the North Coast aching in the gray. However to the southeast a break in the mundane is trying to emerge. This delicious light stirs me to write this post, because despite it being the high days of summer, our landscape has felt like the dark days of late autumn for too damn long. A metaphor perhaps for all that blankets our current world scene? Sure! Big ugly legislation, miserable conditions everywhere we turn, natural disasters wreaking havoc, tender souls wrenched from reality; all these traumas want to strip our joy, leave us bereft. I woke to another gray morning, assuming the flat dull horizon would remain. However peeks of brightness remind me that all is not lost. Goodness prevails. Does this mean the sun and blue sky are about to muscle in, shoving the dreariness aside? No. The marine layer is far too entrenched for that to occur AT THIS MOME...

Those chicks are doing well, although coccidiosis remains an irritant, and I had to add Corid to their water again this morning. Our bossy chick Camilla was quite docile in my care earlier today; hopefully her spunk returns, as well as good health. Good health cannot be overrated for chicks, and certainly not for us humans. Dear friends have been struggling for the last three months, as my pal Teri is back in hospital, where she has resided for much of the last ten weeks. Teri remains feisty, but her cognitive abilities are strained, and her spouse Anson is reaching the end of his emotional tether. They are the age my father would be had he lived, yet my husband and I view them not as parental substitutes. They are our contemporaries, as well as inadvertent guides on our aging journeys. I sent out a prayer request to my sisters this morning concerning Teri and Anson, asking for love, support, and especially strength. Only now I realize I didn't seek healing, which might seem like a...

  Chick party tonight! Chicks are pretty funny. One has earned a moniker for her behavior at the feeder; Camilla relentlessly roots out anyone near her slot, taking it back if someone manages to push her aside, and scratching while eating. My husband suggested the name when I mentioned that Camilla thought she was the new queen, but no one could take Queenie's place in my heart. Lol. We didn't plan to name any of them until personalities emerged, and Camilla takes the freaking CAKE for personality right now. The rest are figuring out their places in the pecking order, yet not a single one has managed to actually grasp the perch rungs, hah! They are starting to play under it, attempting to fly on top of it, a lot of wing-flapping this morning when I opened the brooder. A dear friend is visiting, who saw them last week, and she said they have grown! Which was good to hear because we think they're bigger, but we see them daily and other than a few tail feathers having sprouted...

So named for the dark gold tiara on her head, Queenie was a feisty and sweet chick, bless her! It was bound to happen; we lost another chick last night, my beloved Queenie. She was fine early in the day, but became shy, staying under the heat plate that we've nicknamed Mama. No obvious malady was apparent, and after dinner my husband checked on the chicks, finding Queenie just past Mama, lying on the shavings, already in chick heaven. Sigh.... Today's adventure was finding another chick suffering from suspicious poops. I diagnosed coccidiosis, then headed out for Corid so I could dose the entire flock. Was this what struck Queenie? Perhaps, but we'll never know as we didn't witness her eliminations. (Sorry if this is chick TMI.) For the next five days the chicks will drink water spiked with Corid, then have a two week break, with four more days of treatment to follow. The afflicted chick was out and about this evening, and I cleaned out under Mama, not wanting them to s...