In A Bookish, Quilty Mood

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...

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 ...

Making some hand-quilting progress on this Lucy Boston quilt. My life, really. My faith. And, well, read on.... I don't want to negate the suffering currently happening not only here in America, but planet-wide. Yet, YET! There is much for which to be grateful. Like my faith. Which I don't discuss too deeply, but maybe I should, so this post can be better understood. Or I could direct you to this page on my blog, which talks about it. Yeah, that's what I'll do. Because for some people faith in God isn't a comfortable subject, especially right now due to how falsely faith in God is portrayed by many in my nation's government. I have no problem saying that because refusing to authorize affordable health care and releasing monies for SNAP benefits is NOT loving one's neighbor. Yet blessings abound, and I would be just as remiss if I didn't denote the goodness of this world. That I'm alive is a miracle. That I can write novels is a marvel. That I mainta...

Written earlier today before the granddaughters woke.   I foresee plenteous machine stitching in the near future. I tried some hand-sewing this week and boy my shoulder was cranky. I am in the treatment pipeline for said right shoulder, but medical stuff is slow as snot these days, yet I am hopeful to be back in my usual routine of nightly hand-stitching as soon as is feasibly possible. (I might sneak in some surreptitious hand-stitching merely to have completed the necessary blocks to snap a photo of Alexandria quilt progress. Not that I am planning to tackle it as soon as I can sew with ease, but one of these days I'll get back to that beauty!) January 2025; the long sides aren't sewn together, but the center is! It's hard wanting to work on something that in the end causes pain. The grandgirls have been using my machines, which stirs within me the desire to don earplugs and headphones and create in a manner that defies belief, when one's belief is that sitting on the...

An uncomplicated pretty quilt top. Thanks Past Me for putting in the time cutting fabric, etc. Sewing and walking slowly, Metamucil, and being happy about it all, lol. Yes, this is how I felt today. Well, I was a little shouty on Bluesky, but that was the kind of thing that happens every once in a while because, well, I'm approaching the age where at times I don't give a fig. Where a notion pops into my head and it's like, "Oh yeah! And why haven't I thought of that previously?" Am I going to be a snarky old gal, hmmmm. Future Me is a wee bit...impatient at times, maybe not quite snarky, but certainly.... I just looked up the definition of snarky (critical, irritable, bad-tempered) and I'm not happy with any of those. Or maybe smirky is a better way to describe Future Me. Or some halfway point between the two. Not that I can see Future Me smirking, she's actually not around. But as though I am stepping into her shoes, I feel that smirk creeping over m...

From a couple days ago, snapped by my husband, seated inside the run with the chickens. I'm gazing at Nadia Chicken, off screen, while most of the rest gather near the fenced off pomegranate bush. I think chicken #8 was sunning herself along the back of the workshop that butts up to the run. Mis-sewing rows, diverticulitis, in general getting older, falling in love with sewing squares again, accepting life isn't in my control, the Serenity Prayer, ironing seams the wrong way, etc, etc, etc.... God, grant me the grace to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Amen. Whew! What a few days it's been, and in that I do include my lost weekend of sorts, spent suffering from an acute attack of diverticulitis. The recovery has been about as much of a 180 that the misery was, which at the end, or rather beginning of this day, is absolutely WONDERFUL. Needless to say, but I'll type it regardless, I am happy...

Where I left off yesterday with Straight to the Heart .... Pondered while languidly cutting fabrics for another quilt (while listening to the soundtrack for Life Stories: The Enran Chronicles Book Two , see here for that playlist ).... Well, yeah, slow revisions. Past Me is probably wondering what the hey I'm on about while Future Me nods in appreciation. Yup, slow revisions, uh-huh. SLOW REVISIONS. How slow? Well, I'd planned to publish Straight to the Heart: The Hawk Book Three ten days ago. If I can finish the revisions by the end of this week I'll be thrilled. Then there's a cover to fashion, blurbs to craft.... Plenty to do when releasing a novel but first the novel needs to have all the i's dotted and t's crossed. And while Past Me could do all that by the twinkle of her nose, Present Me just doesn't have it all that together. Such is aging, such is life. Makes me grateful I only answer to me, myself, and I when it comes to the writing, let me also s...

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...

From 20 June, 2005; our village in England. This was snapped at 8.11 p.m! The impending summer solstice, a sick spouse, and other musings.... I love the lead up to the longest day of the year. Daylight-wise, the solstice is a magical moment that hasn't been diminished despite my mum passing on that day several years ago. Hard to believe she's been gone that long, hard to imagine what she'd make of life today. Long days are still long even if the marine layer muscles in, attempting to lessen the brightness of the rising, then risen sun. Last week when the granddaughters were here, sunshine beckoned without any clouds. For three or four days I watched the sun rise so far north on the horizon, or how it appeared. Even with the fog, the light can't be hidden. This is my favourite season of the year! (It was even more astonishing when we lived in Britain, as we were further north than I am today, but that's a memory for another post....) My husband's cold continues, ...

Nevada in the distance. Sometimes, as I'm reading one of my novels, I realize how dear are the characters and how grateful I am to slip into that fictional realm. I don't live near my kids or siblings, but in many of my stories, they are at my beck and call. For eleven years I dwelled in Yorkshire, England, and while we loved it there and would have liked to have stayed longer, it was never where we were meant to remain. Yet that decade plus one year taught my heart that despite distance, beloveds are never truly far away. And now, pushing twenty years since our return, the children we raised there have their own families, and that is how my existence has evolved. Except, lol, within my books. In several of my novels, sprawling families live yards away from one another, multiple generations residing in the same house. I grew up as the one of the youngest in my large clan, surrounded by many elders who inspired my sense of how necessary are all ages within one's related grou...