A Contemplative Life

September carries significance for me, birthdays of those I deeply love alongside the loss of my brother Joe, who took his life twenty-nine years ago. These joys and sorrows are carefully balanced within my heart, many for whom I pray. Last year I wrote a post about Suicide Prevention Awareness Month . Again it's that time of year. I don't know why autumn was chosen to highlight it, but I certainly feel it, as my niece took her life in October of 2019. She was about the same age as my brother when he died, not sure what that means in the grand scheme, other than those in their mid-twenties, with so much ahead of them, slip away to a place which I pray is far more peaceful than the realm they left. 988 is the number to call or text if you need help. For veterans, call 988 and press 1 to connect with counselors who understand your experiences. We want to love you here and now. Yet, I understand that sense of despair, feeling one's existence holds no purpose; when I was I fi...

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...

Top two rows are stitched together, with the third pinned and waiting. Welp, as my eldest likes to say, it's Tuesday. The equinox has occurred, fall in place mostly in the lessening daylight, although this morning we started with clear skies and bright sun, once the sun rose, lol. I was knocked off my feet over the weekend, just starting to feel human again. Sometimes life throw curve balls, and we end up on our backsides, wondering what the hey's going on. September is Suicide Prevention Awareness Month. Three of my beloveds have taken their lives, including my brother and niece. I wanted to write something meaningful about the subject, but now I feel like I'm just scraping the surface, yet it's imperative to tell those we love who are fighting depression that we are here for them, that they matter. 988 is the number to call or text if you need help. For veterans, call 988 and press 1 to connect with counselors who understand your experiences. Please know that so many ...

I attended our local April 5th Hands Off protest this afternoon, an AMAZING turnout on a beautifully sunny and warm day. My knee cooperated, especially as I kept moving, saying howdy to those I've met at previous rallies, also noting that I hoped to not run into them again. Their knowing smiles spoke the same. During this Lenten season, I've been able to maintain my PMA via prayer, reading, meditation on said texts, revising Brave the Skies for a Monday release and of course sewing. Lots of sewing on loads of projects, lol. I wonder if my copious collection of both EPP and Kawandi-style items makes up for scattered thoughts, probably. I've fashioned a few coasters with orphan English paper pieced blocks; they come together easily, actually more quickly than I thought they would. I like having timely finishes, makes me feel like I'm accomplishing something. Protesting relieves my heart, but for now, not much emerges from it other than personal peace. Small and large bloc...

My last flag? Time will tell.... I dreamed last night I could squat. Not that I could do them, like an exercise, although subsequently in the dream I did do them repeatedly, but initially it was that I merely COULD do one. One squat turned into maybe ten? And I was so surprised/thrilled/curious. How in the world did my measly daily stretches allow for SQUATS? (And what exactly does this have to do with the step count?) [And the more pertinent question: Why am I pulling the plug, perhaps only temporarily, on my seemingly thorough dedication to raising as much joyful hell as possible?] I've been sleeping poorly, until last night. This past night I got nearly NINE HOURS of slumber, badly needed and gratefully received. Why did I rest so decently, other than eventually sleep wins? Maybe because last night I made the executive decision to unplug from Bluesky during Lent. Actually, I'm going to begin that Lenten fast a little early; I'll be done tomorrow after posting the last Bl...

Nearly finished with another small block for Alexandria. Fashioning another bit for that EEP behemoth is somewhat akin to keeping alive the flame of JOY right now. While this blog remains about writing and quilting, something has altered. I have changed and no matter what emerges from the current political situation, my nation will never be as it was before. I didn't wish to become a revolutionary. I'm fifty-eight years old, never wanted to be this damn strong again. But revolutionaries come in all ages, from all walks of life, performing tasks previously unconsidered. No one, or very damn few, take Revolutionary 101 in elementary, middle, or high school. And those who study such topics in college rarely have the opportunity to use all that learning in the real world. The definition of revolutionary as an adjective is twofold: 1) Involving or causing a complete or dramatic change, and 2) Engaged in or promoting political revolution. Using it as a noun in this post feels odd, sl...

Star in a Star block from Jodi Godfrey's Red Sky at Night quilt. The last few days since beginning another Kawandi-inspired quilt, I have been in THE ZONE. Not only with that project, but Alexandria, which has been a mild relief as well as a joy. Stitching blocks for that EPP behemoth, I wasn't sure if my colour choices were apt. I think they'll do nicely.  But let's gab about my Red Sky at Night hand-sewn I don't know what else to call it quilt. It's Kawandi only in starting from the back and going inwards. It was strange, but liberating, to first make the back, not worry about a binding, then finding a mostly appropriate batting scrap to wedge under the back's pressed perimeter. A few bare spaces were filled in with less than an inch wide (but several inches long depending where I needed filler) strips of batting, some of which were displaced as my husband helped move the back and batting onto my office work table. Carefully I measured where the center C...

Dark starry sky from 5.21 a.m. PST today. The act of publishing a book. Then actually letting it go.... After the first death (or goodbye of whatever sorts), others accumulate. It's the nature of life, which is consoled by new shinies that distract or ease or heal said losses. Maybe that Splitting the Sky is a standalone, rare in my noveling wheelhouse, makes it harder for me to simply walk away. And yes, it's only been one friggin' day, but somehow yesterday felt.... Bereft. Perhaps the new administration added to that sense of WTF, well, of course it did. LOL not LOL, yet that wasn't the only reason I kept feeling like my heart was empty. Well, not empty. Depleted. Askew. Changed. How you feel after one much loved passes. Or something similarly disturbing. Or altering. Or whatever. Whatever dude, what the eff ever. Okay, this is definitely related to yesterday's hoo haa. Did I predict that sense of WTF-ever when I decided to release a book on Inauguration Day, ob...

  Speckled fabric by Rashida Coleman-Hale: I LOVE this! Years ago I spent the pre-dawn hours seated at my computer working on revisions. I used those moments to slowly grasp a new day as well as fit in necessary edits that allowed me to casually embrace writing without overtaxing my brain. Those were days before I was into English paper piecing, before I became a grandmother. Those were years when I thought I needed to squeeze activity into every spare minute to justify being a stay-at-home spouse even if the most of the kids were out of the house. I still don't like being idle. I'm terrible at meditating, or even watching TV as a relaxing pastime. My oldest grandson finds that hard to comprehend, lol, but I explained that as a kid we only got three channels and television never seemed the be-all end-all. In the last few days, I have returned to those early morning screen hours, but not spent in the office. Instead I'm seated in the living room where the laptop lives, heavi...