Under Construction

So I'm working on the look of this blog and I can't for the life of me figure out why the customization process in Blogger works for about 10 minutes.... and then no matter what changes you make it never shows up on the blog.  Things are a little ugly until I work this out. Regular readers know if I'm messing with my blog it is my way of avoiding a major project. This time I'm avoiding an angry rant about what complete bitches quilters can be. I swear women are their own worst enemies.  So for the time being I'm messing with the blog. When I calm down and stop letting those malignant asshats eat my liver, I'll talk about it. Until then, I'm messing around with my blog. I'll clean up my blog, my language, and my grammar. Eventually.

Spinning Plates

Remember the guy on the Ed Sullivan show who would come out and start spinning plates on wooden poles?  He would start one, then one more, then one more - and then run back to the first and give it a push, then run to start one more and went back and forth spinning and pushing until you were dizzy from watching him and panicked that one would fall and break?

My life is like that these days.  

The past few months have been a 90 mile-an-hour whirlwind and it doesn't show any sign of slowing down. Between 3 part-time jobs (four if you count working at my husband's store in ever increasing increments) and guests arriving here in 48 hours, I am a mess.  The approach of house guests sends me in to a tizzy. I am blessed and cursed with a large house  - so large there is is a lot of room to put stuff and never trip over it or see it again.

For some reason I decided this would be a good time to move my office (in the big bedroom) to my sewing room  (the small bedroom) and the sewing room to the big bedroom.  I knew I would need some professional help so I call the producers of Hoarding: Buried Alive and asked them to come take a look. They did, and told me it was obviously faked because NO ONE has that much crap.  When I say "no one" I mean "my husband". Okay, some of the crap  is mine - but I don't have files, tax returns, checks, paid bills and school papers dating back to 1965.  I am not making that up.  He even has the original Pittsburgh Paint Interior Colors brochure with the paint colors marked from when he built the house in 1975.  Oh the horror.

The move was ponderous.  I went through crates of files, boxes of old checks, every cardboard tube of blueprints -  and created the great wall of recycling in my upstairs hallway. Two great hunky bunky friends moved it all downstairs and out to the garage for recycling pickup. I threw out a ton of stuff, took one car load to Goodwill and have a good start on the next load to find a good home. It was days of work, hard on my already messed up body, but incredibly satisfying. I love my new office - it looks and feels and acts like a proper workspace. I'm much more organized.  I love my new sewing room, especially the old armchair in the corner where I sit and meditate or read or hand sew. It is my sanctuary.

Joe's cousins arrive in 48 hours and I think we're ready. We still have the main floor to clean and vacuum and some upstairs paint touch up, but luckily I can walk in to the hardware store with my circa 1975 Pittsburgh Paints Interior Colors brochure and get exactly the right shades for the bedrooms. (They have been repainted over the years, but the same color since 1975.  He gets to pick the upstairs paint, I get to pick the main floor.)  Now if only that ugly stairway chandelier would come crashing down and shatter into a thousand pieces. I climb up into the attic and loosen the bolt a tiny bit every day.....

I've also added to my co-worker collection. (Hey, it gets lonely here.) In addition to Helen (the chicken), Commando Joe (the army man),   Rob and Roy (the little dinosaurs) and Bart (the penguin) I now have three little turtles.  They need names.  Any suggestions?
PS - that fabulous box they live on?  I made that. Oh snap!

True or False with the Birthday Girl

Today is the big day - I knew I'd get a royal baby for my birthday, but damn - I wanted a GIRL.  Even knowing I wouldn't live to see her take the throne, I would have been content with knowing a female was finally in the line of succession.  (This is the kind of stuff English major's obsess over.)

I am now 55,  which seems very strange because mentally I feel about 42 or 43.... but enough about that, let's get to the list.  Since "with age comes wisdom," I am going to take another opportunity to clarify some of the OTHER conventional wisdom that is out there, and some of it about weddings because I so loathe what they have become and wish to straighten out as many people as I might.  

1. You are as young as you feel. 
False.  I think I'm 42, and I FEEL like I'm 93 and have spent the past 4 years in a cement mixer filled with broken glass and blunt instruments.

2. Outdoor summer weddings are wonderful. 
False.  I have a distinguished history of giving solid wedding advice and I bat a thousand when I say that outdoor summer weddings are anathema. Witness the vast number of white plastic chairs blistering in the summer heat at the shore hotels near my home.  Who in their right mind would make their guests go out and fry their asses in a humid, miserable sweat while the self-involved couple declares eternal love in badly written vows that drone on forever? Dear Bride and Groom:  I hope your presents suck.

3. Never go to bed angry.
False.  If you know and trust yourself, do whatever you like. Me? I know and trust myself, and I know that if we hadn't gone to bed good and angry a few times there would have been body bags at the curb the next morning.  Sometimes you need to retreat to neutral corners to calm down, cool off, and think about the problem. Harsh words said in anger are highly unlikely to be forgotten.

4.  Keep it simple. 
True. Simple is cleaner, clearer, less expensive and all around better.  St. Elizabeth Ann Seton once said, "Dress simply. It makes a pretty woman prettier and an ugly woman less noticeable."  Guest lists should ALWAYS be simplified. One bride complained (on the internet in front of God and everybody) that a full one-third of her wedding guests didn't send gifts. Earth to clueless bride: this indicates you invited a boatload of people who are 1) not friends, and 2) would have gladly stayed home.

5. You get what you pay for. 
Pretty much true. If I had a time machine I'd go back and buy really good shoes instead of the $9.95 Kmart sandals with high heels. It is probably the reason why I have a shoe wardrobe about about 5 pairs of shoes, all flats. I ruined my feet.
Same for clothes, furniture, the whole drill.  Quality and durability are never found bargain basement prices.

6. Measure twice, cut once. 
True. In construction and in quilting, truer words were never spoken. Ask anyone who has ever made a quilt to tell you about how they learned that lesson. Have some alcohol on hand because it gets pretty grim.

7. Slow and steady wins the race.
Pretty much always true.  I actually have a setting on my Bernina that caps me at 1/2 speed. I use it from time to time and it has always proven to be a wise move. It keeps me from screaming along when sewing long seams that need a consistent seam allowance of 1/4 inch.  That was not a typo - 1/4 inch.

8.  No pain, no gain. 
Pants on fire false. God made salty, buttered popcorn so we could gain and gain painlessly.

9. You look better with a tan.
True. Most people do.  However, there will come a point in time when your skin will sag and wrinkle and dehydrate and you will look a full 30 years older than you are. Case in point - I moved out here when I was 26 and took one look at the tan-every-summer matriarchs and bought a damn hat.  Never regretted it.  Spray-on tans if you must,  but the real thing will kill you with cancer and/or ugly.

10. A true friend will be with you for the good and bad times and love you through both. 
True beyond belief.  I think about that every year on my birthday and again on New Year's Eve.  I am ridiculously blessed with a great group of friends, and a smaller, inner circle made up of those who I know would run to help me in a crisis, keep any secret, call me on my BS, and constantly surprise me with their generosity.

So while the list of things I want for my birthday is long and boring (kitchen floor, storm doors on the front and back door, carpet torn out of the bedroom, paint for about 4 rooms) I really already have the gifts of a kick ass family,  priceless friends and a husband I adore. Bonus - my Mom once told me, "He looks at you like he made you from clay." Every time I tell him I love him, he shakes his head and says, "I love you more."
How can you ask for more than that?  Happy birthday to me.

The Mystery of the Holey Quilt

Not a typo, this really is a holey quilt. Two holes to be exact. Two, annoyingly round holes.I have no idea what kind of varmint eats CIRCLES in cotton. Are moths that skilled? It is an old quilt, to be sure, probably made in the mid 90's. My first one, actually, not counting the "make it up as I go debacle" that never saw the light of day because our Irish setter used to chill out on the patio on top of it. (Even he knew it was a "dog" quilt.)

I still like this quilt; I like the fabrics and the colors and the miles of hand quilting. My stitch wasn't anything to prize back then but for a starter quilt it was pretty successful. It has been endlessly used, mostly as a sofa woobie, but lately my husband has taken to sitting on it when he comes in from the hot outdoors. (I don't want him sweating on the sofa, dammit.) I threw it in the washer and found the holes when it was hung up to dry. This hasn't been stored for any long period of time, it sits in our family room in a huge basket with other quilts. I dove in to see if any others had sustained damage - nadda.  It reminded me of the importance of refolding and re-stacking quilts, not only to avoid creases but to avoid varmint damage.  Lesson learned!

Step Away from Those Machines!

I am in a strange universe these days, a little narc'd up and not quite sure of what is safe to do. Escalating spinal pain (building-the-pyramids-long-story) has kept me from my sewing machine, my computer (except now) and anything else that requires a reasonably sound mind and sober judgement. Pain meds are a godsend, but lousy for productivity.  A delayed procedure (hey, even doctors go on vacation) finally took place two days ago so I'm hobbling around trying to stay out of trouble.  Case in point - yesterday I was sitting at my computer trying to read email and send some work-related info when I started telling my computer to copy and paste. Oh I was doing it with my mouse, but speaking it out loud as if that was the way it actually got done. When I realized what I was doing I just shut down the computer and walked away.  To my sewing room. Thankfully, when I realized that picking up a razor-sharp rotary cutter and/or sewing anything together would have equally bad results, I went further down the hall to my bedroom and just listened to books on tape. Whew.
 Today I decided I would just tidy up my sewing room, a low-impact activity that seems safe, right?  But here's the thing about drugs -  when taking them, you do not have an accurate reading on how you are feeling or functioning. (Or if you are functioning accurately!) Frankly, I shouldn't even be writing this blog right now, I might say something incredibly stupid like "opiates are a gift" when in fact...... they are a godsend. Mr. Mackey would disagree - I keep hearing his voice in my head when my timer beeps to remind me of the next dose. I'm doing well and was told this post-procedure pain will resolve itself within seven days. Seriously?  Seriously.  Thank heavens I have the best husband/sherpa/humorist on the planet, and Mr. Mackey to guide me:

Caps for Sale

Remember that book from childhood?  Caps for Sale was one of my favorites - along with What Shall I Put in the Hole That I Dig? As I got older I would read it to younger siblings (and anyone else within earshot) with much more ribald interpretation. I still giggle when I remember some of the things we put in that hole to see if it would grow a ------ tree!

In an attempt to generate some income I decided to make up some hats and put them in our shop.  Nothing fancy, just the kind of thing to break up the hot sun but not the bank.  I had a lot of batiks in my stash left over from a big quilt project so it was nice to use up odds and ends. The ones for the babies were a LOT of work and while I'll never recoup my investment of time, it does pay for the fabric and helps me downsize my stash. It also gives me something productive to sew and that, more than anything else, seems to soothe my ever present anxieties.   It comes with the added bonus of listening to books on tape while I work. I check out digital books from my local library so there is no end of things to explore. Right now I'm listening to The Last Lion: Winston Spencer Churchill, Volume 3: Defender of the Realm, 1940‑1965.       

 I'm not a WWII aficionado but I'm fascinated with Churchill and completely in love with well written prose. No one writes like the English. I've been on a Jane Austen tear for about 3 weeks and find myself using expressions like, "My dear you must prepare yourself" when I tell my husband I have cleaned out the refrigerator and saved us all from death by salmonella and/or rotted food.

Sewing also helps me feel productive when when "PPP Down" is the only thing that  registers on my computer screen when I'm trying to find out why I'm off line ....AGAIN.  I have learned to reboot modems, re-initialize, delete setups and re-do them, and taken a ton of screenshots with dates to prove it all. I've learned you can't shame Verizon in to useful customer service or get an acknowledgement that it is THEIR problem. They are happy to have me pay for a repairman come out to my house to check their line. Inside the house - it's my problem and I'll pay for that. Outside? That's on you, Verizon.  My husband has an aversion to AT&T (his people invented the vendetta, you know) but I'm ready to pull the plug.  I'll just say, "In vain have I struggled. It will not do. You must allow me to tell you how much I abhor Verizon. My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever."  Frankly, I'd like to put Verizon in that "hole that I dig" and see if it grows a )#&*)@(*#&$  tree. Meanwhile, I plod along and take files on a flash drive to computers at work, or work on my iPad on a friend's wifi. (Comcast, in case you were wondering.) I'm just thankful my Bernina doesn't need an internet connection to work, but if it did I know Bernina would have some rockin' customer service!

Bag O' Brains

I admit to nerding out over strange things, mostly fonts and high resolution image files, but with the advent of the USB flash drive came my most unusual digital obsession.  Like anything else it started with one, then a pair, and after 3 (as you all know) you are a collector. I find it a remarkably good way to backup files (it helps me justify acquiring more) and it really makes so many things portable.  Right now I'm working on sorting Excel databases for the upcoming election and having it on a portable drive  makes working on it at odd moments so much easier. I never have to say, "Oh hell, it's on the store computer" or vice versa with the iMac at home.  (Before you ask, I already have a DropBox. It's not the same thing.)

So when did I turn the corner and realize I had a whole honking bunch of these things?  Shortly after the umpteenth time of rooting about in my purse to fish out the right one, I determined it would be a good idea to have them all in ONE place. These little zip bags are easy to make so I whipped one right up. It wasn't until I started loading it with all my drives and dongles that it kind of hit me I might have a problem.   For almost 10 minutes I  was convinced of it, but then it passed.  I have three part-time jobs (not including the store) and organization is a must. I worry less now about losing information or computer failure or being hit by a bus - all my replacement needs is the correct USB drive for that job/subject.

I have gotten past the point of swooning at the sight of USB sushi, USB Angry Birds or USB any other bizarre types, but if the price is right and the capacity is impressive I have been known to bite.  After all, how could you resist this?

The Morning After

It was about 2AM before I finally fell asleep last night, too keyed up over the day's events and wrung out with worry about a loved one a mere 3 miles from where the bomber was found. Still cannot wrap my head around the phenomenon of seeing law enforcement and Special Forces from all over Massachusetts descending on the area. The whole of greater Boston was shut down, even Gloucester was so quiet my husband closed the store and came home early.  "Shelter in place" was added to the local vocabulary.   It felt like a Bruckheimer movie nightmare.

So today I'm chillaxing. Take THAT, fearmongers!  There is no better place to dissolve stress than my sewing room. I have this lovely, big  photograph hanging over my ironing board so I have something wonderful to look at while I press quarter inch seams and iron the (occasional) blouse.  This is a detail shot:  

The Village

There is a whole world in this photograph, all kinds of little people cleaning and scrubbing and working and moving giant buttons and zippers.  It is endlessly entertaining to me and I'm almost at the point of giving the people names and writing a little story about their world.

So it's back to the drawing board with the William Morris hexagon project as the adhesive, wash-out stabilizer I marked the side quilting borders with was, I learned, not so wash-out.  The Sulky label said "spritz with water and it dissolves."  I completed one side and decided I better try out the removal before proceeding further.  I spritzed half of it and the whole thing turned to slimy glue.  I scraped off what I could and let it be, hoping it would dry and be fine. It dried - hard as a rock.  I took it downstairs to the kitchen and soaked just the border in a pot of water and let it sit there a while.  After I gently hand scrubbed the rest of it out I put it outside on the clothesline to dry in the sun.  I think it will be ok, actually, but "dissolves" should be taken off their label.  I'm not crazy about throwing it in the washing machine to let that do the work either - the piece will be fine but having that much glue in my washer and/or water lines doesn't give me a warm fuzzy feeling.  Maybe I'll soak the whole thing in a pot and toss that water on the weeds out back.

This is the first thing I've ever made that is entirely machine quilted. I love the stippling process, very zen, but wanted a more constructed look for the border quilting. I think it will finish up fine. I'm happy to take an afternoon and pop on a CD or book on tape and just let the world turn without me for a while.

Oh, and in case you are wondering, we already know the bomber can't get a fair trial in Boston so we're thinking of sending him to New York. 

About the Marathon

I want to talk about what happened in Boston a few days ago but I need to revisit some history first.

About 28 years ago I was a 2nd time-around college student living in Wellesley, Massachusetts. The whole Boston Marathon thing was a pretty foreign concept to me and frankly, I didn't get what the fuss was all about.

Wellesley is the halfway point in the Marathon so it's a pretty big deal. I didn't know this when I took my spot along the road to see what the fuss was all about. I remember thinking, "Who were all these people holding out cups of water and orange slices (the real kind, not the sugar kind) to complete strangers running past and why were they doing it? It took me about a half an hour to "get it." The faces on the runners said it all. You could see the months and years of training, the exhaustion, the spirit, their emotions - all laid out in front of God and everybody. It was moving and emotional and pretty soon I was cheering them on, clapping and yelling and jumping up and down with the rest of the spectators. It was the most remarkable display of human athleticism and sheer guts I had ever witnessed. In the years following I was one of those people cutting up oranges and holding out little cups of water, thinking in some way I was "helping" these remarkable people. I wanted to help them, I wanted to encourage them, and selfishly wanted to be a part of such a magnificent spectacle. The Boston Marathon is something you don't know you need to experience but believe me, you do.

Patriot's day is holiday here in Massachusetts. It commemorates the first shots fired in the Revolutionary War, the running of the Boston Marathon (which started in 1897) and since 1959 the home opener of the Boston Red Sox. It is a great day to be "in the city" and thousands of people do just that. The Sox game is timed so that just when the game is done you can meander over to the finish line of the Marathon and soak up some of the color and excitement of the race. It’s a really good day.

So it was with no small amount of horror I watched Monday's events unfold. Living just 40ish miles north of Boston I have stood in those spots along the last few yards of the race. I knew those shops and hotels and the atmosphere of jubilation experienced by hundreds of spectators and runners as they crossed the finish line. The bombing was surreal and numbing, but mostly surreal. I walked around the house thinking it was a gas line that blew or a power breaker that fried, I could not accept the concept of a deliberate bombing.  The reality took me a while to process. Since then I’ve had a knot in my stomach reminiscent of 9/11 when all flights were grounded but in bed at night we could hear the patrol jets flying overhead. Chilling.

While we don’t know who did this or their delusional reasons for doing so, I feel contempt for their reasoning and more importantly,  pity for their wretched and wasted lives. The irreparable damage evident in the grieving families, the many amputees, dismembered, and otherwise injured victims is cause for righteous anger, but  I want these murderers to know nothing will be ever be accomplished as a result of their actions.  Other than tighter security, a mere nuisance really, nothing will be moved or changed or recruited for their cause.

At next year's Boston Marathon we will still get choked up when we see runners met by a volunteer with one of those space blankets and walked over to have their medal draped around their neck. We will continue to marvel at the medical tents full of doctors and nurses volunteering their time and skills to tend to the blistered feet of the exhausted runners. We will always be filled with the triumph of the human spirit and rejoice for all of us who know acts like this will never extinguish basic human good. We will live our lives stronger, wiser.  Our lives will continue to be rich and full.  The lives of those behind this act, by their own hand, are no longer worth our time or attention  - other than to see justice served. 

Sunday Afternoon Spooning

Trying out a new Wordpress app to see if I can do this on the fly.
I'm using a spoon to pin baste a table square, am going to do some stippling and thought I'd give this kind of basting a whirl. I can't see doing it for a full sized quilt - it takes just as long and frankly I don't see the attraction. I'll have to watch them closely as I stipple around, removing them as I go, right? I still see broken needles in my future!

Dueling Saints

Today is the Feast of St. Joseph so my husband Joe  is celebrating his feast day. Since he had Sicilian parents and their heritage included a tremendous devotion to St. Joseph,  the observance involved emptying the furniture out of a main room,  constructing a huge altar with 3 tiers, draping it with the colors for that year (kind of like a prom theme) and then loading it up with all kinds of lamps, candles, flowers, statuary, etc. Once the novena began the house would fill up nightly with Italian ladies who would sit in the rented folding chairs before the altar, pray the rosary and singing feast day songs at the top of their lungs, all in a  pre-WWII Sicilian dialect. At the end of the hour they moved to the kitchen and had coffee and pastries and chatted. It was a thing of beauty.

[caption id="attachment_2908" align="alignleft" width="225"] Small but Sincere![/caption]

The feast itself was a consummate tribute to Sicilian culture and cuisine.  Maria's version of Pasta di San Giuseppe was a marvel of cauliflower, fava  beans, chick peas, and other ingredients that made a chunky, creamy white sauce served over  homemade pasta.  It was not for the faint of heart - you either loved it or hated it. (I loved it.) The rest of the dishes were largely seafood based (it being Lent and living in a fishing community) and side dishes included battered artichoke hearts and stuffed, sun-dried tomatoes - long before those became "popular" here in the U.S.  It was no wonder my Irish heritage was largely ignored as St. Patrick's Day got lost in the shuffle.  As the years passed, and Maria did likewise, the festivities moved to other houses.  St. Patrick's got back on the map, but not in ways I ever anticipated.

I love my Irish heritage and I'm a bit of a purist.  My grandma, Margaret Carroll McGill,  was born and raised in County Kerry and she told me I never had to wear green on St. Patrick's day because I had true Irish blood. (Somehow I got it in my head that my blood turned green on St. Patrick's Day and I always wanted to prick my finger to see it bleed - and see if it was green.)  My mother never made corned beef and cabbage because 1) she probably didn't like it and 2) it really isn't an Irish dish.  Irish bacon and colcannon are more proper, and I"m not a big fan of any variation of colcannon I've ever made.   My observance of St. Patrick's Day centers around using my Belleek china or having a pint of Guinness (no proper Irishman would be caught dead drinking green beer).  My husband? The Sicilian prince?  Loves corned beef and cabbage. When I say "loves" corned beef & cabbage, I mean "would marry it". He has a serious problem.  This really happened:

Joe:  I went to the store and picked up some groceries.

Me: Good, we were getting low.  What did you get?

Joe: Well, I bought a nice slab of corned beef!

Me: Really?  (Jokingly) Just one?

Joe:  Well, actually I bought two and thought I would freeze one....

Me:  Seriously?  Two?

Joe: Well (pointing to the refrigerator) .... there might be three in there.

Me: THREE?  There MIGHT be three?  Are you serious?

Joe: Well, we never have leftovers to make corned beef hash and I know you like that.

Oh yes, I'm sure he bought it for me.  He does that a lot. He will come home with a ham and say, "Look what I got you!" (Ham = oxygen to him.) In Sicilian culture, food is love. He shows his love for me by bringing home food he loves. Whatever. He cooks it (I refuse to) and enjoys it with as much relish as he does his feast day pasta.  March is his favorite month.

These days our altar is small but very sincere. We used to have a little silver tray to hold the mass cards of people we had lost, but as years passed we graduated to a lovely crystal bowl. After this round, I think we need to find a bigger bowl.  In twenty-five years we have collected a lot of those little cards. It is with great love and many tears we go through and review  them, but we always try to remember how lucky we were - and still are - to have loved so many wonderful souls. We pray for them, for families and friends, and this year for the new Pope Francis on whom the future of the church hangs in precarious balance. He will need all the help he can get.  I have set aside many of the beliefs taught to me in my youth, but I have hope in him. Besides, who better than the spirit of St. Francis of Assisi to guide us going forward?

Ninety for 90

My Aunt Addie is turning 90 in April. To celebrate this milestone, her kids arranged for each of the 90 days preceding her birthday to be marked with a unique gesture of love from one of her kin. I am one of the privileged members of my extended family to be invited to do so - and I say privileged because 1) I adore her and 2) there are waaayyy more than 90 people in my family to choose from. We are a proper and prolific Irish clan.

Aunt Addie has always been on short my list of people who I want to be when I grow up. My earliest memories of her involve big family gatherings in Madison, Nebraska, and how she and my Aunt Helen were in the center of it all, coordinating the feeding, caring and oversight and sleeping arrangements of a ton of hungry cousins.

In addition to raising large families, they were both nurses. I remember how competently and efficiently they managed the day when their mother (my Grandma McGill) had a stroke. I was in my early teens and pretty honked about not being able to play the cool organ Aunt Addie had in her house because they were trying to keep things quiet for Grandma. (Sorry, Grandma.) Once, my younger brother Steve was with her in a restaurant and they ordered coffee. When the waitress poured and Aunt Addie took a sip, the war-horse nurse in her came out when she said, "Oh, I could VOID coffee warmer than this." I think Steve spit his out when she said that, but it was such typical stuff from her. Aunt Addie kicks ass. A few years ago she went to see my Dad in the hospital. He was whining about wanting to go home. Once approved, she put him in her car and took him back to his assisted living facility, got out her walker and made the long trip to his room with him, got him settled and adjusted his catheter, grabbed her walker and made the long trek back to her car. (She later told one of my siblings that she wished his room was closer to the entrance.)

Aunt Addie was widowed early, but she pushed right on and maintained. She was the first one in the car for a trip to the casino, and still is - she loves to gamble. She makes it to family events, keeps track of who was who and does it all with astonishing humor and good grace. One of the best parts of going home to see my family is a trip to Madison to see her. I could sit at her kitchen table and listen to her for hours. She radiates wisdom, humor and good times.

My most precious memory of her is when Mom was in the hospital /hospice with pancreatic cancer. They cousins brought her out to Lexington so she could see her sister one more time and I was sitting in Mom's room when Addie arrived. Mom was pretty narc'd up at that point, but when Addie came in she raised her arms and thickly murmured, "Oh AAahhhdiiiee." Addie sat on the bed and held her little sister and talked to her, touched her face and the love was so unabashed and naked I had to look away. I've never witnessed such strength in my life. I weep now as I am writing this, remembering her grace, how she didn't lose it, she didn't cry, she just poured out such love and kindness and goodness. I'm sure she cried a river of tears later, but those last moments they had together were spectacularly beautiful. We should all be so lucky.

Back to the matter at hand - what am I going to do for my "Ninety for 90"? I thought about doing several different things, but many have already been done. She's had cakes, pies, flowers, phone calls. Chicago White Sox memorabilia, gift cards, lunches and dinner out - all kinds of great stuff. Since the economy is sour, one person minted her a trillion-dollar bill . She took it to the Senior Citizens lunch and presented it to pay for her meal. (They didn't have enough change.) Oh, and did I mention she is hand writing proper thank you notes to each of us for her gifts? She is grace personified. Wish her a happy birthday!

 

The Internet Wins

Part of having officially arrived at "Old Fart" status is coping with my hyper awareness of the lack of research, accuracy and useful information disseminated by the media. The demands of a 24 hour news cycle have made it impossible to give a story it's due and move on.  It has to be whipped into a frenzy and subject to all kinds of speculation by "experts" who clamor for attention and air time. Most troubling is how hard it has become to watch the news without frequently hearing, "according to unconfirmed reports" and "X Network News reports" when you are on a different network than X News and they don't have a clue if it is accurate but the teleprompter rolls with it anyway.   I understand how the Internet has conditioned us to expect instant access to events, but without any practiced eye reviewing them for content, factual accuracy or relevance? In doing that it has also made many of the people who bring us that news incredibly lazy.

This morning was a case in point.  For the second time in as many days, my husband (who serves in elected office) was misquoted regarding a city issue.  The really sad part?  I listened to him patiently  explain -  point by point - to the reporter how he was misquoted the day before, yet after all that the reporter went ahead and published the same damn misinformation for the second time.  Joe even attempted to help the kid out by recommending he call someone else connected with the story, to the extent he gave him the name, place of work and street the guy lives on to help him out.  The reporter's response?  "Oh.... I'll just Google it."  In the process of "just Googling it" the reporter came across some clearly outdated interviews and presented that information as current. Additionally, he didn't bother to "Google up" the one person who could clarify the information and make this article oh, I don't know, ACCURATE?

[caption id="attachment_2861" align="alignright" width="300"] Bass Rocks, Gloucester[/caption]

One of the things I love and admire most about Joe is his thick skin, his security in his own ego and his incredible ability to roll his eyes and shrug off the number of inaccuracies in newspaper ink.  My Irish soul rails up and demands action - he just shrugs it off as young-reporter-inevitable and goes peacefully on with his life. I admire that ability more than I can express. He is eleven years older and a diabetic, but he will surely outlive me because I will expire of repressed rage and angst. He is so "glass half full" that sometimes I want to strangle him. In fairness, he has wisely (and accurately) stated that if we were both of the same ilk, "We would have thrown ourselves off the rocks a long time ago."  Thank heavens for balance in the universe.

I bet a lot of "reporters" rely on Wikipedia "The Free Encyclopedia that ANYONE Can Edit!" and Google to do 95% of their job for them. Equally lazy college students are picking up material for term papers off the internet and then getting busted for plagiarism because there are software programs specially developed for colleges to combat such rampant abuse. Fast and easy trumps accurate and intelligently researched every time.

Let's end on a high note. One of the best commercials EVER made is this one by State Farm Insurance:



Yup, the internet wins.

Just Keep Snowing...Just Keep Snowing

We are just starting out on the most recent "snowpocalypse" to be forecast with the typical accompanying hysteria and panic shopping.  This one is different, however, because the Weather Channel saw fit to give it a name - NEMO.  This makes it easier to track on Twitter & other social media - I get that - but NEMO?  Seriously?

I'm sitting here writing this fresh out of the shower and with wet hair. After listening to

[caption id="attachment_2848" align="alignright" width="219"] Note Use of Local Dialect[/caption]

sustained winds HOWL for the past hour I thought it would be prudent to scrub down, shampoo and dry my hair while we still had power.  I'm not one for panic shopping (bread, milk and eggs are de rigueur out here) because we keep a pretty well stocked pantry and I've never had a craving for French toast during a blizzard.  If it weren't for the nagging fear of losing power I'd be happy as a lark.  I love a good blizzard as long as I'm safe, warm and have access to charging devices like my iPad.

Not sure how this storm will shake out but all signs point to "very bad" and I worry about people who are not safe or warm. Let's all worry about them instead of preempting TV shows to announce another inch of snow has fallen and that everything closed is still closed.

Historic Paper Piecing - Design Wall Monday

I've got a pretty broad range of fabrics in my stash and what I make reflects that spectrum.  I have an equal opportunity (and era) stash.  However, I do love hand sewing and since I love paper piecing hexagons I thought I'd give it a whirl with some different shapes and historic fabrics.

Oy vey.

I wasn't prepared for all those ANGLES.  I can stitch hexagons in my sleep but the octagons and coffins (my word) were a new ball game. To make matters worse, I PAID FOR THE SCRAPS so I couldn't ditch the project.  No, I am not insane - they are the gleanings from late 1800's - early 1900's quilts that have been rescued and conserved by loving professionals. In some cases, entire portions of the quilt had to be removed and the surrounding fabric was lovingly harvested and sold for around $8 a bag.  To a good home, you might say.

I bought a bag of the scraps just to touch them, to study up close and personal how those fabrics were made, the stunning colors and intricate designs.  They just breathed life.  I didn't know what I would do with them until I hit on the idea of paper piecing a little something to go on my end table. (Okay, probably under glass, I spill a lot of coffee.) I felt compelled to gently hand wash them, let them air dry and used the survivors in this bit of piecing. I like the idea of giving those very old fabrics a very new life.  The gold connecting squares and the border fabric are not old, just reproduction fabrics in the same color family.  Even though from now on I will probably stick to hexagons, I really like this little bit of a thing and can't wait to see it finished.

I Did It. My Way.

We've already established that reading pattern directions is my kryptonite. Even when I was making dresses and blouses for Home Ec I needed help translating arrows and darts. The fact that my mother was a pretty accomplished "sewist" didn't help matters because she was left-handed and (to me) did everything upside down and backwards.

[gallery ids="2825,2826,2816"]

I wanted a purse made from my treasured stash of Japanese fabrics.  I knew how I wanted it to look, and I knew I had all the hardware and fabric and fusible fleece to do it.  I even had the right size hexagons to paper piece the top part so I dove right in and then spent an inordinate amount of time ripping it apart.  Ironically - I understand purse construction SO much better that now I might actually be able to tackle reading a pattern!

When I made this I tended to put pieces together and then say, "Hmm, I should have put those snaps in before I joined the 2 pieces together."  I honestly think I made a purse upside down and backwards.  While I don't think Mom would be proud,  it is finished.  I might need to remake one of the snap-in inserts, I got so caught up in stippling that the finished insert might be too heavy for the purse.  I was always so afraid to stipple but I'm finding it can be very Zen-like.  (It's also quite a workout for your upper arms, let me tell you!)  I have no explanation for my obsession with pockets other than to admit I have a fantasy of presiding over a completely organized purse. I bought a special zipper for the topmost closure - just in case those pockets get overstuffed and unseemly, I can zip the whole thing shut and no one will know.

I'd say it came out about 85% like what I wanted, and I might up that percentage after using it for a while. Think I'll move into it and give it a test drive next week.  But YAY, I finally (after years of waiting) did it!

I Think I'm Turning Japanese

I really think so.

(Okay, it's an old song by the group The Vapors, but for me it's for realsies.)

I've had a love affair with all things Japanese since I visited there back in 2004. We were there because Joe had been made president of the local Rotary chapter that year and one of his "duties" was to attend the world conference. Duty? Hell yeah! The club picked up his tab so our only expense (besides meals and incidentals) was my plane ticket and a big boost to our hotel allowance. (I've got a "good hotel" thing and I'm willing to pay for it, dammit.)

The trip was epic - Rotary gave all attendees a beautiful tote bag filled with rail passes, bus passes and all kinds of maps and information.  We traveled all over by ourselves, got lost a few times, ate all kinds of food we had NO idea about but loved every bite.  The temples in Nara were breathtaking.  Our suitcases came back jammed with elegant, diminutive Japanese sake flasks, kitchen utensils, and FABRIC.

I've hoarded the fabric, doling it out in bits and pieces for worthy things. I added to the stash when I worked at The New England Quilt Museum. I was fortunate enough to enjoy an employee discount on the uber-gorgeous Japanese taupes and imports - resistance was futile. My Japanese stash occupies its own very select storage box.

[caption id="attachment_2816" align="alignright" width="300"] Oh SNAP-in pocket with dragonfly snap closure & an exterior pocket[/caption]

Just after Christmas I started looking at my very tired purse and decided it was TIME to bust out some really good fabric and treat myself for a change.  Since reading bag patterns is my kryptonite I decided to just take what I know and sew. It hasn't been pretty.  I've added at least 3 new variations on old swear phrases to my vocabulary. I'm not finished yet but I kind of like where it is going, even though the finished height was supposed to be the width and the finished width...well, you get it.  I started paper piecing the hexagons just after Christmas - I love hand sewing and I love how Japanese fabrics go together.  I'm working on making

[caption id="attachment_2799" align="alignright" width="300"] Bag interior with oh SNAPS![/caption]

different snap-in attachments that can vary  with # of pockets and depth. Sometimes I like to tote my iPad places and it will fit very comfortably in the finished purse.  I still need to finish a few things, cover a thin slice of foam core with fabric so it has a nice, flat bottom, and make the straps.  I'm enjoying this enormously, even thought it has meant a lot of re-doing and re-engineering things as I go along.  Why not?  There is no deadline and it's just for me.  For ME.

PS - Happy New Year - I can't believe it's been so long! I noticed that the powers-that-be are sticking ads on my blog posts. GAAUGH.  I am not responsible for their appearance or their content. Turn your nose up disdainfully at them.

PPSS - I feel like a drug dealer but....want to (beautifully) burn a few hours of your life? Love trees? Love all things Japanese?  Click here.  You're welcome.