The Dammit Doll

Perhaps the real title of this post should be "and then I lost patience." That seems to define so many of my choices lately. Diane Harris, of Stash Bandit Quilting, started it. She posted a picture of her pandemic doll, covered in writing, that she used to help work out some of her frustrations, what we've all felt over the last year. And I thought, what a great idea! After some angst about making a doll of my own, and how that felt like more work than I wanted to do, I remembered that I had blank dolls squirreled away in my fiber closet. (Of course I do, doesn't everyone?)

The problem was that she was flat white and that felt too harsh. I have fabric dyes, but that also seemed like too much work. I have tsukineko inks and pens, so I started with that. My plan was to sneak up on the color, diluting it in water, soaking the doll and getting a lovely peach tone. Well, then I lost patience. The ink wasn't taking. So I dragged out my Derwent Inktense blocks and started shaving them into the water. Now she has a sunburn and freckles.

When I was a little kid I loved making dolls. I always did their eyes last because I didn't want them looking at me while I was poking them. Having matured some since them, the face was the first to be embroidered. I toyed with buttons for the eyes, and then beads.

Diane's doll is quite primitive, covered with words of sadness and frustration. As cathartic as that seemed, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Instead, I hope my doll is going to lead me back to my creative self with a little bit of sewing every day.

So, embroidered eyes it is. And of course they are green, because mine are. She's a little lopsided, but then, aren't we all? And there she sat for a few days, nekkid and bald, while I thought about how to do her hair.

After considering yarn, and wool appliqued flat to her head, I ultimately chose to tear strips of fabric. I haven't had my hair cut since right before the shutdowns last year. (I've decided to hold off until March this year to see how long it can really get before I lose my entire mind.) The torn strips were then sewn down to another strip of fabric, which is about an inch wide and about five inches long. There are three rows of strips so my dolly can have a luxurious mane, and give me more choices for styling.

After my last post I've been contacted by several quilt teachers who are also struggling with depression. People who, for all to see, look like they totally have their shit together and haven't a care in the world. Let's find our way back together. 

I challenge anyone who is struggling with their creative mojo to clear a space, even a little one, and do one thing each day. Sew one seam, just sew two random pieces of fabric together, no plan. Make a mark on one page, a letter, a swipe, a fingerprint. Thread a needle, make a knot and make a stitch, any stitch in any piece of fabric that comes to hand. If more happens, that's cool. We fell in love with our art one tiny step at a time. Let's do that again. We can do that again.

When I turned on my machine yesterday, for the first time in many months, this is how it greeted me. Yeah, I know, I programmed that in, but I'd completely forgotten about it. Now I'm thinking it's time to look for my tiara. It has to be here somewhere. You better bet my doll will get one.

The thing about sourdough

The thing about sourdough is that it takes a while.

It begins with a "starter", which is basically a concoction of flour, water and natural yeast. It has to be grown, nurtured with twice daily feedings of flour and water, and, as most newbies believe, magic.

Like most newbies, within days of the first stirring, I started asking "how about now?" I was plagued with doubt. Everyone who has baked a successful loaf is an expert and every expert has an opinion.

It took a good two months to get to a healthy starter. But that was a good thing for me. I needed a purpose.

It takes a couple of loaves to get the feel for the dough. Like so many things, until you understand the process, it seems unnecessarily complicated and arbitrary. There are all sorts of new concepts and terms to wrap your head around.

As frustrating as it was, because, you know, I've been baking since I was a little kid and how freaking hard can it be? It was also good for me. I was in a battle for my life last fall. Finding something to learn, to master, to nurture was the perfect way to get out of my head.

Each loaf takes a couple of days to make. The steps really aren't hard at all, and it's not like you're slaving over the dough the entire time. There is work to be done, and then it is time for the dough to rest. Each working of the dough both undoes the previous work, and builds upon it. A more perfect metaphor for my battle with depression I can not find.

I began my sourdough journey last fall when I was coming out of yet another round of major depression and needed a purpose. Feeding "the baby" every day gave me something to be responsible for.

Depression is different for everyone. For me, it is filled with self loathing, failure and unworthiness, anger turned inward, as they say. I've battled it my entire adult life, even as I've entertained thousands of quilters, taught hundreds of classes, written dozens of books, laughed with friends.

I feel that I can share this struggle with you now because I'm no longer active on the quilt teacher circuit. I mean, really, who wants to hire a depressed teacher? At last, I can be completely honest with you, and in doing so, perhaps someone reading this won't feel so terribly alone.

My life is completely deluxe. I am blessed in so many ways. Even knowing that doesn't prevent the monster from haunting me. Depression is a damned liar and a thief of joy. Once more I have wrestled it to the ground. This is more than a loaf of bread to me. It's been part of the pathway home. Be kind. You may never know the desperate private battles being waged.

Meanwhile, in Green Bay

Hello friends,

It's been a while, I know. And it's been a while full of living, for all of us, I'm sure. I'm not going to try to catch it all up in one post, that would just be tedious. 

Let's just say that, for a time, my words left me. No, that's not quite right. My words never leave me. But, the idea that my words are worth hearing left me. And then it occurred to me that perhaps it's not for me to decide. Sort of like when my husband says, "I have a great idea" and I say, "tell me and I'll let you know how great it is." Since his ideas rarely involve more fabric or yarn, to my way of thinking, they rarely achieve greatness.

Lately I've been feeling that there are stories I need to tell, need being the operative word there. Hand writing has never been fast enough to catch the words before they're gone, making traditional journaling incredibly frustrating for me. Plus, I enjoy the editing as much as the writing, and what a mess that is on the written page. So, here we are, the perfect place to put all the words that have been begging to be expressed. I'll let you decide if they're great, or I'll even settle for good enough.

Give me a little bit to figure out what they've done to blogger while I was gone. In my continuing efforts to be a recovering perfectionist, instead of waiting until I have it all figured out (which is approximately never), I'm going to muddle along until it works. I'd be honored if you'll muddle along with me.

BERNINA Girl

That I needed a new sewing machine was clear. Instead of bringing me joy, I fought with and cried over that stupid Kenmore, the one that I'd paid good money for (more than $200 in 1990, a lot for the time) and expected so much from. Sewing was my haven from the insanity of raising four hyper boys, my quilts were the only thing I did that stayed done.

I asked around and everyone said I should get a Bernina. I didn't have a clue and about fainted when I saw the price tags for the first time. We were a single income family back then, more than a thousand dollars for a sewing machine was just unrealistic. But, I'm stubborn (actually, I prefer tenacious) and I had a very supportive spouse, so I started a little business of stenciling and faux painting, something very much of the times. After overhearing a quote of five hundred dollars, plus fabric (!), to make very simple valences, I hiked up my big girl pants and offered to do them for half that. Done and dusted!

My first Bernina was a used 1530, purchased in March of 1994. I was so thrilled with the precision that I took my first piecing project back to the store to show off what that magic machine let me do. They offered me a job! I credit that machine with giving me the right tool to get my career in quilting off to a great start. That machine would do anything I asked of it, leaving me free to explore new techniques and even create some of my own.

I have been trying to think of how many different Berninas I've had over the years and it made my head hurt. I've been blessed to be included, from time to time, in the loaner program, which has given me the opportunity to exploit the features of the newest machines. 

I've been a part of the Ambassador program since almost the beginning. It's a cool gig. We don't work for Bernina, but we do get perks, like loaner machines. But what I like most about being an Ambassador is having direct input on the development of new machines, their features and feet. (There are a couple of feet out there that I've had a hand in creating, cool beans, eh?) They really do listen to us (and you) as they work towards bringing new products to the market.

The old 1530 that launched my career, now more than twenty years old, is still chugging away, being loved my one of my sisters. Another sister sews on a 930 that I took in trade for teaching at a friend's shop (I really got the best end of that deal!) I helped one more of my sisters buy a Bernina of her own. (The other two sisters still have no interest in sewing, but hope springs eternal.) My two daughters-in-law, and my mom, sew on 707s that I found on ebay. (That's Amanda putting in a zipper like a pro.) Boy, those machines are little sweeties and they've been warned that I get first dibs if they ever decide to get rid of them.

If anyone had told me, back then, on the day I bought that machine, that I'd have an international career as a quilt teacher, that I'd publish several books, that I'd be on a national television show (more than once!), I would have laughed and laughed. I was just a mom who liked to make quilts, a little bit of a perfectionist (okay a lot, but I'm better now), pathologically curious, short on time but willing to find ways to make the most of those minutes. It all began with having the right tool for the job. Thanks, Bernina!

It's been an honor to be included in this blog hop. Be sure to check out the other BERNINA Ambassadors taking part. They are a stunningly talented group of crafters. (Don't quite know how I got in, but I'm going to enjoy it while I can!)

Monday March 20

Lynn Carson Harris harrislc@gmail.com

Kelly Ashton kelly@kellyquilter.com
Diane Doran info@dianedoran.com
Melody Crust melody@melodycrust.com

Tuesday March 21
Kathy Delaney kathy@kathydelaney.com
Christa Watson christa@christaquilts.com
Mandy Leins mandalei@gmail.com

Wednesday March 22
Sandy Fitzpatrick hissyfitz@earthlink.net
Beth Ferrier beth@applewd.com
Cheryl Sleboda cherylsleboda@gmail.com

Thursday March 23
Annie Smith annie@anniesmith.net
Lori Kennedy lckennedy@hotmail.com

Kari Carr kari@newleafstitches.com
Catherine Redford catherine@catherineredford.com

Friday March 24
Joanne Sharpe jzsharpe@yahoo.com
Cherry Guidry cherry@cherryblossomsquilting.com
Jenelle Montilone jenelle@trashn2tees.com

My new normal

Where do I start? That's always the problem, isn't it? If I knew where to begin I'd have begun long ago. It's true of so many of the things we want to do. Big deals rarely have obvious starting points. Sometimes there are so many "but firsts" to get in line before actually beginning that finding the beginning is almost impossible.

On the day in early December that I had planned to be attending the annual Bernina Ambassador Reunion I instead found myself being admitted to the hospital. The Reunion is seriously fun. It's two days of learning all sorts of new techniques and features of the newest Bernina sewing machines. It's also two days of networking with other professionals in the quilting industry. It's hard to measure which aspect is more pleasing.

I had been working like a fiend to finish the quilting on Christmas Yet to Come for the Reunion's show and tell. If you don't mind my saying so, it's a spectacular quilt and who doesn't love drawing gasps of delight from an audience? And this audience contains some of the brightest stars of the industry (how I got in I'll never know, but I'm forever grateful for it), we all want to show ourselves at our best.

Meanwhile I've had this thing going on in my chest. You may remember that I had a heart attack last March, the 7th to be exact. (The symptoms started right after the final episode of Downton Abbey aired, feel free to draw your own conclusions.) They put in a stent to open a blocked artery, congratulated me on getting to the hospital so early that no damage was done to the heart muscle and sent me off to have a nice life. Which I happily did, until September.

It started with an occasional, weird thumping heart beat, something I've never experienced before. Nothing dramatic, really, just a "hmm, that's different" sort of thing. With a shrug of my shoulders I remembered that I had a regular check up with the cardiologist coming in a few weeks and it's probably nothing anyway.

The thumping continued, becoming more frequent, and soon came to include some mild versions of the symptoms I felt at the time of the heart attack. So, onto the treadmill for a stress test. Yeah, there's something wrong, but nothing remarkable. New meds. Reaction to new meds. Other new meds.

The morning of the Reunion I awoke with jaw pain. I as I lay in bed I came to terms with missing the Reunion, the two hundred dollar non-refundable hotel room, had a small pity party complete with ugly crying, and then called the cardiologist. By the end of the day I was in the hospital and scheduled for another catheterization. A blood test showed that I wasn't actually having another heart attack, but the cath was the next right step to figure out what was going on with me. The head cardiac care nurse came in to explain the procedure and, in a very round about way, that my tests didn't show any serious problems and this was all probably in my head. I told her I've been in my head and it's not there. I've done anxiety, and this isn't it.

This is what's called burying the lead. I've finally, all these paragraphs later come to the point of the story. There was something wrong with my heart, something very wrong indeed. The stent had closed with scar tissue. I once again had a complete blockage of my right coronary artery, exactly what lead to the heart attack in March.

If you'll forgive my language, this was a serious WTF moment for the doc. My own cardiologist wasn't available to do the cath, so one of his partners did it. They were so surprised by the finding that they called my doc to the operating room, saying that he had to see this!

By all rights, I should have had another heart attack, but it seems that during all those weeks of weird thumping and all, my heart had been busy creating its very own bypass system, growing tiny new arteries in place to compensate for the big one closing. I am absurdly proud of my creative, industrious little heart.

I must give props to my doc, and also to the head cardiac nurse. My own doc took my discomfort very seriously and scheduled the tests. The nurse came in the following day and congratulated me on knowing my own body, acting as my own advocate and insisting on care. I guess this is a pretty rare situation, so, once again I get to serve as a warning to others.

So, to my new normal. I've been adjusting to even more new meds, these are targeted to help the new arteries finish their growth and completely replace the artery lost to the blockage. I'm still living with the thumping, and side symptoms, and while they've only abated a little, they're not so scary. The worst had happened, the artery is closed, and I lived anyway. I have to decide if I can live with this as my new normal or face other, more specialized procedures, possibly, ultimately, bypass surgery. It's been a lot to process. Adapting to new medications is always a challenge for me. A part of my brain seems to be focused on those new arteries, encouraging them in their work, leaving me distracted and turned inwards.

For all of its challenges, 2016 will go down as the year I lived anyway, twice. It seems clear to me that there is something yet that I'm meant to do, and I'm hoping and praying that I don't figure it out anytime soon. For the past couple of years life has been something that's happened to me, I've been pretty content with rolling with the punches and waiting to see how it all works out. Lately, though, I've been thinking it might be time to pick a direction and get going. I mean, seriously, if you don't know where you're going, how can you tell if you're making good time?

Well, hello!

They say that good friends can be apart for ages and just pick up where they left off when they finally get together again. I've found it to be true. So, my good friends, it's lovely to see you again!

I've been quiet these past months for several reasons. It's been a time of reflection, of where I've been, where I am and where I want to go. I'm still struggling with the idea of retirement. I desperately miss teaching. But I've also come to enjoy the luxury of doing what ever I please instead of chasing the next deadline.

It's been a time of exploration. Green Bay has so much to offer. I've become a serial joiner. I'm like the proverbial bad penny, showing up at any fiber related group that will have me. What a joy it's been to commune with spinners, weavers, knitters, embroiderers and lots of quilters. I've been playing with some of the artsy-fartsy stuff I've been collecting over the years, saved for the day when I had more time.

It's been a time of frustration. While I refuse to allow this blog to be political, I am passionate about the direction our country is going. I hate the name calling, the haughtiness, and general disrespect people have for folks of the opposing point of view. How will we ever be E Pluribus Unum if we can't even speak civilly to one another?

I'm frustrated with the constant "look at me, look at me!!!" that the quilting industry has embraced. The marketing part of my job has never been comfortable for me. I've always wanted my work to be my voice, not my ability to garner a zillion likes on Facebook.

I've been reminded lately, of how very contrary I am. I almost named my business "The Contrary Quilter". The more I am told that I must, I should, I can't, the more I respond with I won't, you can't make me, and just watch me prove you wrong. On the one hand, tenacity has brought me the success I've enjoyed. But stubbornness is its evil twin and can get me into all sorts of trouble.

It's been a time of growth. I've been making things. Over the summer I've dyed things, pounded flowers into fabric, strung up a few beads, colored on paper and fabric, just to name a few. It's crazy exhilarating to spend an afternoon exploring a new technique and then be able to carelessly toss the results away, making it all about the process. But most importantly, I've made some friends.

In my next post (which I am writing in this same sitting, not in another three month), I'll show you my progress on the autumn quilt shown above. It's part of the direction I'm exploring for my next big thing.

Thanks for waiting for me, I've missed you.

The day I came back to life

We all have those pivotal moments in our lives that we can look back on and see exactly where our path changed. I had a moment like that back in the fall of 1993, as clear as the ringing of a bell. I was working on a quilt, using a crappy sewing machine that fought me on every stitch. Quilting was my haven from the hectic life of raising four rambunctious boys, it was the only thing I did that stayed done. I loved everything about quilting, especially the math-yness, the puzzling out the numbers of yardage, pieces to cut, the order of construction. Kent found me sobbing in frustration as I ripped out again, a seam that my machine couldn't manage. Somehow, in that moment, I knew that quilting was "my thing", it was going to be "my thing". Because he believes in me more than I can ever understand, we figured out how to get me the machine I needed (a used Bernina 1530), and, well, here I am today.

For twenty years I knew who I was and where I was going, and I was making good time. The boys were growing up into fine young men (much to my relief) and my career in quilting was successful beyond my wildest dreams. Opportunities weren't just knocking on my door, they were pounding and I said yes, come in, have a seat, make yourself at home. It was exciting, fulfilling, challenging and meaningful.

And then the wheels came off in a slow motion crash and burn. There wasn't any bright moment of enlightenment, but a slow dawning that I was tired and unhappy. I felt pigeon-holed, trapped by my own success, and that I had used up all of my smart words. So I stopped saying yes to everything, and finally stopped saying yes to anything. This was supposed to make me happy.

Instead, I found myself in this weird sort of limbo. Having this luxury of time, but without focus, feels rather self-indulgent and wasteful. Don't get me wrong, I've been having all sorts of fun being off task. There are knitting groups, embroidery guilds, fiber artisan groups, spinning groups, and quilting guilds galore. I've joined them all, met some really terrific people and learned some wonderful stuff.

At the same time I've come to see that this life of going with the flow doesn't really suit me. I'm just too young to be this old. I've realized that I have a few words left that someone might yet like to hear. I've remembered that I get to be in charge of who I am and where I go, and I have mad skills!

When I look back on this time, twenty years from now, I want to see this as the day I came back to my life. I'll see all of the growth that came in my time off, even the time that felt wasted because it taught me what feels restful. I'll see that the path wasn't straight, that I often didn't even know where it was going, but I still went, and darned if I didn't make good time.

Maybe it's silly to think I can look back from the future, but I'm going to go with it. How else do we find purpose and direction for our lives? All I know is that I've flunked retirement. Watch out world, I have no idea what comes next, any more than I did in ninety-three, but I just know it's going to be awesome.

Because I am a clutz

I really should know better than to leave a cup of coffee near anything I value. This time it was just a few splatters on the unsewn end of one of the applique borders. It would have been luckier if it had been on the border that isn't sewn yet, but I don't know anyone who plans on being a dork.

Most of the coffee washed out, what remains will just add to the subtle variations already in the fabric. Despite my best efforts, washing out the coffee also meant getting part of the applique wet. This half of the center rose was left unstitched, waiting for the remaining applique shapes to be pinned in place.

After washing I tossed the border into the dryer. I certainly didn't want to leave it sitting wet, a sure invitation to any colors that might feel like a jog into the background fabric. I had to leave the house, and I didn't want to leave the border all jumbled up in the dryer, especially if it didn't get entirely dry. So I spread the border out on the cutting table and slipped a ruler under the applique to protect the background from the slightly damp fabric.

The piece got wet enough to release some of the glue basted edges. Some of the Wash Away Applique Sheet templates also started to disintegrate, but a little quality time with a glue stick will fix this right up. Disaster averted this time, but somehow I doubt that I've actually learned my lesson.

Secret Agent Spy Stuff

It's been deliciously quiet here, so I have been quiet on the blog. The days have been filled with the satisfyingly mundane chores of everyday life. Nothing to see here. Little things give me ridiculous pleasure, like having a clothes chute from the master bedroom to the basement laundry, but are hardly worth a blog post. (Well, except for this one, I guess.) My days are a lovely mix of quilting, knitting, spinning and cooking. I have finally embraced this gift of unregimented time, this sabbatical from the frantic pace of teaching/travel/publishing of the past decade or so.

The weather has been unseasonably warm, autumn has lingered well into winter. They are predicting some measurable snow for over the weekend, so I'll be hustling to get the last of the tulip and daffodil bulbs into the ground later today. I'm down to the last forty or so, which shouldn't take long. I've already planted nearly a hundred bulbs. This spring there will be color!

A Fine Romance did get put aside for a while. There are other things that I'd like to get cracking on, and there were a couple of deadlines to be met, for projects I can't show you. I've sent off a block to Quiltmaker for their 100 Blocks publication. I really like it and think it needs to be quilt, so I will be fussing around with layouts until I find one I must make.

I've also been messing about with some new machine quilting techniques. I can't show you that either just yet. I can tell you it's been the most fun I've had with my clothes on. After years of swearing that I'd never wear gloves for quilting (when will I learn that "never" usually means "next week"), I've discovered that gloves are just the thing for this new process.

I still hate having to take the gloves off to thread the needles or even work the touch screen on the sewing machine. Until someone makes quilting gloves with the special conducting fibers in the fingertips, I've solved the problem by cutting the tips from the thumb and index fingers on my right hand glove. It also serves up a bit of cooling. Since my inner child is playing with matches again, any cooling I can get is a good thing.

Danger Zone

 This project is in real trouble. After months and months of work, this quilt is on the verge of becoming a WIP (a Work In Progress, otherwise known as a project laying about that isn't actually being worked on) or, more ominously, a UFO (UnFinished Project).

Half of the center applique is done. The rest is mostly pinned on and will be stitched in place today. All of the parts are sorted and just waiting for their curtain call. But I'm losing steam. I'm losing interest in finishing.

It might be the distractions. I have several projects waiting in the wings, projects that I am itching to get to. The beguiling thing is that the projects are sneaking into brand new processes and I am always enticed by the opportunity to learn something new.

I have this stack of software waiting to be loaded onto my computer. It's embroidery software for my Bernina 880, including the cut work tools. The 880 has a stitch designer function, allowing me to create my own decorative stitches. I want to design new applique edge stitches, I can already see them in my head. I'm anxious to get started, but I have this big project I need to finish first.

And then there's this pile of stuff. Have you seen the quilting they're doing with rulers and domestic sewing machines? Check this out. How did I not know about this? Of course I had to run out and get a sampling of tools and equipment. There just might be an easier way to finish quilting Christmas Yet to Come! Of course I'll need to practice, and for that I'll need practice projects. Oh, but I have this big project I need to finish first.

Of course, none of that even takes into account of all of the other distractions around here. I have this terrific new electric spinning wheel to master. And while it is the coolest thing since forever, I still love spinning on the traditional wheel, so it needs some loving attention.

As for the loom, well, I'm just not sure about that. If it's going to take up prime real estate in the living room it certainly needs to be warped and worked on. It may be looking for a new home shortly. Not sure that the weaving bug has really stuck with me. But for now, I really have to concentrate on this big project.

I worry that if I put A Fine Romance aside it will never be finished, look what's become of Christmas Yet to Come. It is still waiting to be quilted. Or worse, it will lurk in the background, making me feel guilty for not wanting it any more. Oh, wait, it's currently staring me in the face and making me feel guilty for not wanting it any more.

I'm not sure when I gave up multi-tasking projects to become a serial processor. Well, that's not completely true. I think of myself as monogamous within crafts, it's okay to work on more than one project as long as I'm cheating on quilting with knitting, or spinning or weaving. (Lucky for me that gardening, baking, and decorating are chores, not hobbies or I'd really be toast.)

Indecision might turn out to be my best friend. I am making good progress even while I think about setting it aside. What do you do? How do you stay faithful to large projects, or is that just silly? Am I the only quilter in the universe who works on one quilt at a time?

Small victories

It was truly of moment of truth when the sashing strips were sewn together for the quilt borders. These strips were challenging little buggers, with all the angles and matching points. It didn't help things at all that they were constructed in the hotel room, with a jerry-rigged cutting table, mini ironing board and dodgy hotel iron.

There certainly is a lot of "character" in the edges, that's for sure. Truthfully, I spent more time dreading the easing it was sure to require than it actually took to sew everything in place.

Look at it! They match up to the border perfectly. Perfectly. Not a bit of stretch needed! You know this doesn't happen often, so when it does, you'll have to forgive me my little bit of crowing, please.

I'm proud of the quilts I make, but they are far from perfect. There are a lot of secrets tucked between the quilt top and the batting.

But then we're like that too, aren't we. We like to present our best face and keep our failures tucked away. I think we're the most interesting when the facade falls away and we're our truest selves. Feel free to look for the flaws. I think they are the best feature. But, for once, for this part of the quilt, no easing required!

A garden where none was before

It is fair to say that the folks who owned this house before us were not into gardening. They said so themselves. Most of what lives in the ground here has been in place for almost thirty years. Like the evergreen bushes that left the front yard earlier this summer, and the ones blocking most of the sunlight into the studio.

My original plan was to turn this area into a dry river bed, shade garden. It was dark, gloomy and uninviting. But when those nasty bushes (does anybody really like them?) were removed my whole plan changed.

Suddenly we had sunlight! When I say "we" worked in the garden mostly I mean Kent does the hardest, sweatiest parts and I zoom in at the end and make the pretty part happen. I'm also usually the one who thinks up the plan. Luckily, Kent is willing to play along. The walkway stones are leaning on the retaining wall while the sod goes in.

The angel, who has followed us from Wisconsin to Michigan and back to Wisconsin again has finally found just the right spot. Since this corner remains pretty shady, I've planted ferns around her. The birdbath end of the path gets marvelous afternoon light, so it's planted with sunny to partly shady plants that will bloom in the spring. I couldn't resist adding in a couple of mums for fall color. (I just may sneak a few pansies in there before the end of the planting season.)

With the bushes gone I can see the entire garden from my desk. The bench is a wonderful place to be quiet and thoughtful. I think this will be the last big change we'll make to the yard this year, honestly there's not a whole lot left to do. Next spring Kent would like to turn that screen tent into a true gazebo. Slowly we are making this place into our place. It's hard to feel fully invested here, with the ties remaining to the house in Saginaw, but we're coming along. It may take a while to feel truly at home, but we do like it here.

Step Seven, with a side of emo

For the more tenacious folks following this block of the month, you've already discovered that Step Seven has been posted for a couple of weeks. For those of you waiting to hear from me, here you go. (And so sorry once again, for the delay in the notice.)

Now for the side of emo. The stress and worries of the job change and big move have caught up with us at last. We've been under the gun, unsure of our fates since the beginning of January. I think that now that we're feeling more settled into our Green Bay life we've relaxed enough to feel all of the pressures of this huge change in our lives. Let's just say that the word "snippy" has been forthwith banned from all use in the household.

The Saginaw house is still for sale. We've finally dropped the price to what I thought we should have started with the first place. And we buried a St. Joseph, which felt a little sacrilegious to me. Once I saw the little statue all boxed up in a special "this is the guy to bury" package I felt a little less squeamish. He's been in the ground all summer. So much for the quick results. On the other hand, while working in the front garden here we found the St. Joe that the former owners of this house buried. He's now on the kitchen windowsill where I can remind him on a daily basis that he's got a job to do.

The wonderful old Saginaw house truly was the house of my dreams. It was a landmark, it had a life of its own which it graciously shared with us for twenty years. I loved saying, "I live in a house built in 1860." Or, "We live in that old farmhouse next to the park", and have everyone know exactly which house that was. (I think half the county walked through it during the estate sale two weeks before we bought it.)

In moving here we were no longer interested in "the house of our dreams". We had that. We have just want we wanted, enough space for our toys, enough dirt to garden, all on a quiet street. It didn't start out as something special, but, as Kent reminds me, it will be by the time we're done with it.

On the street where I live

This song has been running in my head for a while now, the smarmy one from My Fair Lady. It started one Sunday morning when I went out for the newspaper. It was cool and just a little bit misty, the morning sunlight dappling the street. At that moment I realized that this is exactly where I'm supposed to be right now, and I was content.

We had such a list of desires for our Green Bay home, and a ridiculously small budget for it. I think we were suffering from HGTV poisoning, at least I was. I mean, where are the Property Brothers when you need them?

In the end it was a compromise: two and a half stall garage instead of three and a family room turned into a studio. The lot is tiny, especially when compared to the Saginaw house, and the back third of it goes straight up.

But here we are, and it's beginning to feel like home.

It nearly broke my heart to watch as the garden centers around town blossomed with plants for the new season while I was stuck in a tiny two room hotel apartment with no dirt to call my own. Even after we were in the new place there was just so much to do before we could even consider playing in dirt. I cringed every time I passed this monolithic shrub at the front door. I mean really, could one say "stay out" any more plainly?

We (meaning mostly Kent) tackled it Independence Day weekend. In the end it turned out to be just two plants. It took a chain saw, a pick ax and a whole lot of sweaty digging to clear them out. The county's garden waste center is nearby so off went the bushes (which all fit into the back of my minivan) and we returned with rich black compost.

The swan bird bath looks a little overpowering now, but it might even disappear once the plants get to growing. I followed no rules except for "taller to the back". The flowers were chosen in hopes of attracting butterflies and humming birds, oh, and for cutting as well.

This fall I will tuck in a few mums and bulbs for spring flowering, I think I left enough room for that, maybe. There are yarrow, shasta and gloriousa daisies, purple coneflower and balloon flowers in pink and blue, along with anise hissop, blackeyed susans and russian sage. (And a blue frisbee for Gracie, but that moves around the yard.)

There now, doesn't that look so much more inviting? The big shrubs under the windows? Well, their days are numbered too.

Orange you glad to see me?

Progress, we're making progress. We've made an offer on a house here, and had it accepted. We had an inspection yesterday, and found that there are issues. Sigh. The next step will be to go back to the owners to see if they will work with us on the problems.

I must say, though, walking through the house with the inspector, I kept thinking about our Saginaw house and imagining what would be said about our lovely antique. Yikes.

We're living in an Extended Stay hotel. It is not a Residence Inn. We have two rooms for less than sixty dollars a night. (Hey, we're working with engineers here, it's all about billable hours.) As I continually relocate stuff so I can cook (on two burners and a toaster oven that we finally broke down and bought two weeks ago), I keep reminding myself that this is a First World Problem, and that I am blessed that I will have somewhere else to go in just a few weeks.

Mostly I'm writing to let you know that Step Three will be delayed until next week, hopefully by Tuesday. I have worked through the block to make sure the numbers work. I still have diagrams to make and words to write.

The upside is that you'll have a bit more time to catch up on any missed steps before the cost goes up. Just click on the link to my Craftsy store in the side bar to get the pattern downloads.

Meanwhile, here is one of my favorite tips for saving time while piecing.

I am sure that I'm not the only one who has carried a neatly organized stack of units to the sewing machine, somehow twisting them when setting them down. Unfailingly I don't even notice the mistake until I've sewn all the repeats.

What I do to help avoid this (my engineer hubby says "idiot proof" is impossible, the best we can hope for is "idiot resistance"), is sort out my units onto a ruler. If it's tough to tell right from wrong side, I take a moment to make sure all of the pieces are right sides up.

I use assembly line sewing to keep my units organized. By not cutting the thread between the units I can carry the lot over to the ironing board and back without losing any pieces, and everything stays in order.

When it comes time to sew the cross seams, the connecting stitches act as my pins to help get those perfect intersections. I think you can see that there is hardly any thread, maybe one or two stitches between the pieces,

For many years, all of my adult life really, I have hated orange. I was scarred by an early burnt orange and brown quilt incident, a story for another day. Now I love it. It's so cheerful!

But brown, still not so much. And yet practically every house we've looked at in Green Bay is decorated in brown. The house we are buying is painted deep, dark browns, even black, inside. I wonder if there was an ordinance or something. The Green Bay Packers' colors are green and gold, so I suppose it could be worse. Still, the paint mixer at my local hardware store is about to become my new best friend.

My week as a statue

That my work week started on April Fools' Day should have been the first clue. I woke up a little muzzy headed, so I made a bee line for the coffee maker. We have a Keurig thingy, and I knew that I was down to my last precious two pods of coffee. I popped in the pod and pushed brew, hoping I could make it to the end of the cycle before doing something really stupid.

Nope. I forgot to put in a mug to catch the one thing between me and a day of mental missteps. That it took me a second or two to remember what a mug was and where to find one in just testament to my dire need of caffeine.

Finally, the remaining coffee was delivered to my cup. Knowing that I only had one pod left, I decided that I would pour the missed coffee from the tray into my mug. It was then that I knocked the coffee cup off of the counter and down my right leg.

Still lacking that first dose of mind clearing coffee, it took me another second or two to realized that the coffee was damned hot and I really wanted to be out of those pants. I was actually busy wondering how I might gather up the spilled coffee. As I dropped my drawers I wondered if I would break any teeth if I tried to lick coffee up off the counter. I decided against it.

After applying a cool, wet towel to my scalded leg, and finding a clean pair of pants, I managed to make, and consume the last pod of coffee without further bodily harm.

We've finally figured out that we can afford to buy a house in Green Bay without waiting for the house in Saginaw to sell. It will be a stretch, and we won't be having any fun until the other house is sold, but it will be better than living in limbo. So now house hunting has gone into high gear.

While out and about on Wednesday, the magnetic phone holder in my car dropped off the dash board. We live and die by GPS around Green Bay (we just can't get our bearings). And the one day that I spent running around town, where I would really rack up the steps, I realized that I'd lost my Fitbit.

After rummaging through the car, and ransacking our tiny little apartment for forty-five minutes, I realized that I had changed jeans twice after the coffee debacle. The Fitbit was tucked in the pocket the pair of jeans I changed out of after I changed out of the coffee incident. And then mourned all the missed steps that would never be counted. (Kent and I gave each other Fitbits for Christmas. He's down 26 pounds and I'm down 16. It's working for us when nothing else did.)

House hunting is not fun. Suddenly all of the houses we've been considering are being rapidly sold to someone else. We feel a little panicked. We're hoping for a similar rush in Saginaw, but, always being able to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory, we are certain we are doomed to wait until the zombie apocalypse for the house to sell.

I'm hoping that April is done messing with me. I've given her more than her designated day to play her pranks on me. Since I'm still out of coffee pods, and there is a very busy road between me and the nearest coffee source, I'm not at all certain that I'm in the clear.

This week's motto:
Sometimes you're the pigeon and sometimes you're the statue.

Now with more piecing

When last we met I was regretting my decision to strip piece these units. Much to my dismay, even though I was feeling pretty smug about how carefully I had pressed them at the time, I found all sorts of pleats in the seam allowances at I put together the blocks. Let's just say there was a whole lot of easing going on.

There was also the ongoing question of what the he-heck I was thinking when I designed this quilt to have roughly two billion tiny squares.

The color is a little washed out here, but the alternate blocks are all done. Almost all of the teeny-tiny pieces are done. Yeah, right.

There are also thirty-some sashing strips to be done, and of course, they all contain itty-bitty four-patches. This time I came to my senses and cut first, sewed second. Being able to cut eight squares at a time made short work of it.

I've set them up on my ironing pad for what I call "flip-flop pressing". You can sort of see that the green fabric is showing on each of the sewn pairs. I want these seams to be pressed away from the background fabric, or towards the green fabric. I've alternated the pairs so that the thread within the four-patch will act as my pin for a super tight intersection. Once pressed, the thread was cut between the units, but not within.

Here they are, set on point with side triangles and ready be added into the sashing strips. It was about this time that I finally figured out that some of my piecing issues were due to a slightly generous seam allowance.

I'm working with a machine that is brand new to me, and I can't tell you how long it's been since I've actually sewn anything, so I just figured I was out of practice. But even when I was paying close attention to positioning the fabric, the seam allowance was still too wide. Moving the needle position one to the right solved the problem. I'm glad I figured that out before heading into the more involved parts of the quilt.

This is my "socialization" project. I only work on it at the quilt shop, during Open Sew or Sleep at Home Retreats. I figured I'd be able to knock this quilt in no time at all. About two days into the retreat I was so busy having fun that I forgot about taking pictures, and eventually gave up speedy progress because I was too busy laughing my keister off.

Hat Dance Hanging

Here's my Pilgrim/Roy Invitational Challenge quilt, hanging in a special exhibit at the American Quilter's Society show in Grand Rapids, MI! On my list of things to see at the show, I had to get special dispensation from the show organizers (Bonnie Browning herself took the picture) because the exhibit was labeled as no photography allowed.

Honestly, this is pretty much the only way one of my quilts will hang in a national show. Competition is just not my cup of tea. But thank goodness that there are so many quilters willing to show their quilts, or we would have nothing but vendors to see at a show.

Not that that would be a bad thing. Of course I checked out the vendors! I saw a fabric that I adored, and then didn't buy it because it wouldn't be enough to be the background for a queen sized quilt. Stupid, stupid! It would have been perfect for a smaller project. I can have such tunnel vision when it comes to purchasing supplies. Sometimes my need for an orderly stash really hampers my shopping.


I didn't see much that was new, but I did enjoy reconnecting with some old pals. I was heartened to see so many traditional style quilts and vendors. I thought that the modern quilters had pretty much run us out on a rail. But, it seems that we're still going strong, and maybe I will go back to designing new quilts and writing patterns.

One thing that did catch my attention was the brand spanking new Bernina sit-down quilting machine.  How long have we been asking for this? Only one of two machines currently in the US, I was able to sit and stitch for a bit, and it's lovely. It's quiet, and it has the capacity to use regular sewing machine needles as small as 70/10! For most quilting machines, it's 90/14 or bigger, and I know that folks do wonderful things with those needles, they've always been the deal breaker for me. But now... well, I guess it's time to start stuffing that piggy bank. They won't be available until next spring, so I'll have plenty of time to skim some cash off the grocery budget. (Don't read that sentence, Kent. I'm just kidding, really. Sort of.)

Rest is Not Idleness

Taking some time off to heal and consider my options is not as easy as it sounds, especially not for someone who is used to a lifetime of going at full steam ahead. Taking a step (okay, a leap) back from the physical challenges of travel, and starting physical therapy, have proved to be just the thing for my dodgy old neck and my creative burnout.

This has been my summer of weaving. I've always turned to learning a new craft when my creative juices run dry. I think it's a "making" thing. It's a new label, being a maker, but it perfectly defines me. I have been a maker all of my life, and when taking a break from making quilts, it was only natural that I should need to make something else.

The tapestry bug has bitten me, hard. I'm talking the weaving kind of tapestry, not the embroidery kind. I've taken two tapestry classes this summer.

Starting last spring, Rebecca Mezoff offered a three part, comprehensive online tapestry class. She's just charming, and the class format included lots of personal interaction. I highly recommend the classes. The sample to the left is from one of the early parts of the process.

In August I attended the Michigan League of Handweavers' annual workshop retreat. What fun! Just as in quilting, weaving is bent and shaped into so many intriguing art forms, just waiting to be explored.

While there, I took a tapestry class from Nancy McRay. It was awesome! The sample above is from her class. Three days of the quiet strumming of tightly warped looms, extremely individualized lessons and wonderful encouragement, were a balm to a healing soul. (Not to mention the nightly hugs from grandbabies, the retreat being in their town.)

And here is my class final project for Rebecca's class. That's a pumpkin growing there, just in case you couldn't tell. The tapestry is only ten inches wide, so I'm having to edit, edit, edit to try to tell the story. I'm really pleased with some of it, other parts, not so much. I'm still thinking of spaces as in fabric for applique, and that's holding me back a bit. But I'll get there, probably in about a million years, but then, if it could be mastered in a day how inspiring would that be?