Damp stretching addresses some bumps. Left it damp and pinned overnight
I often note the number of clothing scraps in a quilt. This time, it’s eight. Circled in red above.
Gifts show up too. The left-hand image below features one of Deb’s hand-dyed vintage scraps. The right-side central yellow also came from Deb, while the periwinkle windows were mailed from California, a gift from Nancy.
The white and blue cotton scraps, above, were given to me by Kristin Anne Freeman, way back when we were collaborating on the Hearts for Charleston Quilt. One reason I love the fabric is that it reminds me of her. Another reason is that the print delightfully reveals, to this eye anyway, house after house.
Now to bind, attach hanging sleeve, and sign.
It’s forty degrees warmer than yesterday, so we walked around Crystal Lake. Very pretty light. Almost a balmy wind (not really, but it wasn’t Arctic). Depicted above is the window that spontaneously shattered in the intense cold the night before last.
It’s one of my neighborhood’s most beautiful yards. I love walking past it.
This is a handful of the oak tree growth I mentioned recently. Definitely not gall, but what is it?
Also, one of the PCC collage artists posted another vantage of the leaning-back man which makes more clear that he is, indeed, a man.
Prepping for this week’s Paris Collage Club collages
I’m going to keep an eye out for images that are of my own making.
Lastly, Finn had a twerked nail that he was worrying. I tried to clip it so that it would stop annoying him and it was an utter mistake. He bled everywhere. I ended up putting his bed outside and giving him treats to distract him, while K ran out for that powder that stops bleeding (which we used to have and for some reason didn’t anymore). Naturally, the very act of departing to get the powder made the bleeding stop like magic.
You know you live in an affluent suburban neighborhood when sitting on the stoop (like now), you hear only tree frogs, cars occasionally passing, and one or two jets going overhead and you declare it HEAVEN.
You know you live in 2022 America, when your battered psyche swings between icy panic, disbelief, and both lazy and full-throttled escapism. Oh, and rage. Did I mention rage? Who knew how important wordle, the spelling bee, crossword and jigsaw puzzles would become to one’s mental health?
This week escapism overlapped with current events in the form of a gripping novel full of political intrigue. Such a page-turner, I devoured 500 pages in two and a half days (see escapism, above).
The very week the Washington Post disclosed that among the stolen papers at Mar-a-Lago was a document revealing the nuclear capabilities of another government, I read the thriller that Hillary Clinton co-authored with Louise Penny.
It’s pretty much ripped from the headlines.
Among the things to love is how the protagonist, a female Secretary of State, makes sweeping critical commentary about the former guy. He was called Eric Dunn, or moron, or corrupt bad actor — you get the idea.
And if you’re a fan of the Three Pines mysteries by Louise Penny (I’m looking at you, Jen), the detour to that Quebec town and the appearance of Chief Inspector Gamache are just added kicks.
I won’t spoil anything here by saying the plot turns on the infiltration of the US government at the highest levels by domestic terrorists, features nuclear bombs, and showcases the sharp wits of a few American politicians.
In other news, yesterday I mailed off two quilts to C. in California. Of my two boys, he’s the bigger gamer, hence the wall-hanging based on a first-person shooter game, Lost Planet. I sent him a vertical landscape as well. For some reason, it’s one of my favorites.
In closing, I’ll share a secret. K is soon making his first international trip in more than two years (he used to be gone about a week a month), and I can’t wait to make pancakes for dinner AT FOUR O’CLOCK!
PS I shouldn’t have said anything! A backyard neighbor is having their house power-washed. All our back windows now closed (and it’s still loud).
PPS Below’s the figure quilt is based on. It’s not the exact magazine ad, couldn’t find that. But you can see outline, weapon, garb, etc.
Dogs passed: four. Finn reaction: zero. Numbers of times we crossed the street: twice.
Unidentified growth spotted: one. I found it on an oak sapling. It’s perhaps not good. Something parasitic?
CENTER STREET
We walked in front of two boys for a long block. One looked to be about twelve and wore a wrist cast (skateboarding injury, perhaps?) He told Siri to set a timer for 44 minutes. What? You can do that? Even though I knew about voice commands, it blew my mind. As soon as they split away, I told Siri to set a timer for 44 minutes. It worked. Mind blown again.
[Remedial, I know, but it just goes to show how beneficial it is to be around tweens when it comes to upping your technology skills].
CYPRESS STREET
The first pings of rain fell and we spied another growth we didn’t recognize (below).
K used plant ID app to determine that it’s Jimsonweed or Datura
Oh! I said. The enslaved used Jimsonweed to treat worms. I know this but can’t resist asking Siri to do more tricks and confirm.
Siri: Search Jimsonweed and worms.
It started to rain.
Siri: Search slave medicine worms Jimsonweed.
I didn’t get the confirmation I wanted but learned all kinds of cool stuff; how Jimsonweed has hallucinogenic properties; how there’s a history behind the name, as there is to most things.
Before the dog walk, I write out on the back deck. It’s damp from last night’s rain. When the leaves flutter, moisture drips down like a second rainfall. They seem to have more to say than I do, those drops.
Tiger-saw judders at a neighbor’s back facade where a new porch is in progress. A female vocalist’s plaintive song drifts across the yards. Fifteen degrees to the north, kids erupt out of the school building, dashing to basketball court, hollering. Thud, thud, thud go the balls. Now a man sings — Sam Cooke, I think.
Darling, you-oo send me …
On our walk, Finn and I pass a vibrant arc of purple and magenta petunias before coming upon a dusty crew of masons. They’ve made progress since yesterday. They look hot. Two admire the new front stoop, a third wacks a mallet at the soon-to-be deconstructed side stoop.
In less than a block, a hawk drifts a lazy loop above the rooftops, wings outspread.
A young woman passes us down near the tracks. It takes me a minute to figure out her footwear: black ankle socks in white Croc slides. Her hair shines down her back and I can almost hear her right hip click.
The stretch of sidewalk where I noticed with surprise yesterday that I was feeling no pain, did not offer the same observation today.
Up the hill at the Greek revival place on Cypress, two turkeys walk in circles. They look nonchalant, but I know better. Two females.
Back at the house, I peel off my socks with relief. I’m sweaty. A nearby fan offers cool air and a soothing whir. And now a stone saw. A neighbor is redoing his driveway with pavers.
I did not take any pictures on our walk this morning. But I’ll be back later with more collages. More, you say? Yes.
