It snowed last Monday night, and there were high
winds during the night and Tuesday morning. By afternoon, the snow had stopped, but it was
still windy. So the Garfield comic for
the day was quite appropriate. 😄
A quilting friend
was getting ready to go on a quilting retreat, and she asked if anyone besides
her wrote themselves long lists of everything they might need.
Yes indeedy, I make
lists. I have one on my computer for when we travel – and it used to have
13 pages to it: one for each member of the family, and two for general
supplies, depending on if we were going to camp out in the tent, or take the
camper, or stay in motels. It has dwindled down to a mere three pages these
days.
Now and then the
list failed somebody, because they either 1) marked something off before
they’d actually inserted it in their bag, or they 2) got an item back out
of their bag after putting it in and marking it off the list.
Caleb once forgot
his pjs – because he packed everything, including said pjs, the night before
The Big Excursion, then got the pajamas back out to wear them that final
night... and of course he forgot to put them back in the bag the next
morning. We wound up stopping at a big secondhand store somewhere in the
Minnesota backwoods. We couldn’t find actual pjs in his size, but found a
soft set of running wear that would do, and got him a t-shirt to go with
it. The jacket was reversible and had a hood. He was really pleased
with his new outfit. He later told his
sisters, “If you need a new pair of pjs, just forget to pack any the next time
we go on a trip.” haha That kid.
By Tuesday, I was beginning
to acquire Larry’s cold. Ever notice how
some colds come on quickly, making one miserable immediately, while others come
on slowly, causing one to erroneously imagine that it’s not going to be too
bad? Even though I was coughing,
sneezing, blowing my nose, and had mild earaches, I nevertheless felt fairly
well.
That status would
not last.
Larry, on the other
hand, still sounded terrible, but was starting to feel better.
That evening, I
finished the center section, the background for the Americana Eagle quilt. Now I could start numbering
pieces for the eagle.
When I
laid the quilt center down to take a picture of it, Tiger thought for sure I
was making him a nice bed, and was quite certain he needed to get in the middle
of it. I told him to stay back, holding up a hand like a traffic cop –
so, after a couple of admonitions, he stayed back. But you can see from his poor sad face that
he was downright woebegone about it. When I finally picked the center and
the borders back up and told him he could walk through, he purred loudly and
rubbed and rubbed around my ankles.
Wednesday
afternoon, realizing that I would soon be to the point where I needed some fabric
for the eagle, I decided to scurry off to the fabric store before I got any sicker.
Forty-five
minutes later I was home again, sicker. Either
it was a good thing I went when I did, or it was a bad thing to go
entirely. Jury is out. (I didn’t cough or sneeze on anybody, and I
stayed out of their airspace, too.)
My friend Jo, owner
of the store, was there. I went to school with her. She was a nice
girl back then, and every bit as nice (maybe even nicer) now. I’m always
pleased that one of our local quilt stores is owned by her.
I got the 171
appliqué pieces for the Americana Eagle traced onto freezer paper, which I
doubled and then trimmed. They were ready to be ironed onto fabric, cut
out, and the edges starched and ironed over.
Thursday, it
finally and belatedly occurred to me that, instead of struggling to see through
the ‘real’ background I’d put together, which wound up being two or three
layers thick in some places, I could lay the muslin atop the eagle template,
put the whole works on the lightbox, glue the pieces into place, trim around
the eagle, set muslin, eagle pieces, and all in place on the background, and then
appliqué it down.
What takes me so
long to think of these things that, once thought of, seem so obvious?!
Ah, well. At least I thought of it before, rather than after,
I’d begun.
I pulled out some thin
muslin... cut a 30” x 40” piece... then carefully pinned the big paper
eagle template of thin newsprint, with the 171 numbered pieces, atop the
muslin.
Then I rolled my
eyes, marked around the edges (so all the adjusting and the getting-it-just-right
wouldn’t go to naught), unpinned it, switched it around so the muslin was
on top, and repinned it.
Next, I carefully
sorted the freezer paper templates onto the fabric I wanted for each piece, and
then I was ready to iron freezer paper to fabric. This isn’t a very fast
part of the project, because I’m picky, picky, picky.
I got all the
little appliqué pieces ironed to fabric and trimmed, then began starching and
pressing the edges, getting about half of them done.
The
insurance adjuster came and looked at the roof and the ceiling that afternoon;
a whole lot of shingles had blown off in strong winds a couple of weeks
ago. I sure hope they allow us enough to
redo the whole roof; it’s in bad shape.
It was a pretty,
sunshiny day Friday, 45°, and the farmer to our south decided to fertilize his
field. Here he came,
putt-putt-puttity-putt on his tractor, towing the large tank behind him. Directly he stopped; the tractor was
idling... and I heard a high-pitched chirping-squeaking-squealing noise. I didn’t think much about it (I imagined it
to be a bird), or correlate the two occurrences – until the odor of skunk floated
in the open window. Eh?
I pulled up
youtube, typed in ‘Skunk Noises’ – and ... there it was, the very noise I
heard:
Did the tractor run
into a skunk trying to nap along the edge of the field? Maybe a den with an entire skunk family?
Eventually the
tractor went rumbling on toward the west... paused, idling for a time ------
and then it came back again for its second pass through the field, heading east
– and the man driving the tractor was now carrying his rifle. He evidently doesn’t like getting sprayed,
and is possibly concerned about rabies?
I looked it
up. No animals in Platte County have
tested positive for rabies since May of 2015, and that was a bat.
In my youtube
search, I saw a video entitled “Vicious Skunk Attack” – it was actually somebody’s
pet baby skunk, playing and begging to be petted. Somebody asked in the comment section, “What
kind of cat is that, and is it still a kitten?”
A helpful person answered, “It’s a blobfish, ya walnut.” 🤣
By nighttime, I had
all 171 pieces of the eagle glued onto the muslin.
Saturday,
I trimmed the muslin around the eagle, and then glued it onto the
background. I was ready to start
appliquéing it all down!
On
a huge Facebook quilting group I’m on, ladies were discussing thread. Someone asked about variegated, and somebody
immediately responded, “Oh, ugh, I hate the stuff. Looks so awful! Yuck, bleah, ack.” Dozens more promptly chimed in to agree. After about 150 people had said the same, I,
always willing to stand alone against the crowd, announced, “I just love
variegated thread.” And then suddenly
there was an avalanche of people crying, “Me, too, me too!!! Sooo beautiful; it can jazz up plain things,
really add something…” and blah, blah, etc., etc., on and on. haha People
are such sheep! Baaaa.
In
the end, it looked to be solidly slanted toward those who do like
variegated thread (depending on the project, of course). But maybe the silent majority (along with the
150 loud ones) hates it, who knows?
Teensy must believe
that exercise will help me feel better. He goes out the rear pet door,
then comes around to the front door and skreeeeeeks his paw pads on the
glass, begging to get in. Now he’s on my lap trying to cram his head into
my hands whilst I’m a-tryin’ to type. Silly kitty.
That day, my throat
hurt so badly, I couldn’t talk, and could hardly swallow. My head
hurt. My ears hurt. I made myself some
TheraFlu tea and headed back to my quilting studio.
I sent out a
question to several of the quilting groups to which I belong: “What’s the best fabric medium for light
shading on a scenic quilt? I’d show you
a picture of the quilt in question, but you’d all say sadly, ‘We can’t see the
head and tail feathers enough! – they blend into the sky!’ (or at least you’d think
it, if you were afraid you might hurt my feelings, heh). Plus, the
feet and beak look too, too yellow and orange. All this will be solved
with embroidery, darker appliqué thread in some areas, custom quilting, and the
above-mentioned shading. So I won’t post
a picture until his head and tail no longer blend. I’d like to know what the best method is to
do this ---- pencils? Crayolas? Paints? Are there permanent
chalks? I need something very, very subtle. Sheer would be nice.”
I showed the eagle
to Larry, and he said, “Don’t you want to keep it now??”
There!!! The perfect excuse for keeping it: Larry wants
it. Husbands should precede sons-in-law, shouldn’t they? Shouldn’t
they??? Besides, I just got three beautifully printed wildlife
panels. I could back one with fleece, and give that to Jeremy,
instead. Then it will be more equal to the one I gave Andrew a few years
ago. (We won’t talk about the Mosaic
Sailboat quilt I gave Bobby, which only happened because I needed a practice
quilt before launching into the Mosaic Lighthouse quilt, anyway.)
Besides, I need a
quilt to go in the beautiful oak quilt hanger Loren gave me.
Right? Right???
Due to the
clamoring of quite a few quilters here and there, I decided to give a sneak
peek... of the bald eagle’s wings:
I’ll have a bit of
hand-embroidery to do when the appliquéing is done – I’ll embroider the eagle’s
claws, eye, nostril, and feathering on body and head.
Larry got home from
work, and, upon discovering that I could hardly even croak out a whisper (and
believe me, making the effort was a genuine pain,
literally), went to whispering back
to me. 🙄
That way, I not only couldn’t talk,
I couldn’t hear, either!
It was a busy night
at all the British Henge sites as staff worked throughout Saturday night/Sunday
morning to move the stones forward by an hour, for Daylight Saving Time:
Victoria made us a
concoction of peppermint oil, coconut oil, and other essential oils, and sent
it home with Larry yesterday. It’s a rub
for chest, feet, etc., that’s supposed to cure us of all our ills, or at least to
help with congestion and suchlike, and I do believe it has been helping. Even if it doesn’t help congestion, it smells
good, and is beneficial for dry skin. I
smell like peppermint. I think if you turned toward the Nebraska Midwest
and wiggled your nose just right as you breathe in, you should be able to smell
me. 😄
Baby Carolyn is now
six months old. Larry was holding her last night after church, and she cuddled
up close.
He asked her, “Are
you a sweet little baby?” and she leaned back, looked at him seriously, and
nodded her head.
“Did you know she’s
nodding in answer to questions?!” he asked Victoria, and she laughed, “Yes, she’s
been doing that lately!”
Now to finish
appliquéing the eagle, and then start putting on all the borders.
I like
fancy borders. If you knew how many
people, upon looking at quilts I was making, told me, “Anything other than a simple
border will take away from the quilt!”
Pshaw (as Larry’s grandma would’ve said). That’s not mathematically sound, you know
that? Any border, whether simple or complex, adds to the quilt! Think
about that. >snicker<
I suppose now I
should tell you that the stone-moving thing was just a joke?
Stonehenge:
Believe me, no one
would ever try moving those rocks, or they’d get themselves tossed in the
hoosegow.
Out in western
Nebraska, some guy put up cars in the same positions as the huge prehistoric
rocks at Stonehenge.
The site in
Nebraska is called ‘Carhenge’. It got a
bunch of British Aristocrats all up in arms, that anyone should mock at their
wonderful rocks. The man who created it,
Jim Reinders, laughs and says it’s nothing to worry about, since none of them
knows where Alliance, Nebraska, is, anyway.
Stonehenge was
probably a burial grounds. Some of the
henge sites (i.e., big stones, placed in certain formations) may have been for
the ancients to tell time/date. The
first picture is from Avebury Stone Circle, Wiltshire, some 30 miles from
Stonehenge.
One of our elderly
aunts who used to write to us when she was able would sign off with, “Well, I
don’t know anything! Love, Aunt Gertrude”
Now, we knew what
she meant: ”I don’t know anything else to write.” But
that last line nevertheless always made us laugh.
And now, like Aunt
Gertrude, “I don’t know anything!”
,,,>^..^<,,, Sarah Lynn ,,,>^..^<,,,
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