Heat outside; cool quilting inside

When I'm not doing my rain dance or watering my sunburned plants, I am happily working on my quilting.

I find that quilting has become my favorite past time of late. Whenever I hear of about a fabric sale at Fabric.com, my favorite online shopping venue or Connecting threads, which is now tied for that distinctive preference, I can't help myself. I simply have to peruse those delicious marked-down fabric lines. That always leads to ordering a couple yards here and a few half-yards there. Fresh, new cotton fabric is addictive. I'd like one of each of everything I see. I just can't afford that kind of a habit.

I love new fabric. I love the way it feels; I love folding it, sorting it, and stacking it into piles with like colors. I like to use it in a project, but most of all I like to squirrel it away, like saving for a rainy day. It is such a treasure to me.

I am currently awaiting a visit from either the mail man or UPS guy with a recent online purchase from Connecting threads. It will contain all kinds of goodies, some thread, marking pencils, a new needle threader, leather thimble pads, and of course some really reasonably-priced fabric from a great sale they just ran. When I hear the doorbell ring, I will be five years old again and it will be Christmas morning.

STARTING MY DAY

Every morning, I dutifully check my email. Each day there is an email from Quiltingboard.com, a quilters bulletin board I belong to. It is a very happy and useful place where quilters from all over gather to share stories and pictures of their latest projects, as well as come together as a community. Quilters from all skill levels are members. We all learn from one another, provide feedback, and answer questions. I know I have learned so much from these quilters. Some of them make the most incredible, artistic, beautiful quilts.

I joined the quilt of the month club on the board. So on the first day of each month, I get all excited to see the latest pattern for that month. We are making a calendar quilt with blocks related to each month of the year. When it is completed, we will sew them together to form an entire quilt top.

This months's block, and they are always picked by someone with lots more experience than I have, is the "exploding star" block. It is done using the English paper piecing method, whereby a pattern is printed out and actual scraps of fabric are sewn onto the paper and then trimmed to fit. Instead of paint by number, it is sew by number. I am new to the technique; I've attempted it only a couple other times before. It is supposed to be an excellent way of keeping points sharp and seams well matched.

I call it English paper torture.

This is the block I just finished. It is supposed to represent August. I can't decide if I like this method or not. I do know that it is one that requires lots of practice to be good at it. I noticed the seams did appear to be easier to match.

I also participate in the Craftsy block of the month, a free class that offers instruction for things I have never done before. It is a little more of a contemporary take on the traditional quilt blocks. It includes two blocks each month. The class is taught by Amy Gibson, a wonderful young woman whose website Stitchery Dickory Dock is an inspiration herself. Amy is one of those people that just exudes happiness. Everything she does is perfection. She is so pleasant and just so happens to be pregnant with twins.

This month's blocks were 'star' blocks--the Ohio star and a Star in a star. I am making all of my blocks in shades of purple. I love monochromatic quilts and purple is one of my favorite colors.

I really enjoyed creating these two star blocks. I think they turned out pretty well. I am getting better at matching my points, which makes me really happy.

Of course I am still working on my yellow quilt. Here the top is finished. I've been doing the hand-quilting for what feels like forever. I work on it for a few days, take a few days off, and then get back to it. Hand quilting takes lots of time, but I think it will be worth it. I am really loving this quilt. I wonder if it will be done by fair time--in September. Something to think about.

I'm already looking forward to September so I can work on the next quilt of the month blocks. By the way, they are always a surprise. We never see what they will be until the first of the month. What fun!

I'VE ADDED A QUILTING PAGE TO CH MUSINGS

I have consolidated all the quilt-related posts in CH Musings onto one page, (see the above tab). The posts are still in the blog as written, but there are now links to each of them. It can be so frustrating to look for something, know it is there, but not be able to find it. Hopefully this little housekeeping trick will help. I just have to remember now to keep it updated. It will be nice to have all my sewing posts in one place.

Rain, rain, beautiful rain

This summer has been so oppressive; I've felt like a shut-in. Since moving to Arkansas, I've experienced hot, but this has been over-the-top hot. It has been deathly hot. Since the heat began in May, there have been only a handful of upper 90º days. The rest have been well over 100º. In the past 24-hours though, we have had a reprieve--a tiny respite from the dry, triple-digit heat. 

Rain is over for us now,
but more could be coming!!!

We have watched the radar with laser-like intensity, holding our breaths and feeling hopeful whenever any green color appeared anywhere in the vicinity of our state. For most of the summer, there has been no color on the map whatsoever. Meteorologists say we have been beneath a dome of high pressure that is too strong to allow any moisture to penetrate it. At times, a front would move through or the jet stream would cause a shift in the upper level atmosphere, allowing for rain to form. So often we watched it come oh, so close, but never make it to our house. I was starting to wonder if we didn't have some kind of anti-rain device installed on our roof. 

I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky in a way. Many of the areas that received rain this summer also had accompanying destructive winds. There was lots of damage because of strong storms. Nevertheless, it was disheartening as we watched clouds form and then come close only to disappear. I could look out the window one minute and even hear thunder, only to watch it all dissipate right before my eyes.

This was our last really good rain--April 16th!
All that green in this picture is now brown and dry!

I've experienced hot and humid summers, but never such dry heat. This is unlike anything I've ever felt. While the mornings and evenings were somewhat cool, the heat during the day was so extreme that it burned every living thing in the plant world. Even with watering, the excessive drought we have been experiencing has done little to keep precious plants alive. I am hoping they are just dormant and not dead. 

Then yesterday afternoon, the radar showed rain, one little line of what the weathermen called monsoonal rain that originated in the Pacific ocean. It traveled from the southwestern states in an arc up to Colorado and around, then back down--right to our house. The rain was very gentle, and at times was no more than a spitting from the heavens. But at other times, it was a good, steady downpour. Because of the day of cloud cover, the temperature cooled to a comfortable 79º. I was able to open a window,. Hearing the rain was therapy for a severe case of rain deprivation. It felt like Spring! I felt the same kind of jubilation after it started to rain as I feel during springtime, my favorite season of the year.

Almost as soon as the rain began, the tree frogs started to sing. The forest awoke for the first time in so long. A more jubilant melody came from the birds.

When I awoke this morning, I couldn't see out of the windows. With the air conditioning cooling the inside of the house and the hot humid air outside, the windows were completely opaque. I stepped outside and it was raining, ever so lightly. The air was thick with moisture. The rain has stopped for now, but the radar shows more moisture on the map. I hope it follows a similar course. We have been missed all summer and really could use it. We planted some small trees earlier this year. They have lost all their leaves, despite our keeping them watered, I fear they will not survive.

None of my flowers are alive, despite my keeping them watered too. The deer have had nothing to eat, so they have been attracted to the green succulent stems and leaves from my geraniums, hostas, coral bells, petunias, and others. Even those on our front porch have been discovered by mama deer and her fawns. We've seen them munching on flowers and drinking out of the bird baths that we have worked hard to keep full and cooled. I couldn't stop them. Poor dears had nothing else to eat. We've had to bring in all our bird feeders because during the night, the marauding beasts seemingly followed the deer path to our front door. They didn't just eat, they were destructive. I hope they are somewhat happier now and perhaps some of my plants will recover.

Got some ugly fabric--make a rag rug!

I was recently given a box of fabric from a dear friend. Some of the pieces were beautiful 100% cotton that would lend themselves well to any quilting project. There were some though, that I wasn't particularly fond of. And there was also some knit fabric that I wasn't quite sure what to do with.

I put my thinking cap on.

I decided to make a rag rug. I needed a rug in the laundry room. I refuse to pay the ridiculous prices for a little scatter rug, so I thought this really fit the bill.

I did a cursory Internet search, and learned all I could about rug making. I decided to make a braided rug.

I vaguely remember my grandmother crocheting rag rugs, but for some reason I settled on braiding instead of crocheting. I may do that next time.

I didn't have any expectations of a final product. This was more or less an experiment. If it worked, fine. If not, that was fine too. Mostly, I was just happy just to have the handwork while watching television. Nothing makes me happier than watching television while working on a project. I am still hand-quilting on my yellow quilt, but I thought a little diversity might be nice for a change.

I ripped 1" strips from the cotton fabric that I wasn't crazy about. I cut 1" strips from the green knit fabric. I started braiding, and braiding, and braiding. When the strips came to an end, I tied the two ends together and kept on braiding. Later, I decided to hand sew the two ends together, since the knots were quite obvious. I didn't care enough to take the thing apart though, since I really didn't care how this work turned out. I kept on going until all the strips I cut were gone.

Then I wound the braids around and whip stitched them into place to form a slightly elongated circle. What I ended up with when that was done was a roundish bowl-shaped thing. So much for my rug idea. Instead of a nice flat rug, I had a bowl. My husband suggested I wear it on my head and call it a hat. I didn't think that was funny. For two days I had been braiding and sewing, braiding and sewing.

I gave in and decided that a nice fabric bowl could be a useful item. I could keep fruit in it. I was content with that idea.

The next morning I woke up with an attitude about the thing. I figured I would try to flatten it out by ironing it. I had just had a similar experience with a Dresden plate quilt block I made for the Craftsy block of the month project. That block also refused to lie flat until I tamed it with the iron and lots of spray starch.

Had I not just had that experience, I might not have thought about ironing the dickens out of it. With a little patience and a lot of steam, I finally got the thing to lie flat. The fabric was pretty forgiving since it was stretchy anyway. Once it was flat, I pinned it to my ironing board pad to keep it flat as it dried.

I took out the pins and this is the result.

Because there is only a small amount of that green fabric, I'll have to use something else. I do have some knit fabric that is a different shade--a real ugly color, but this has lots of ugly colors in it too. That is why I didn't put it into a quilt. I think I will continue on with this and see how it goes.

I will take the small bit that is left of the green color and incorporate it (one old green strip with two new green strips) with the new green color. I may even increase the size of the strips to make it get bigger faster.

What a fun project this turned out to be!

Birds just wanna have fun!

My husband thought I was crazy when I had to have this concrete bird bath top at a yard sale. It didn't have a pedestal, but we have tons of old tree stumps around the yard. This is a perfect place for avian recreation--but don't take my word for it. Check out a typical morning--just after I water what is left of the garden and fill the bird baths. Yes, the weather is still hot! We continue to miss out on rain showers all around us. There is still joy in the little things. At least the birds are happy!

Cursive writing should always be taught in school

Oh no they don't--they can't!

Yesterday, there was a piece in our local paper written by Tom Purcell, about the possibility of public schools doing away with cursive writing instruction, see below.

Apparently this is a trend. It has already been decided  in some states that handwriting is no longer going to be taught to students.

One of those states is Indiana, where my son happens to live. He and I got into a rather heated discussion months ago when I first heard that Indiana was considering eliminating cursive writing from the school curriculum.

I was appalled. He said he didn't care.

He has two small kids just entering public school. These are my grand kids and I would like them to know how to write. Perhaps they would write Grandma a letter once in awhile. My son reasoned that they will not need handwriting since they can just use a keyboard. If they have to put something down on paper, they can print. He admitted that he never uses handwriting. He always prints, except for times when he has to sign his name.

I think this is so sad. To me, this is just another example of how all the great and wonderful things about my generation are simply turning to dust.

I always loved handwriting. I often say handwriting was my best subject when I was in school. Indeed I did get A's on it because I really tried hard. For me, it satisfied an artistic need. I always got a thrill from picking out just the right pen. The ink had to flow well; but more importantly, it had to feel good in my hand. I always auditioned a new pen, to see if it enhanced my writing. My favorite was always a fountain pen. I still have one today that I use when writing letters. I consider writing with a fountain pen to be like artwork.

I loved buying new stationery--something I haven't done in years. It isn't as available as it once was. Stationery used to come in every color of the rainbow, with varied sizes, patterns, and textures. My girlfriends and I used to buy each other a pretty box of stationery as a birthday gift. The boxes usually had pretty paper with matching envelopes, all tied in a bow with a pretty ribbon.

Thanks to the ink jet printer, it is still possible to enjoy stationery, except that I have to design and print it myself then cut it to size.

When I was in high school, my boyfriend went in the Army. I used different styles of stationery to write to him every day. A good looking letter was almost as important as a well written one. There was a real sense of pride for me in crafting a good letter.

I admit that most of my writing is done, like everybody else, on the computer. Letters are mostly all typed on plain white paper. I don't mind picking an easier way because I know how to write and the choice is mine. I cannot imagine not having that choice. Typing is faster and easier, but it definitely lacks the flair of a hand-written letter.

I remember writing to my relatives when they were still alive. I always wrote a letter at Christmas. My uncle used to scold me if I sent him a typed one, telling me I have a beautiful handwriting and I should use it. A hand-written letter seems to mean so much more, he told me. At least back then it did.

I still have the last letter written to me by my grandfather. He died early in the 1980's. One look at that letter, and I know it was from my Gramps. I recognize his handwriting. That is something that you don't forget. I received many letters from him. I didn't even have to look at the post mark. I just needed to see the writing on the envelope to know it was Gramps. His letters were unique to him. As it should be.

I tried to get the point across to my son, but to no avail.

I remember quite a few years ago when my mother-in-law wanted me to help her write notes to people who came to Granny's wake and funeral. She asked me to write them because she said I had a nice handwriting. She and I bonded over those notes.

More recently a friend, one that is closer to my son's age than my own, asked her friends on Facebook about the etiquette of writing hand-written thank you notes. The consensus was that it meant more to receive a hand-written note.

Then there are those beautifully written historical documents written by our forefathers: the Declaration of Independence, Bill of Rights and Constitution. Those men had such beautiful handwriting. The words they used to communicate were beautiful words in both their content and appearance. Those remain cherished documents.

I cannot imagine, nor have I heard one argument to justify not teaching cursive writing. Yes, it takes time, but anything worth doing is worth taking some time. Learning cursive was hard for us when we were little kids, but just because something is hard doesn't mean it should be abandoned. I think cursive writing is artistic, and worthwhile. I am so against doing away with it.

Are we so lazy today that all we want to do is learn the bare minimum in school? I cannot imagine not knowing how to write. Texting and keyboarding is not a good replacement. New technology does not mean old technology should eliminate all other options. Consider that voice recognition software will soon replace typing. Does that mean we should no longer learn to type?

That argument doesn't really hold up for eliminating texting. That would not be such a bad idea. A few days ago, I saw a Facebook post that was quite apropos. It said, B-E-F-O-R-E not B4!. We speak English, not Bingo!

Doing away with cursive writing is just more of the dumbing down of our society.

Make it stop! Our children should be at least as smart as we are, and then some. They should be able to do everything we can do, and then some. To me, learning to write in cursive is fundamental. It is communication and art all wrapped into one subject. It is a building block that should remain a part of elementary education. Upon the learning of forming and connecting letters builds an ability to express thoughts and ideas through the written word. It is the fundamental of our beautiful language; our communication with others. It is how we interact.

We mourn the passing of Andy Griffith, all he stood for

Andy Griffith, Tony Award-nominated and Emmy Award-nominated American actor, producer, writer, director and Grammy Award-winning southern gospel singer. Image taken as President George W. Bush presents him the Presidential Medal of Freedom. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I do believe the entire country is mourning the loss of television icon Andy Griffith, who died yesterday. 

Andy Griffith was an entertainer for the ages. Generations enjoyed his work, but in my mind, there was none so important as his portrayal of Andy Taylor of Mayberry. There is no need to describe this role because anyone who ever owned a television set knows exactly who Andy Taylor was. Talk about a character-defining role...Many actors shy away from roles that define them, but I suspect Andy Griffith embraced his. 

The Andy Griffith Show was the macaroni and cheese of television. It brought comfort to the souls of generations. 

When we watched it as children, it was a learning experience. With what Andy's calming ways and common-sense solutions to everyday problems each episode was enlightening, inspiring, and always taught us a thing or two about life. Each story had purpose.  

The moral character of our generation was reflected in Andy's good nature. Even when he made fun, it was never with malice. It was never painful to anyone. 

The seriousness of the show was perfectly balanced with genuine humor. Rarely was anything as funny as the interaction between Andy and Barney, perfectly played by the late Don Knotts. Andy's interaction with his son, Opey, expertly played by by the incomparable Ron Howard was sweet, yet stern. It was so clear how Andy admired and adored the woman who took such good care of him, his Aunt Bee, played by the late Francis Bavier. 

Either Andy Griffith was either the world's best actor or he brought much of himself to the role he played. I suspect a little of both. 

So many of us who watched the Andy Griffith Show as children and young adults must admit that while channel-surfing today, if we come across the show we loved so much, we pause, often watching it again. We know the episodes by heart; we have seen the scenes so many times before, yet we continue to watch. It just makes us feel good. There is so much to be said for that kind of repetitive comfort. 

Andy Griffith represented to so many of us, not just a great television experience, but we took it so to heart. We expected the world around us to be like living in Mayberry, the mythical town that represented an ideal small community. It was always disappointing to learn that the world in which we live is just not like that. The passing of Andy Griffith magnifies that disappointment. We now know the world will never be like Mayberry. With Andy no longer living, a little hope for that dies too.

Loss and saying goodbye

I am almost afraid to read the paper these days. It seems every time I do, there is someone I know listed in the obituaries. It is always a shock, accompanied by varying degrees of personal sadness.

During those times, I have to fight the urge to interview family members and friends to construct a story to memorialize them. I had written such stories for so long. In all my years writing for a newspaper, memorials were always one of my least favorite stories to write. They were difficult because they were so important. As the last comments ever said about a person, those stories almost always had an impact. They were so positive. Something can be said in those final moments after death about every person, whether they lead the life of a celebrity or are a homeless recluse. Every person has a story. Everybody does something well. Often times, that final story is the only time a person's name ever appears in a newspaper.

I didn't write about every person who died in our town, but I wrote about those who were prominent members of the community. Stories memorializing the deceased was also warranted if a death accompanied a news event, such as an accident or other tragic circumstance. I also wrote about people I knew to be special.

Most newspapers have their own policy regarding obituaries and death notices. It was through those guidelines that I learned the mechanics of writing them. As the years went on though, I realized how invaluable they were to grieving families. They were always clipped and saved. They deserved effort. Nearly every one of the stories I wrote became personal to me. I put my heart and soul into them. I often cried when I wrote them. If I knew the person who died and was fond of them, I often wrote the words straight from my heart, because I too was saying goodbye. 

The memories and feelings that are conjured up by a person's death, at least for me, come from a place beyond my conscious mind. Just seeing a name or a picture can awaken emotions that I may have not even known were there. It is almost like that little sound you make when you are startled. You hear it, and know it came out of you, but you have no idea how, why, or where it came from. 

This morning I read an obituary for a woman that I knew. Had I still lived there, I would have certainly written about her. She was a good, caring woman who was always helpful to others; she was a volunteer who devoted her time and energy to causes she believed in. She was feisty and funny. Truthfully, she was no  more than an acquaintance, but there was something about her warm smile and a good-natured heart. I admired her spunk. Rest in peace Barb Oliver.