Spring Bulbs In Bloom

They would not listen to me.  I tried.  In the unseasonably warm spell (and that is a mild way of describing our winter temperature ups and downs and rains), the spring bulbs began to emerge.  I thought the green might be the end of it and the buds could be spared for March.  Not so.  Despite all my talk and pleading, those silly bulbs not only poked through the earth, but they bloomed last month.  Now, thanks to the return of more seasonable weather, they are brown and withered and pretty much past photographing.  They just wouldn't listen.  This photo records their brief heyday.

And, thousands more are just like this-- spring gone woefully wrong.  I wonder what all those hundreds of bulbs whose leaves came up but didn't bloom will do in early March?  Should I be fertilizing in January?  What sort of gardening year is taking shape?

Aaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuggggggggghhhhhhhh!!!!

Thinking vs. Doing

I read a quote by Ray Bradbury in which he says, essentially, that we should not over-think an idea, but just DO it.  Since I am one who likes to think things over a bit, I decided to test that suggestion with an Embroidered Little Quilt.

First, I had to create my substrate; i.e., the ground for my piece.  To me, that is always one of the more pleasant aspects of the creative process.  Laying fabrics against one another and looking for that perfect little bit of color and texture, finding the odd shape that sparks the entire focus of the final work . . .

But there I was, thinking again, so I tried to move on with doing.

Next, I started my pattern, my design.  I thought I would follow the irregular shape of the center piece of linen (which was cut from an ancient pair of linen trousers, working carefully around the stains), and I laid down all manner of fabric scraps to form a frame, deciding to limit my colors to green (both light and dark) and an orangey-coral shade of pink, with a touch of blue here and there . . . Beside the linen, I found ultrasuede, silk cotton— these tiny bits of left-overs fell together beautifully.  They seemed to be forming a pattern that might be another map!

Warning!  Warning!  I was moving bits of fabric and thread around and thinking too much about this.  I took it all to the sewing machine and tried to clear my mind.

With the larger fabric elements in place, the hand stitching began.  I pinned my three anchoring pieces in place, then began to wonder how to fill in around them.  To integrate the pieces or let them float?  I put in and took out several stitched lines, then I drew a filling with an air-erase pen and drew another when that design disappeared, stitched some more, took out some more, pressed it carefully from the back side, searched for different threads and began to stitch again . . .

My conclusion is that I am not a Ray Bradbury.  I could not write a plot for Star Trek.  But I can stitch small quilted, embroidered and appliquéd pieces if I am allowed to think about it.  Further, I enjoy the thought process, the rejecting and selecting that goes into making a little quilted piece.  I mean, WHAT would I think about if I was just slashing into the fabric and plowing through it all?  It is the slowing down that allows you to think when you are engaged in hand work.  No more fast lane decisions or thinking on the run, just slow, rhythmic breathing that matches the pace of the stitching.

And this is what happens when I "think about it:   "Another Map!"

Hooray for thinking!

"TOO MUCH" Reconsidered

All those bags of fabric going out of the studio have given me the shakes.  I asked Charles not to carry them off just yet, and his look spoke volumes about his assessment of my mental condition.

In fairness to me, I have just received a new book, How to make your own freeform quilts, and our author makes the point that fabrics that are old or ugly are excellent for this technique!  Old and Ugly would describe those five bags very well.  Jill was right to discourage me from casting these pearls out.

I love quilts that look as if they were sewn together between chores and cooking meals and burping babies, with no thought to color or design, and particularly if there are long, wavy strips involved.  This book is all about uneven strips of fabric.  I sat reading that first night, and when I turned the bedside light off, visions of my rotary cutter, sharpened and at the ready, with piles of fabric lined up for chopping, "danced through my head. . ."

Despite all the things I should have been doing, there was to be no peace until I had at least tried this idea.  My inner child was whining, and ever the undisciplined mother, I gave in.  I made, by reaching for the nearest thing at hand, these four coasters/mug mats.  You will notice that these are not really ugly fabrics.  I was not deep into the five bags of give-aways at the time I started this.

I can hear your groaning over the satin stitches at the edge.  I will confess that I have made a zillion coasters over the years, and the part that is always ugly to me is the strip of seam binding to finish off the edges.  The nicely put-together coasters suddenly go from usefully flat to un-usefully lumpy edged, the sort of thing that isn't safe for sitting narrow-base glasses on for even a moment.  I have voile, but voile doesn't really hide too much, does it?

There is always the possibility of reconstruction, however, because these are 5" squares, leaving open the door to finding that perfect binding and chopping off the satin stitches.

Basically, I think I need a larger project to make wavy-lined stripes.  "Larger Project" is not really a part of my vocabulary, so I am thinking about this.  Thinking hard.

Meanwhile, I am studying another quilt I pieced together before the holidays, trying to think of a way to bind this more formal piece.  Black and White and Red always look so modern, don't they?  I'll take it with me to Freestyle in January.  Two of the very best quilters in the state will be there, Tone and Sheila, and I shall ask their advice!

Small Pieces: Trees, Lovely Trees!

Although the trees have shed their leaves and stand bare against the grey sky, they are still lovely.  Like beautiful people, they "have good bones."  They surround the studio, which is why I must be constantly sorting through scraps for appliqué and embroidery whose end always reveals hints of the arboreal.

This patched-together tree has puzzled me since I began working on it.  I  tried embroidering a background, but it was so out-of-place that I snipped the silk threads and picked that idea out of the linen before it was half-way finished.  There are little beads at the tips of the branches, which I put there as a reminder of how beautiful the trees can be when they sparkle with rain or frost.  The trunk is made from scraps of vintage cotton prints from old quilt scraps salvaged from a trip to an antique shop.

Here you may see me in full tree-hugger mode!  It takes only a few lines of heavy cotton to "paint" a tree against the sky.  I had the most fun putting the little slips of fabric under the main ground to form a soft frame for the tiny piece:

Many years ago I made the piece below as a rug for a miniature house.  I renovated the small dwelling for a very particular (imaginary) resident, Miss Buelah Blondeaux (my imaginary renovation company was called "N.Claiborne and Associates").  Beulah's husband, Payne, travelled the world and collected some oddities that she was constantly trying to integrate into her more toned-down sensibility.  The  embroidered rug was one such incorporation.  The little strip of trees at the top of this rectangle, with the moon behind, has always been one of my favorite looks at winter trees (this is a small portion of the much larger rug).  Interestingly enough, it is this view of the moon I have from our present home, with the high clerestory windows that allow me to follow its progress through the evening and night as it moves from the tangle of bare branches to the freedom of the star-dotted sky:

The trees around our house have been trimmed of dead branches, thinned, and are generally well-kept.  There are nests that have not been apparent until the leaf drop, both of squirrels and birds.  Raccoons, rabbits-- an entire community of animals depends on our tiny stand of trees!  I would hate losing one.  Just a week ago, another tree fell across the street from us.  What a loss!

Christmas, 2011

As I did not get these photos loaded in a timely manner, I take you, belatedly, through a few little parts of my Christmas home.  The Adorables helped to decorate the tree, Jordan was so kind as to move furniture in the sun room to make room for the Hogwarts Express (which Ethan and Granddad put together so charmingly), and Charles carried boxes up and down the steps for what must have seemed like miles to him.

It is so nice to find ornaments again, reminders of Christmases past, and though there are some things still missing, they MUST be here somewhere.  There is something very soothing about finding misplaced objects after years of searching, so I shall look forward to next year's Christmas for the treasures that may be uncovered.  There are some badly labeled boxes in the garage and storage room!

Here we see Charles reading "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" to the children (of all sizes) Christmas Eve at Jordan and Julie's house:

He really enjoyed the role of the Grinch just a wee bit too much, as Julie must have realized:

Back home, the tables had been set for three days, and I changed the centerpieces, chose other glasses, moved napkins and discarded first and second choices . . .

On the mantel we collected the snowmen.  I had no idea I collected them, but as the boxes were opened, an entire community of little snowpeople emerged!

Around and about, some favorite decorations.  These three angels date from about 1970, about the time Jordan popped into the world.  They are a gift from his Grandmother, Celina, after I had admired hers.  She toned hers down with a good wipe of dark stain, but ever the bright-color aficionada, I left mine to flaunt their (now) retro style down the years.  They have every nuance of the 60s-70s, except to have "Flower Power" and "Love" written on them somewhere!  I have never ceased to love these paper maiché dears:

And I will never give away my old glass ornaments, no matter how shabby they become:

The lovely beaded curtain was made by Marge Courville, and these two little guys seem as taken by it as I am!

And so Christmas came, the family assembled, we ate and exchanged gifts, and now the New Year has been rung in.  Life as it should be lived!