Some personal quilting essentials…

As with writing, every quilter has their own methods.  Now, I’ve been writing for over seven years, so I know how I prefer to go about it; early morning for the actual writing, revising anytime but late at night, for by then I don’t have any useful brain cells remaining.  But quilting, or piecing then quilting, well, that’s a work in progress, in the figuring out what makes me happiest.  I do know that I like a clean sewing machine, which means under the needle plate.  I mucked that out this morning, for yesterday I put the finishing touches on the Fat Quarters Quilt.  Next time I complete a quilt, I’ll snap a picture of the Magnolia’s easily accessible innards, for it was a fuzz-fest.  Now it’s tidy, ready for the next quilt in the queue.

Washed, puckered, and waiting to be used

But that’s the nuts and bolts of equipment.  What I mean are the quirky touches that only I can bring to the sewing table.  Music is a mainstay, mostly on the stereo when I’m piecing in the living room, then on my PC when quilting in the sewing grotto at my big table, as I did with the FQ Quilt.  Which is due for another name change, for I’m not keeping it, bequeathing it to my eldest and her hubby (and Buttercup the basset, of course).  It will be the Mijos Quilt, abbreviated Spanish for my children, but it has a personal significance for me, which if you’re interested you can read about here.

But still, I’m digressing, something I’m good at in real life.  In quilt life, well, I’m still so wet behind the ears that other than copious tunes, and a clean machine, I don’t yet have a rhythm, although I also prefer a new needle for machine quilting.  Fortunately needles aren’t too expensive, and perhaps as I go along, I’ll not be so fussy.  (My sister doesn’t replace her needles until they break, which when our mom learned about that, Sis was immediately chastised to change that needle more frequently!)  I do like a less-quilted quilt, which is going to be important for the next project, a big summer quilt for our bed.  I’ll tie that baby, as it’s going to be queen-king bed appropriate, and I’m still sorting just exactly how and where I’ll do that tying.

Flannel backing in blue and coral...

Something for later, surely.  Today I know music matters, and when in the living room, it’s the albums that rest against the cabinet upon which our turntable, amp, etc, sit.  The Mijos Quilt was pieced to Ryan Adams, Endless Boogie, Linda Ronstadt, Miles Davis, and Cat Power.  The quilting however was dependent upon R.E.M., Patsy Cline, Cracker, Josh Rouse, the Oscar Peterson Trio, The Cramps, and Josephine.  What was nice about quilting near my computer was I didn’t have to get up to flip the record, just sew endlessly (and mostly) straight lines while songs filled the grotto.

Another presence hovered as I sewed that quilt, but that had little to do with music, more about what I’ve been reading during lunchtime.  And as I consider that influence, I wonder how future quilts will be affected by outside matters.  Especially quilts that I won’t keep, which will be most of them.  I only need so many quilts.

Perhaps that seems like blasphemy, but our house is small, and we don’t live in the frozen tundra.  However, last night was chilly, and the Mijos Quilt was getting a trial run.  I thought it was fantastic, but will give it to those children in a few days.  Until then, I’ll give it another go tonight, making 100% certain that it’s acceptable.

My husband snapped this during a commercial while we suffered another baseball loss...  Thank goodness for a comforting quilt!

My husband snapped this during a commercial while we suffered another baseball loss… Thank goodness for a comforting quilt!

And maybe tonight, the SF Giants will win, making the evening not quite so dismal.  I’d give my kingdom for an offensive onslaught….

Soon to be sitting to sew…

But in the meantime, no matter how eager I am to finish up the Fat Quarters Quilt, other issues take precedence.  The next quilt in the queue was my focus last week, when I found I needed a walking foot, which I borrowed from my eldest daughter yesterday.  I spent Easter in the bosom of my family, no better way in my opinion.  Now it’s Monday, and I’m back home, in my little sewing haven.  Still, before I sit at the machine, I need to note a few things.

The note is to remind me to fill bobbins and change the needle.

The note is to remind me to fill bobbins and change the needle.

One is that it’s fine to imagine a big quilt.  It’s another thing entirely to find room in one’s house to sort it out.  I have the quilt wall, but it’s nowhere big enough to accommodate a 88″ X 96″ queen/king summer quilt.

I’m not sure I was thinking about this when I first considered this project, but this morning, laying out a few squares, I came to realize the limitations of a small house and a huge quilt.  But I will make it work, especially once I get another half-yard of some big print with pink and yellow as the predominate colours.  In the meantime, I have three rows (basically) plotted.

I didn't lay them out to their full 8X8 glory.  Going to be a big quilt...

I didn’t lay them out to their full 8X8 glory. Going to be a big quilt…

In the same way that I can’t just jump into the writing first thing, I’m not an off-the-bat seamstress.  It’s like I need to wake up properly via lesser tasks, allowing the morning to seep into me before I tackle a major undertaking, no matter how badly I want to sit at that machine.

In the process, I gazed at the quilt wall, now housing the beginnings of my youngest daughter’s ocean quilt.  It’s in flux; when I started placing squares on the wall, I found myself getting dizzy.  Too many busy fabrics, not enough low volume/solids.  I need another half-yard of fabric for that one too, orange and light blue solids, I’m thinking.  (I’m also thinking I need to go shopping soon…)

At least the wall isn't bare...

At least the wall isn’t bare…

But now that I have a walking foot, there’s a project to complete!  Writing is a lot like sewing, all parts in their proper time.  And, when I’m caught up in a particular quilt or novel, I ache when unable to finish what is nearly done.  More parallels between those somewhat disparate pastimes in another post.

For now, it’s about time to quilt.  Need to fill some bobbins, change the needle back to one I use when quilting, then plop my butt in the chair.  That is just like writing, which doesn’t escape me at all…

Dad’s Chemo Quilt

So, when I decided to hand-sew my first quilt, I had no thought to giving it away, but not from selfishness.  I didn’t want to foist such a project on anyone, preferring to keep the spoils of that initial foray to myself.  I chose fabrics that pleased me, knowing nothing about a quarter-inch seam, rotary cutters, quilt rulers, or how necessary pressing would be.  I had fabrics, some new needles, quilting thread, and a heart bursting with ambition.

Initial blocks

Sort of how I started writing novels, and see where that got me!

My squares were more like rectangles, my seam was about three eighths’ inch, but I was enjoying myself, when my shoulder wasn’t complaining.  By about the time I had collected fourteen four-piece blocks, I knew I was hooked, and had started gleaning the web for information, and of course, there was a truck-load from which to peruse.  I had started looking into irons and ironing boards, which to my family meant two things, either I was truly in the throes of quilting madness, or Armageddon was upon us.  But it’s Good Friday, and all seems well.  It was just another step on my quilting journey.

An iron and a board, good grief!

By this time, I had an idea of which batting I wanted, I knew the backing, an old fleece blanket we’d had back in the UK.  I was toying with the idea of using my daughter’s machine to attach the back, but the rest was a hand-sewn effort that was stop and start, depending on the state of my aching right shoulder.  That was the issue that pushed me over the edge to get my own machine, but it was something far more poignant that took this quilt from my possession, placing it into the hands of another.

My dad

My father is undergoing chemotherapy for prostate cancer, and the Taxotere is giving him severe chills.

A little background about my dad and cancer; he was diagnosed in 2009, and until last year, was doing okay with Zytiga and quarterly Lupron shots.  But in 2013, his PSA started to rise, and a different treatment was necessary.  Chemo was chosen over other options, and Dad started getting Taxotere in mid-January of 2014.  By then his PSA was at 89, compared to a more manageable 30-something a year before.

Since then, I’ve been on the road a good deal, attending chemo sessions and doctor appointments.  Side effects hadn’t been too debilitating for my dad, although immediately he lost his love for ice cream.  By the third round, he just couldn’t get warm.  We were chatting on the phone about this, when the light went off; I was making a quilt!  If anyone could use it, and overlook the many flaws, it would be my dad.

For a time, I called this my stained glass quilt.  I added the blue sashes, because my blocks weren't even enough to meet up squarely.

For a time, I called this my stained glass quilt. I added the blue sashes, because my blocks weren’t even enough to meet up squarely.

By this point, I had all the blocks done, even a few rows sewn together.  I documented about every possible stage of making this quilt, in part that I love to capture new ventures digitally, and that I had to share the joy with my daughters.  But now I was in a race to complete the quilt before his next dose of Taxotere, so he’d have a toasty blanket to combat those chills.  My husband and I made a date with our daughter and son-in-law to spend a Saturday with them, so I could machine-stitch the back onto the basted quilt.

The completed top, hoisted aloft by my son.

The completed top, hoisted aloft by my son.

I look back at the many photos taken over that stretch of six weeks, from the first of February to 15 March, and I wonder how much I have changed.  I went from being a fairly full-time writer to a dedicated quilter.  Then I consider all my dad was undergoing, but by mid-March, we had some good news; Dad’s PSA had dropped in half after just two rounds of chemo, from that high of 89 to 48.  And while none of us could do anything about how ice cream had lost its flavour, once I’d delivered the quilt, at least Dad wouldn’t be cold.  I kept thinking about my father as I basted (and was poked by pins), then tied the quilt on Friday, March 14th, snapping more pics than were good for me, sending many to my daughter, who shared them with friends at her work.  One gal, from Oklahoma, sent her support, which I needed, for this was all new to me, but the purpose was altered.

Adding the ties

This wasn’t just to drape over the back of my sofa anymore.

My first adult experience with a sewing machine began at my daughter’s house, and it was an all-afternoon effort.  A few bobbin issues arose, and the walking foot wasn’t cooperating.  Instead I used the usual presser foot, and a decorative loopy stitch that I tried to keep on the blanket, but sometimes it veered onto the quilt top.  My daughter was cooking dinner, while my husband and son-in-law were handy when I needed assistance.  Even Buttercup was a love, finding herself a nice cozy spot on the sofa, snoring her doggy vibes my way.  I stopped for dinner, then went right back to sewing.  And finally, just as my daughter was asking about dessert at a nearby ice cream shop, I was done.  Backspaced those final loops, cut the threads, then shook out my shoulders.  Similar to finishing a novel was how I felt, but even more moved, for I had completed my first quilt, for my dad.  And with the last pin stuck into the cushion, I wouldn’t be stabbed until the next quilt.

Without any poky pins, I could happily drape that quilt over my shoulders, Buttercup having given her approval.

Without any poky pins, I could happily drape that quilt over my shoulders, Buttercup having given her approval.

I brushed aside a few tears, then shed more as my husband and I followed our kids to ice cream.  Writing novels is a thrill, but this quilt, for my father, was the culmination of far more than words could express.  Of course there was much still to do; trim the ties, wash the quilt, but it was DONE, and so was I.  I slept well that night, pondering the weight of this new pastime, and where it was fitting into my life, and into those I love.  On Friday the 21st of March, I drove to my hometown, where Dad is getting chemotherapy.  I brought the quilt, and a book for my mom, a paperback collection of short stories from Top Writers Block, for which I had been a contributor.  Mom was pleased with her book, and Dad was thrilled for the quilt, which he modeled there at the infusion center.  A week later, my husband and I went north for a visit, and Dad was feeling pretty lousy, using that quilt for its intended purpose.  But by then, he was also warmed with the knowledge that Taxotere was still doing its job; his PSA had fallen from 48 to 24.

He thought it was the perfect weight and length, and we all hoped Fluffy the cat would approve the next time she jumped on his lap.

He thought it was the perfect weight and length, and we all hoped Fluffy the cat would approve the next time she jumped on his lap.

And it continues to drop; just two days ago Mom emailed with the news that now the PSA was at 9.4!  Dad has undergone five treatments, and while at times he feels pretty poorly, his attitude is fantastic, as is his willingness to take the bad with the good.  I’ll see him, and the rest of my loved ones, in two days on Easter Sunday.  I had hoped to bring up the Fat Quarters Quilt, but that has taken a backseat to other projects, and I’ll finish it next week.  There is a time and place for all things, be they quilting or chemotherapy or blogging.  The Fat Quarters Quilt is an offshoot of remnants from Dad’s quilt, and will live on the back of my couch.  But it’s so much better that Dad has my first effort, squiffy stitches and no quarter-inch seams aside.

The last time it rested on my couch, waiting to get to its true home.

The last time it rested on my couch, waiting to get to its true home.

Some things are meant to carry flaws, but love pardons those sins.  Wishing you all a peaceful Good Friday and a beautiful Easter!

Sewing Machine Love Part Three


I grew up surrounded by many elderly relatives, hearing stories of the old days.  Their lives were reflected those tales; Lawrence Welk on TV, highballs in the evening, my uncle listening to baseball on his red plastic radio (turned up loudly for he was very hard of hearing).  However, none of the women sewed.  But if they had, I’m sure a 1947 Singer would have been their choice of machine.

The shot is a bit crooked; I was trying to capture the still working light bulb.

The shot is a bit crooked; I was trying to capture the still working light bulb.

Singer machines weren’t manufactured during the war; the company made weapons.  Once back in production, machines weren’t available until 1947, which is where my husband’s family comes into the story.  His dad’s mom and her sister ordered a machine, but had to wait until well past the end of the war to receive it.  It came encased in a table, with a stool that served as a small supply cabinet by removing the top of the seat.  That stool is also in use today; my husband keeps his jeans on top of it.

Father's aunt and mother

The sisters in 1944; my FIL’s mother is on the right.

Learning the machine’s history brought me back to my older relatives; did they sew, and if so (ha ha), who was the seamstress?  I don’t recall that ever being discussed, but one or more of them must have been handy with a machine.  In my husband’s family, it was his grandmother and great-aunt who used that Singer, passing it down to my mother-in-law, who found it very handy well into the 1990s.  And now, in 2014, that Singer, coming on seventy years of age, will once again hum with delight.

Yet, so much is unknown; who used it more, what did they make, besides clothes?  What was it like, after so many years of waiting through the war, to receive that splendor of technology?  We find it antiquated, what with only one straight stitch, but Singer didn’t introduce the zigzag until 1952.  My mom remembers her mother with a similar machine, and she never used any other.  Sometimes she would bring something to Mom, if it needed a zigzag.  Otherwise she was completely happy with her old but reliable Singer, which is a concept mostly foreign to people today.  Devices are used, then replaced, without second thought.  But just a few decades back, when an item was purchased, it was expected to last.

Okay, maybe more than a few decades.  Interestingly, when I researched sewing machines, Singer had very poor reviews.  Other companies are now the standard bearers.  But in the 1940s, a Singer was the ultimate in sewing style and sturdiness.  I wish I knew what machine my husband’s relatives used while the war raged, but those women are long dead.  However, a machine they coveted, and finally received, is waiting to be put to good use.  In my recent sewing frenzy, again I haven’t called about getting it serviced.  After Easter, I tell myself.  And when my husband finds an appropriate replacement table for our printer.

Fat Quarters quilt-top completed yesterday.

Fat Quarters quilt-top completed yesterday.

In the meantime, I have my Magnolia, which is proving its worth.  Yesterday I finished the Fat Quarters quilt-top (the Quilt on the Wall design), and today I’ll piece together the backing for it.  Depending on how long that takes, I may pull out some 1/4″ loft batting, and cut a piece for my 53″ X 65″ top.  I like Pellon batting, by the yard; I have four yards of 1/4″ loft and another five yards of 1/16″ loft stuffed into the closet here in the sewing grotto.  But my need for a machine is purely for entertainment; I’ve gotten along just fine all these years without one.  In 1947, two women were overjoyed to finally own the latest technological marvel.  And sixty-seven years later, that machine is still purring like it was brand new.

Sewing Machine Love Part Two

Sewing machines were a distinct part of my childhood, but I didn’t like them very much.  Not sure why, other than they were things I didn’t understand, and fear of something tends to breed a certain loathing, easier to dislike what can’t be comprehended than to actually face one’s trepidation.  But as I said in the last post, one quilting blogger stressed fearlessness when it came to confronting a sewing machine.  So, somewhat fearless I have become.

Now, in regard to my mother-in-law’s machine, fear had nothing to do with me not wanting to use it.  For one reason, it was employed as a table for our printer, and wasn’t readily extricated.  Two, I wanted a modern machine, basic but functional.  Who knew if that old machine even worked?

And three?  Well, here is where vanity comes into it; I wanted my own machine.  Or maybe that stemmed from the aged machines of my childhood, which confounded me and kept me from embracing sewing right off the bat.  Whatever the combination of reasons, my husband was happy to oblige, an early birthday present easy for him to sort.  (I have reminded him that roses of some kind would be a lovely addition to the celebratory mood, when my birthday actually arrives…)  However, seeing the Magnolia on my desk day in and out gave him pause, and finally his curiosity won out.  And, I’ll admit, I wondered what lurked under the laser printer, just two feet away from where I was starting to sew up a storm…

Our PC/Janome space is a small one, what used to pass as the dining room in our 1950s era home.  First the printer had to be hefted into the living room, then the sewing machine and its accompanying table hoisted from the corner.  Thankfully my hubby is a strong guy, and nothing (and no one) was injured in the process.  We’ve had this table since the mid-1990s, but to be perfectly honest, neither of us had ever lifted the top of it to peer inside.  All my husband knew was that it was older than he was, which would out-date my mom’s 1969 White.  Other than that, a mystery waited.

Now I think back to that afternoon, ten days ago; since then I have finished the scrappy quilt, made a small wall hanging quilt for my sister’s stepson, and started my fat quarter quilt that has been lingering on my quilt wall for ages.  But on the second of April, I was still sewing scrappy rows, uncertain of how quilting that ensuing project would go on the Magnolia.  Within minutes my vista was broadened, for as soon as my husband pulled out the machine, plugged it in and found it still worked, I had quilt plans galore!

I couldn’t wait to machine quilt on this 1947 Singer sewing machine.

A moment needs to be taken to start to appreciate this treasure.  It has been set aside, first in proper storage during our England years, then used as a printer table for the last seven.  This machine hasn’t been used in over two decades, and the last thing my mother-in-law made on it was probably a baby blanket for my youngest daughter.  Oma doesn’t remember, and of course we have no idea what that final project was, but that’s a fairly firm guess.  The machine still had a bobbin in it, of rust-coloured thread, and as my husband poked at it, we found the light even functioned!  The only bug seemed to be the missing knee pedal, although the motor could be engaged by pressing in the lower right corner of the table, where the knee pedal should have been.  Both my husband and I vaguely recall that piece floating around, of course, we’re not sure where or when.  That level of detail was ethereal, as we ooh’ed and ahh’ed over the heirloom taking up most of the space in our work area.

Now, to fully realize the gist of this find, I have to note that not only were we ignorant of the value of this machine, but of the story behind it.  Was it his mum’s, or did it belong to his dad’s mom and her sister?  We would learn the answers to those questions in due time, but another popped into our heads; could someone local service it, could we resurrect it to its previous single straight stitch glory?  I regret to say that I’ve been too busy to yet make calls to sewing places here in Silicon Valley, and due to space constraints, we have put the Singer back into its corner, and replaced the printer atop it.  But a beating heart throbs from under the weight of that modern printer, calling to me to restore the Singer to its former glory.  And then to set fabric under a (new) needle, a fully loaded bobbin yearning to release thread into the lower piecing of a future quilt.

The Magnolia looks on as the Singer gets all the love.

The Magnolia looks on as the Singer gets all the love.

All things in good time, which include the rest of this tale.  Who initially owned this 1947 Singer, which was the first year the company produced machines after the end of World War II?  More on that in the conclusion of this series…

Sewing Machine Love Part One

When I finished sewing the binding of my first quilt, at my daughter’s house behind her sewing machine, within my heart bubbled various emotions, the most overwhelming being a tie between the utter joy of having something to give to my dad and that no longer would I be stuck by an errant pin.  I’ve found that being stabbed by sharp pins is probably the only part of quilting I dislike, and I plan to use safety pins for future large projects that aren’t going to be tied.  I wasn’t bothered much by the pins until I sat at the machine to affix the thin blanket employed as the quilt back.   During my scrappy quilting adventures, I grew weary of being poked and prodded, and have learned yet another lesson on this quilting way.

But despite the pain of pins, I have embraced machine quilting as my preferred method, for two reasons; it’s far quicker, and hand-sewing makes my right shoulder angry.  I can bind a quilt by hand, that’s no problem.  But piecing squares is too much for this woman.  Once that was realized, I had a decision to make.

What kind of sewing machine did I want to own?

Now, that’s not a simple question to answer, although right off the bat, I knew it wasn’t going to be a computerized model.  My daughter has a Brother CS6000i, which was fine to use for that initial quilt.  However, I’m a Luddite at heart, and although my daughter made a great point that all those fancy stitches might be something I’d enjoy in the future, for where I am on my quilting journey, a practical mechanical machine would suit me more.  And not be so intimidating…

I might publish my own novels, but mastering a sewing machine was a little scary.

I have embraced an idea from one of the many quilting blogs I was perusing; be fearless with your machine!  Okay, fearless.  Well, to me fearless starts with a machine that I can, after a short period of study, feel comfortable in using on a daily basis.  So that means a machine that is sturdy as well as, well, not simplistic, but perfect for a beginner.  If nothing else, I am such a beginner at this.

Mom's White, as if the years didn't matter.

Mom’s White, as if the years didn’t matter.

I’m also blessed with seamstresses in my family; Mom and Sis both sew, and I picked their brains.  Mom’s machine is a beaut, but they don’t make Whites anymore.  Hers is from 1969, still going strong.  Until bitten by the quilting bug, I didn’t notice her machine, even if she made the slacks I wore for my daughter’s wedding.  It was a sewing machine; aren’t they all the same?

Ha ha ha ha ha!  Uh, no.

Sis has a ten-year-old Janome, a Horizon, I think it is.  I knew nothing of that brand, but it was easy enough to investigate.  I did thorough research, for I wanted a machine that would serve me well as a novice, but remain relevant as my skills increased.  I’m not thinking I’ll get forty-some years from my machine, but a decade or two would be good.

Now, during my searches, occasionally my husband teased about his mom’s old machine, which we’ve had since returning from England.  It was in storage while we were there, given to us when his parents moved to Florida.  I knew nothing about it other than it was quite old, maybe as old as my mom’s, and that it was encased within a table that serves as a base for our laser printer.  Now, bless my husband’s heart, I wanted a top-loading bobbin, which I knew that old machine did not have.  I wanted my own machine, and while it would be in part plastic, it would also run strong, and although not have 87 different stitches, it would be new.

My Janome Magnolia; she's been christened Emma, and seems to like us all just fine.

My Janome Magnolia; she’s been christened Emma, and seems to like us all just fine.

At the end, I chose a Janome Magnolia, and I couldn’t be more pleased.  It runs very well; I’ve hemmed frayed beach towels, tripling the fabric at the corners.  I just finished a little quilt for my other sister’s stepson, heavy cotton-poly work trousers with substantial cotton-poly shirt material, and even going through about five layers making mitered corners, the Magnolia was a champ.  So far I haven’t needed a walking foot for the straight-line quilting, but am considering it down the road for my youngest daughter’s quilt; hers will be backed with thin fleece.  But for now, with mainly cottons, the Magnolia is a beauty with the heart of a warrior, and I’m hoping for many productive years and heaps of quilts along the way.

However…  Curiosity got the better of my husband about a week ago; what sort of machine was lurking just underneath our laser printer?

More about that in the next post!

A Scrappy Quilt

So, my second quilt is done.  I still need to chat about the first one, but I also need to discuss sewing machines too.  All things in their proper time.

But the scrappy quilt, well, it’s completely a scrap endeavor, or it was.  Now it’s done, resting along the back of the sofa.  It will be perfect on those cool Silicon Valley evenings, while watching baseball, or whenever else a little lap quilt is required.

Why is it scrappy?  It’s made from what I used in my first quilt, and what I will use in my youngest daughter’s project.  Since I’d cut all her fabrics, I had plenty of leftovers to choose from, but it’s not only the quilt top that is scrappy.

The batting is two pieces that I sewed together.

Looks a little like Frankenstein batting...

Looks a little like Frankenstein batting…

The binding is a collection of fabrics.

The blue and yellow are from my first quilt.

The blue and yellow are from my first quilt.

Even the backing is scrapped; the flower print just wasn’t wide enough, so I added the clouds, which I think are adorable.

I can't wait to use the clouds; I just love the colours!

I can’t wait to use the clouds; I just love the colours!

Best of all, this quilt truly belongs to only me, because my husband is a warm-blooded sort.  I’ll never get to make him a quilt, other than what will sit on our bed, but that leaves plenty of quilts for others.  I also think this quilt would be wonderful for cuddling with a little one, and for now I have a nephew and a few nieces to fill that bill.

Soft flannels make up the back; I love the look of a pieced backing.

Soft flannels make up the back; I love the look of a pieced backing.

But as I attached the last feet of binding early this morning, I considered this could be a grandchild quilt.  One of these days, I’m sure…

I take pictures every step of the quilting way; this is the last few inches that needed to be bound. My patient daughters receive the bulk of my charting this hobby.

Up next; quilt #1, which has quite a story of its own.  Or maybe the sewing machines, for that tale is pretty incredible too.  Much of which to note, and now that I’m not obsessing about finishing my first machine quilt, I’ll have a few moments to write.

Freshly out of the dryer; I can't wait to start another.

Freshly out of the dryer; I can’t wait to start another.

(And speaking of writing, I might be getting back to The Hawk, in another week or two…)


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