Tag Archives: baseball

Improv Living (Writing, Sewing, Sport, etc….)

Something this new normal has taught me is to not anticipate anything.  For example, the Giants beat the Dodgers last night 6-2, dude!  Four double plays by SF’s defense permitted Tim Lincecum to exit that game with a win, and Justin Maxwell is quickly earning some sort of permanent roster spot, not sure where.  After dropping nine of their last ten, at least San Francisco won’t be swept by Los Angeles, and who knows; maybe Bumgarner will work out of his funk, besting Kershaw this evening.  After how this year has started for me, anything goes.

Anything goes; that’s how the new normal seems to be settling.  Last week was spent working on fairly straightforward baby quilts for my eldest, which I’ll present her with this weekend.  But I’ve been perusing improvisational quilts on the web, and when I think about it, my first quilt for Dad was pretty close to improv; the squares were actually rectangles, and I knew nothing of a quarter-inch seam.  Last night I threw a bunch of scraps onto the quilt wall, and while basting another baby quilt, occasionally I needed a break from the baseball; I would check upon that new creation, lying quietly in wait for me.  I liked it more every time I peeked.

The empty slots had been filled with princesses, now absconded for other purposes....

The empty slots had been filled with princesses, now absconded for other purposes….

This morning, the size and scope of that project appeared a wee bit daunting, until over breakfast I had the fabulous notion to use the princess scraps for my three nieces, making them their own place mats.  (Staring at the quilted place mat underneath my bowl of cereal was an inspiration, I must admit.)  With tea in hand, I went right into the grotto, and within a short amount of time I came up with this prototype for Snow White.

I've arranged this in blocks, making for simpler sewing....

I’ve arranged this in blocks, making for simpler sewing….

I still have Belle and Cinderella to sort.  I also want to make some Dr. Who Bolognese sauce for dinner, and read through some of The Hawk.  It’s not the life I was living just a month ago; a month ago I was spending most of my time at Dad’s care facility, holding his hand, making sure Roxanol was being administered in a timely fashion (every hour or two, depending on Dad’s pain).  Dad wasn’t overly chatty, and at times he didn’t make sense.  But I have a couple of firm memories that I’ll expound upon in future posts.  It’s like scattering pieces of fabric willy-nilly on the quilt wall permits me to slot away those moments with Dad that have woven their way into the very recesses of my soul.  Maybe that experience had to occur before I added more to The Hawk, although when it comes to that novel, I wonder just how much more will end up being written.  Of course, there’s the end, for I’m about halfway through it.  That’s the improv nature of that novel’s release; it’s actually not done.  And I’ll be the first to admit that in publishing Part One, I wanted to make sure a fire was lit so I would complete that behemoth.  Sometimes one needs a flame burning to get the jets in action.

But sometimes it’s the softest whisper to inspire; for the rest of my life I will never forget my father calling me by my childhood pet name, one that only he used.  His voice was altered, but his grip on my hand was ferocious.  And even after nearly forty-nine years, to my father I was still his little girl.  He called all of us ladies who visited, even the carers my age and older, his girls.  We were pretty girls, sweet girls, beautiful girls.  Somehow, someway that essence is meant to work its way into the lives of Eric, Lynne, Samuel, Renee, Stanford, Laurie, Marek, and Seth.  I don’t know where or when, but eventually.  It’s due to the improv nature of the new normal, you know….

My first quilt, for Dad, in a rather improvisitional manner.

An improv quilt if ever I saw one; Dad last March while getting chemo administered.

Here we are again….

It’s funny how long a baseball season is, days that feel like weeks, weeks that seem like months, months that linger like…. Like taking the World Series all the way to Game 7.  Game 7, really?  Um, yes, really.  I will admit that I only watched the first three innings of Game 6; I love my team, but am not a masochist.  And as for yesterday’s contest….

During most of yesterday’s contest I was cleaning.  Also decorating; we’re having a party on Saturday, plenty for me to do while attempting to avoid Game 7.  Once I absorbed Game 7 was necessary, okay, sure, fine, WHATEVER.  Maybe it was for Tim Hudson, one more chance for that man to make a difference.  Maybe it was for me to thoroughly clean out my microwave, which right now is spotless.  Maybe it was for TV ratings or radio personalities or….

But no.  It was for one young man, nearly the same age as my eldest, to make history.  And for one team to denote that no matter how many challenges are presented in that LONG LONG season, sometimes miracles occur.

Just ask any Giants fan who endured the 2014 season; we were hot, we were not.  We barely scraped our way into the playoffs, and then….

Then it was time for a team effort, led by a pitcher who was bolstered by twenty-four other men who played gritty, gusty, and sometimes as sketchily as in June and July.  But ultimately they would not be denied.  Kansas City was a formidable foe, buy hey, together we are Giant.

To celebrate, I bought newspapers this morning, right after seeing my husband, clad in his SF Giants t-shirt, out the door.  I had papers from 2010 and 2012, and this win demanded similar treatment.  My local grocery store had the San Jose Mercury-News, which was all I could get my hands on two years ago, but I wanted the San Francisco Chronicle, what I purchased back in 2010.  I bought the SJ Mercury News, and some apples for later, then proceeded to drive around my neck of the Silicon Valley woods, finally stopping at a Safeway, where Chronicles remained.  I picked up a few, I couldn’t resist, then giddily returned home, pleased with my booty.  This is a moment to be treasured, even if yesterday’s game is one for the books.  And tomorrow, I’ll watch the parade from home, probably with a vacuum in my hand, thrilled for the Giants organization and the thousands of fans who will brave the forecasted rain to fete those men who once again brought a championship back to the Greater San Francisco Bay Area.

They play at AT&T Park, but they belong to all who call the Bay Area their home.

I’ve known this feeling before, in the 1980s when the 49ers won their trophies; it’s a fantastic rush, but the Super Bowl is one game.  The World Series is seven, bless those Giants’ hearts, and was nearly too much for me to take.  As Bumgarner threw those final pitches, my chest muscle was pounding, then nearly popping from my rib cage as Blanco and Perez bobbled Gordon’s hit.  But San Francisco wouldn’t be denied, as another Perez popped up to Sandoval; the ball was caught, the game was over.  Finally, FINALLY this series had ended, and oh my goodness I was so glad it was done.

I don’t know why I am so affected by sport; it’s only a pastime, but for some reason, this pastime clutches at my soul, wringing it until all I can do is holler UNCLE.  It’s the drama obviously, also the thrill of victory.  With baseball, it’s this long slog of days from town to town, team to team, as injuries and life battle to take the wind from players’ sails.  And that is exactly what happened to the Giants this year.  But San Francisco has a knack for bringing in relief mid-season; Cody Ross in 2010, Hunter Pence and Marco Scutaro in 2012, and rookies Joe Panik, Andrew Susac, Matt Duffy, and Hunter Strickland in 2014.  Suddenly a team has new life upon which to draw well into the post-season.  Panik made an outstanding grab last night, probably what shifted the momentum for the Giants.  Then in came Bumgarner, and….

No more truly needs to be said, other than I’m very pleased for the team, and for the fans.  I’m grateful to be at the end of this season, not sure how much more I could have taken.  The thrill will be savored for a good number of days, then considered again when some other improbable event occurs.  This win was improbable, if looked at from a usual view.  But if you asked any of the Giants, I’m sure their answers would be different.

This was why they play the game, this was their goal.  Now achieved, I wish for them, their families, and all those within the organization, one heck of a good time.  And many thanks for all the heart-stopping but immensely satisfying treats during the 2014 season.

Pins and Needles

Last night, as the Giants battled, then beat, the St. Louis Cardinals, I basted a quilt.  It was too nerve-wracking to actually watch San Francisco play, so instead I hunkered (or more rightly hid) in the grotto, securing the sandwich with safety and straight pins.  A little unconventional, but just how the Giants went about taking game four from the National League Central champs.  It very well could be a World Series of wild cards, what with Kansas City sweeping Baltimore yesterday.  Tonight, with our ace Madison Bumgarner on the mound, we SF fans will await if our place in baseball’s ultimate contest shall be cemented.

And meanwhile, I have a quilt to sew together.

I’m glad I have this project to occupy my time, or I would otherwise be fretting about baseball.  I’m not sure why I used both straight and safety pins, other than the straight pins make the safety pins go further, and they are easier to put in, although stabbing occurs.  I sported a bandage on my left index finger for much of the process, but no hobby is safe from injury, just ask Yadier Molina.

Finishing this quilt top a few days ago, amid the playoff races, was a huge thrill, for I had hoped the sashes would highlight the batiks.  I was very pleased with the result, much like I’m ever so chuffed with how the Giants have been playing; nothing overtly flashy, unless one appreciates the smaller aspects of baseball.  With few homers to their name, the Giants exemplify small ball, which the Royals used to defeat the mighty bats of Baltimore.  This quilt is colourful, perhaps that is its secret weapon.  Or maybe basting with straight and safety pins will prove useful when the actual quilting begins.

I’m not a superstitious seamstress, nor am I an irrational baseball fan.  I will endeavor to watch as much of tonight’s contest as possible, for it *could* be San Francisco’s final home game of 2014.  Nothing is a sure bet in sport; any given Sunday a football team can be beaten.  And as SF showed in 2012, a team down 3-1 could achieve the nearly impossible, taking the final three games.  That they did it against St. Louis looms large in all minds; retribution in the hearts of the Cardinals, hope for yet another trip to the World Series for the Giants.  I’m glad my pastimes are of a simpler sort, just sit at the machine and sew.  Sort of like sitting at the computer and writing, but with even less stress; I’ll employ a straight stitch, in the ditch, tacking these layers together.

Nothing fancy or imaginative, just getting it done.  Like my Giants; I just want them to git ‘er done!

Instead of writing, first some reading…

First, I have to congratulate my beloved San Francisco Giants, who are once again in the NLCS.  It was another nail-biter, but the guys managed to beat the Washington Nationals three games to one in the five-game series.  No baseball for a couple of days, while the Giants and Cardinals, Orioles and Royals sort out their championship league series line-ups, but that gives the husband and me a breather; after the last two days, we need a small break from sport.

So, in the meantime…  Goodness, what haven’t I been up to?  Errands, crocheting, plotting, planning, sewing, reading…  Reading, um, yeah.  I had harbored *very very VERY good intentions* about getting back to writing.  Writing The Hawk, of course (what else is there these days?), but as life or fate or Bruce Bochy would have it, I started re-reading that novel-in-progress, and currently I’m up to page twenty-two.  Out of…  Oh, I truly don’t want to consider that number (in the four hundreds); it’s more than enough to start at the beginning, which now has been nearly a year from when I did initiate this rather long tale.

I considered that fact, about two chapters in; a year ago, give or take a few days, and an entire baseball season, I woke to a rather intriguing dream, mulled over the idea for barely a week, then started typing what I *assumed* would be a short story.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahah!  I can hear you laughing from, well, not this nation’s capital.  With the Nats out, and the drubbing the Redskins took on Monday, not much pleasure in D.C. for sports fan about now.  And while I *would* rather be writing, I accept that for this moment (and the next several) reading must commence.  Not all that sure why, because it’s only been five weeks or so since I last worked on this book, not like the six months that had flown in the previous break.  But I know better than to question the muse.  It would be like asking why Bochy let Hunter Strickland pitch to Bryce Harper, after what had happened a few days back in Washington D.C….

Yeah.  But, oddly enough, Strickland overcame those debacles, ended up as the winning pitcher last night, go figure?  Equally I have to let go and let God, when it comes to The Hawk, and anything else in my life.  I *could* get my knickers in a twist, wringing my hands agonizing whether or not I’ll ever complete this behemoth.  Sure, I mean, better to fret over that than say Matt Carpenter of the Cardinals, who as lead-off man for St Louis made the Dodgers’ brief (hehehe) tenure in this year’s post-season quite a headache for LA.  (Hahahahahaha, um, okay, enough Dodger-bashing…)  Our lead-off man, Gregor Blanco, is fantastic in center field, yes he surely is.  As the first man up for the offense, well….  He gets a walk now and again, yup.  And um….  Well, there’s nothing I can do about who the Giants put in the lead-off spot, just like my hands are tied when it comes to writing more than a blog entry or a grocery list.

When it comes to The Hawk, it’s all about reading.

In the noveling process, sometimes the process trumps the creative spark.  Revision isn’t the wildly imaginative fervor that writing it, but it is necessary, just like taking a walk instead of slamming one into McCovey Cove.  Yet these read-through excursions aren’t simply one more time that I fiddle with prose or excise poor grammar.  With a novel of this size, a writer needs to have a definite grasp on plot and character and to merely get back in touch with the basis from where all this sprang.  Every time I started another Alvin’s Farm story, I re-read the previous manuscript, otherwise I’d be fumbling about, unsure of my way.  The Hawk is longer, so it takes more time to become reacquainted, but the subtleties set down in early and middle chapters should remain throughout the novel.  Not harped upon, of course, but taken into account, like remembering how a relief pitcher gave up a big homer then perhaps not letting that same pitcher meet up again with that batter later in the series.

However, the Giants prevailed, Strickland and Harper aside, for a baseball team isn’t one or two players; it’s a fielded team of nine, a playoff squad of twenty-five.  And, thank goodness, the NLCS isn’t a five-game series, but seven outings, or at least four.  I wouldn’t mind if the Giants swept the Cardinals, however I’m sure the broadcasting network and most other baseball fans, especially those in St. Louis, would appreciate a more evenly balanced showdown.  While I’d love to dive head-first into writing more of my WIP, I have to face the baseball-like process that emerges much like the Giants’ winning run, when a wild pitch skips past the catcher, allowing a rookie to sprint to home plate.  You just never know how the game is going to end.

Or, hehehe, when; it seems like the Giants and Nats did play five games, although SF took the series 3-1.  Game 2 was much like my novel, but after six long hours, Brandon Belt managed to break the tie, our pitching staff holding Washington in check, and there you go.  Not sure which equivalent inning I’m currently wading through in The Hawk, but like a baseball game, the end will occur.

I just have to be patient, and wait for the zone.  Once I find the zone, ahhh…  No telling how far I’ll hit that baby outta the park!

Feast Or Famine (Or Fabric)

Sometimes writing has very little to do with quilting.  Like right now, in the middle (or hopefully perhaps the end of the middle third) of The Hawk, there’s so much to note to the reader, and some of it I know.  Some I don’t, which doesn’t bother me, it comes with the authorial territory.  But where a quilter or sewing enthusiast enjoys bringing more fabrics into the fold, a writer’s preference is to keep it simple.  Don’t beat a dead horse.  Redundancy is a drag; um, did I already say that?  Well, if not, then yes, repetition breeds boredom. Right now I’m trying to maintain a steady course with the noveling, but it’s hard, having been away from this story for months, also in that this is a LONG story.  Does the reader need an occasional gentle nudge, maybe.  I’ll know later on, but for now, the squiggles are piling, and that’s what’s important.

Because when the words aren’t there, well, that’s no fun at all.

That’s sort of like trying to sew without fabric.  Now, I live in a small house, so there’s no way I can establish some monstrous stash.  However, when a quilt comes a’calling, I go a’buying some cottons.  I did that today, after the writing was finished, for a quilt back, and a baby quilt.  Buying fabrics for baby quilts is still new, but boy, I’ll tell you, I sure like it.

Nostalgic whimsy; I love this print, which will be a quilt back for a special little girl...

Nostalgic whimsy; I love this print, which will be a quilt back for a special little girl.

Never before have I had two such fascinating hobbies, which at times are so similar, and at others diametrically opposed.  Writing taught me much in the ways of patience, which is so necessary for quilting, like when standing at the ironing board, pressing seams.  And quilting has given me a new appreciation for fashioning vibrant landscapes with only prose.  Writing demands my morning brain, when the words are still within my grasp.  Sewing requires a different sort of butt nailed to a chair (unless I’m pressing seams), the kind that travels well into the evening after all the good words have been used.  Last night I sewed past eight p.m., watching the Giants take a series from the Cubs, finally getting the mum-quilt-top put together.  It’s now hanging on my quilt wall, and will be placed into the actual quilting queue perhaps as early as Sunday.  Yesterday I did no writing, for the husband is back, the retreat over.  While he acclimated himself to home, I quilted the little sister comforter, stitching in the ditch, then attaching the front of the binding.  Tomorrow I’m spending the day with my eldest, a sewing gig for us ladies.  I’ll chat with my daughter while hand-sewing the binding for that quilt, as well as the toddler blanket, as Buttercup whines for our attention.  I know that part of the routine well.

Waiting patiently for the binding to be attached to the back.

Waiting patiently for the binding to be attached to the back.

I’m a lucky woman, able to balance these rewarding pastimes amid the usual trappings of life.  But then, it’s been one helluva summer, and autumn is looking to continue in that vein.  Thank goodness American football is around the corner, and as for the Giants…

Okay, they’re still in contention for a playoff spot, if the Dodgers’ three top pitchers happen to get abducted by aliens.  Barring that, watching San Francisco play has become more of admiring rookies filling in spots all over the infield.  Meanwhile, I consider plots for The Hawk, mulling over fabrics for future quilts.  And as I wrote today, from Eric’s POV, how important is the essence of hope.  Not for my baseball team, ahem, but for all that sits on the horizon.  Babies to be born, books to be finished, quilts to be compiled; I don’t know the outcome of any of those realities, but that’s all right.  It’s like writing The Hawk; I don’t know all that’s coming, but I know the end.

And in the end, that’s the main thing.

It’s curtains for the curtains…

A few months ago I went curtain-making crazy!  This was the only sewing, other than a pillowcase for my husband, that I had done outside of quilting, and I truly enjoyed it, even if the conditions were somewhat primitive, compared to my grotto.  I used a patio table as my straight edge, a wobbly ironing board for pressing, with no rotary cutter or mat in sight.  Yet I decorated several windows, happily even.  When we came home, the hubby suggested curtains for our son’s room, as those mini blinds are wonky.  Immediately I smiled, bought some fabric, then spent most of the summer on the road, making a few quilts in between.

Last week, hubby pressed me on this issue, and I replied that I needed the curtain rod installed, to properly size up said curtains.  He nodded, installed the hardware, and I got to work.  But it’s funny how a project changes, depending on the surroundings.  And the size; the biggest curtains I made previously were, granted for a sliding glass door, but they were unlined.  The ones for my son’s room were two panels each at eighty-three inches long, thirty-seven inches wide, and they are lined.  And now I’m ready to jump right back into quilting, leaving my curtain call behind.

Maybe it was the fabric; not 100% cotton, but a poly-cotton blend.  Maybe it was the size, plus the lining.  Maybe it’s the stacks of vibrant squares, aching for me to sew them together.  Or maybe it’s the reading; I’ve been trying to get through as much of The Hawk as possible, so I can start writing, but the weekend flew past, and out of 381 pages, I’m up to…number 132.  Yeah, I have a LOT of reading to accomplish before I can write, but the husband flies out today, and doesn’t return until next week.  I have groceries, clean clothes, and who cares about baseball when one’s team can’t manage to even take one game from Kansas City?  (Thank goodness the Dodgers found similar issues with Milwaukee, although Clayton Kershaw continues to mystifies batters no matter where he pitches.)

Anyways…  A lovely writer/(he)artist friend noted that the next several days are sort of a retreat for me, a much better manner in which to consider my husband’s impending absence.  Laura succinctly hit the nail on the head with that one, for I have reading (which leads to writing) and sewing up the wazoo lined up for the next week and a half.  Or the rest of summer, or all of autumn, depending on how long-ranging I want to look at things.  The days move so fast, that suddenly my husband will have returned, and August will be gone, football season upon us, baseball season…  Um, no, I don’t want to dwell on baseball season very much right now, thank you all the same.  But autumn is one of my favourite times of the year, because of sport, and weather, well, the possibility of weather here in California, and that finally (FINALLY!!!) it will seem like the proper season to sew quilts!  Ahem, well, sewing can happen all year round, but during what has been one of the hottest summers in recent memory, I’ve been pining for cooler days to savour the fruits of my fabric labours.  Or at least to not feel so weird in tacking flannel backings to batting when it’s pushing 100 degrees Fahrenheit outside.

I will say my brother-in-law loves his quilt, noting that incredible softness.  One of these days he’ll reap the benefits of the warmth factor, although not quite yet.  And as for the curtains…

The curtains are hanging in their appropriated space, nicely doing their job.  I managed to eke out a little quilt back of the remnants, not sure when I’ll use it, probably sooner than later.  Even though the fabrics weren’t all cotton, the pieces went so well together, I couldn’t resist.  Friday was a day spent behind my sewing machine, long straight lines after more long straight lines, which was the best part of the curtain endeavor.  Making sure the lengths matched up properly was the dregs.

Which is sort of like watching one’s beloved team fall from grace in the standings, an eight and a half game lead a faded memory when San Francisco now sits four and a half games behind Los Angeles.  It’s not just curtains for my foray into curtains, let me tell you.

But from the ashes, new projects emerge.  I wasn’t sure I was ever going to get around to completing The Hawk, and while I won’t count chickens (or hawks) before they hatch, I’m closer than I’ve been in months.  And that alone feels fantastic, for if you know a writer, who isn’t writing, well, there you go.

It’s like a batter whose average has fallen from .312 to .192.  It’s like making curtains that feel like ripping one’s guts through one’s nostrils.  Well, not that bad, but the magic has been lost.  Yet, when that magic returns….

It’s like a cute little quilt back, waiting to be used.  It’s like a story, dying to be finished.  It’s like stacks of squares, screaming to be made into quilt tops.  Then fashioned into proper quilts for lovely people.

It’s like curtains for one thing, a new dawn for others.  It’s cyclical, it’s life.  It’s time for me to take the husband to the airport.  Let the artist’s retreat begin!

The Days Are Just Packed

I’m stealing a Calvin and Hobbes book title, but it’s the plain truth.  Except for my daughter’s wedding two years ago, I’ve not been this busy in ages.  It feels good, because while I’m only getting older, I’m still able to do what I like, which lately has been quilting.  And driving.  Not much writing, none really, but that’s all right.  There is a time and season for all things.

Scrappy's Big Sis waiting on the quilt wall...

Scrappy’s Big Sis waiting on the quilt wall…

2014 has been a year of fabric.  And chemotherapy.  I *hope* 2014 stands as an anomaly for the latter, a beginning for the former.  It hasn’t been much of a year for words, other than those exchanged with my dad in batches while he has Taxotere pumped into his veins, then more chats as that medicine alters his body.  Chemo #10 is eleven days away, the last round.  Dad just turned seventy, which is itself quite a feat, but mixed with his recent battles stands out to me even more.  We’re throwing him a big party this upcoming weekend, another event squeezed into a summer that has raced past, ticked off by quilts and road trips and sports.  Truly the days are teeming with adventures.

Nearly two months later, I started to put together this quilt, which initially was going to be for me, until the Birthday Quilt came along.

Nearly two months later, I started to put together this quilt, which initially was going to be for me, until the Birthday Quilt came along.

Recently I finished the Former Roomie quilt; unbeknownst to my eldest, I also sandwiched into that endeavor Scrappy’s Big Sister, which I gave to my daughter yesterday, a surprise for which she was very pleased.  Yesterday Germany beat Argentina for the World Cup, while the Giants managed to blow Arizona out of the proverbial water with two grand slams, one from their power-swinging pitcher Madison Bumgarner.  I don’t begrudge missing those games, for we visited with our eldest and her other half all afternoon, Buttercup too.  I hadn’t expected to see them until this weekend’s big bash, hence the green scrappy quilt staying on the QT.  However, now I can note that quilt’s completion, amid the scattered remnants of this post.  I made the rows in mid-May, and there they sat on the quilt wall until last week, when strips of green were sewn between them, the whole thing a scrap-lover’s heaven, from the pieced-together batting, backing, and binding.   That quilt is indicative of my summer, what with revisions here and there, me as well, up and down freeways trying to piece together all that matters most.

For some strange reason as I sewed the rows together, the quilt began to shift, like it wanted to be an Aztec temple.  I didn't understand this at all...

For some strange reason as I sewed the rows together, the quilt began to shift, like it wanted to be an Aztec temple. I didn’t understand this at all…

My dad, my kids, quilts and plots.  And my husband, when I get a chance to see him.

But sometimes that is how life is; more irons in the fire than one has irons!  And surprisingly the only side effect seems to be driver’s elbow; my left arm, just under my elbow, aches after about ninety minutes of driving.  I dug out a strap I used when stitcher’s elbow was a problem, which seems to alleviate the pain.  That denotes my age, which I cannot change.  Otherwise, I feel good, what with piles of shirts to cut into 4.5″ squares for my brother-in-law’s quilt.  That’s the next project on the sewing table.

Shirts my BIL donated to the cause, plus some camo, as he's an avid hunter.

Shirts my BIL donated to the cause, plus some camo, as he’s an avid hunter.

Maybe this seems like a lot, maybe summertime is when the body, and mind, are supposed to take it easy.  I wanted to start writing the sequel for Heaven…Mississippi this month, don’t think that’s gonna happen.  I wanted my SF Giants to maintain that massive lead over the LA Dodgers, and well…  Well, at least San Francisco took the series from the Diamondbacks.  The All-Star break starts today, even ballplayers need a day off.  But as for this quilt-crazy author…

Snapped by my youngest last week as I hand-sewed Scrappy's binding while we watched footie semi-finals...

Snapped by my youngest last week as I hand-sewed Scrappy’s binding while we watched footie semi-finals…

Not so much in the way of rest and relaxation until the weekend, once deviled eggs and fruit salad are made, corn husked and placed into pots of boiling water.  Those are our contributions to the birthday party, and after I’m sure they have been sorted, I’m going to find my dad, who will probably be inundated with kids and grandkids and friends.  I may not do more than shoot him a friendly smile, to which I may not receive much beyond an understanding grin.  And if we get a few minutes to chat, perfect.  His voice is pretty raspy, but that doesn’t seem to hinder all he has to say, about the present, the past, even the future.  He has plans, in case the Taxotere doesn’t quite keep his PSA in check, radium treatments one possibility.

The finished second scrappy quilt!

The finished second scrappy quilt!

But that’s months down the road, hopefully further even.  Maybe this time next year, God willing.  And God willing, I’ll still be quilting, and hopefully writing, and maybe those Giants will be winning.  In the meantime, there is this day, which has a list of to-do’s already waiting.

Scrappy backing too...

Scrappy backing too…

Writing this post isn’t on the list, more of a way to get my morning started properly, as jasmine tea is sipped, windows open to catch some early cool breezes.  The day is packed indeed, but there is always room for a little more love.