Tag Archives: san francisco giants

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.

An ever-evolving life…

Aside from the Hollie Cook show, which still tumbles through my brain in songs that I cannot shake, I’ve been indulging in some vintage 1970s melodies, especially “Black Water” by The Doobie Brothers.  Somehow that song evokes the autumn which attempts to make its point here in California.  The evenings are cooler, as are the mornings.  Darkness pervades my waking hours, sunshine casting long shadows, trees finally dropping their leaves.  The end of the World Series is nigh (Oh please let it be tonight!), Halloween is days away, November knocking on the door.  Listening to The Doobie Brothers reminds me of the past, which at this time of year is still tied to National Novel Writing Month, although I won’t be participating for the second straight year.  NaNoWriMo came into my life just as we were saying goodbye to England, but as leaving Yorkshire taught me, not everything last forever.

But the writing continues; daily I’ve been reading a couple of chapters of The Hawk, enjoying it immensely.  My husband asked if I read for pleasure, or with a critical eye.  I laughed; I always read my own stuff in a discerning manner, but the revisions aren’t heavy, mostly because these relatively early chapters have been read a number of times.  Yet even as I read, and occasionally alter, the prose, I’m reminded of how much I enjoy this story, which makes me ache to get back to the writing, even if my time is squeezed beyond belief.

Which some might say is all the reason needed to jump into the NaNo pond to pound out another 50,000 (or more) words, regardless of all that looms.  But no longer am I that sort of writer, which is a lot to admit.  But it’s not 1974 anymore, it’s (gasp) forty years later.  Jeez!!  Four decades since “Black Water” was a hit, and now I’m a fan of tropical pop.  “Milk and Honey”, by Ms. Cook, has been making me sway around the kitchen, or tapping my feet as I iron fabrics.  I’m cutting what will be my goddaughter’s Christmas present, but not in reds and greens.  Perhaps hues more for an island, in warm blues, aquas, and a tad of periwinkle.  Not colours I often use, but I sure like them, and they blend well with my latest fascination with reggae.

Life is a journey, taking us to new and exciting places, with intriguing songs and fabric shades that don’t remain static.  About the only thing right now I’d like to remain the same is the Giants’ hold on the even-numbered years’ World Series victories.  We’re one game away from continuing in that vein, which to my liking could stay as a constant, although I’m sure other baseball fans wouldn’t agree.

Not sure what Buttercup thinks; if it meant more belly rubs for her, she’d be all over San Francisco taking tonight’s game.  In Buttercup’s world, there is little room for evolution, but my realm isn’t that of a beagle/basset.  It’s words and music and cotton, baseball and family and whatever lies ahead.  Revisiting the past is unavoidable, in music and memories, hopes and dreams.  But some pieces were only for that time, those moments.  I’d *LOVE* to dwell on the 49ers’ glory years, and seeing shots of Joe Montana at AT&T Park was a pleasure.  However, it’s 2014, ages away from the 1980s, and even a good stretch from when I began writing.  Now I quilt, whoa!  And my heart is firmly stolen by a different Bay Area sports team, whether I want it to be or not.  I can’t help rooting for the Giants, what I do right here and right now.

As I age, I need to keep moving forward.  I don’t know if abundant technology assists in that endeavor, or tropical pop.  And I wonder if my long-passed away relatives felt so inclined.  Is my generation better equipped to seize the future?  I’d love to ask those grandparents, aunts and uncles, but that’s impossible.  I should have done it years ago, but years ago I didn’t consider these queries.  I was too busy being young.

I’m not so young anymore, although not as old as Ms. Buttercup, who at somewhat over seven is a tad older than me.  But again, she doesn’t care what happens, as long as there is food and water in her bowls, walks when her folks get home, and much attention paid to her exposed belly.  But then Buttercup doesn’t know the joy of tropical pop, she can’t reminisce about “Black Water”, and she certainly won’t experience the thrill of one’s team winning the World Series (Oh please let the Giants win tonight!).  She’s content to lie on her rug as people croon her name, snapping pictures of her, then scratching her belly.  No time for writing, quilting or any other such nonsense in her world, thank you very much.

And certainly not a free moment for such introspection.  But occasionally a free moment should be turned just a wee bit inward, if only to acknowledge the change, be it in the weather, the writing, the quilting fabrics.  Life never stops changing, and it’s good to grasp those alterations, especially when they are pleasant.  Sometimes they’re not so warm and fuzzy, but we can’t look from those either.  Before tonight’s baseball I need to clean (ugg), perhaps cut more aqua fabric, definitely get to the store.  No writing, maybe some sewing, then loads of hand-wringing as my beloved Giants go to bat.  I’m sure some Hollie Cook will waft from speakers, either at my PC or in the living room from the turntable.  It’s just another day, 28 October, 2014.  It’s also the only 28 October 2014 any of us will ever see.  May this day bring plenty of joy your way (unless, of course, you’re a Kansas City fan).

Peace Pie and other musings…

So the World Series is tied one all, fitting to send it to San Francisco.  I won’t lie; I’d LOVE the Giants to take it at home, which they have not done in their previous two wins.  However, I don’t want to appear greedy, so as long as they win…

Ha, well, nothing greedy about that.  I will note that this contest has brought out the small sports fan in my eldest, or maybe it’s Buttercup who appreciates the Giants, although last night’s game was hard to watch, once Jake Peavy allowed two Royals on base.  But now these teams have gotten a rout from each of their systems, so perhaps the following contests will be closer.  (Albeit with a San Francisco victory sealed at the end…)

But what does that have to do with peace pie?  Not that much, nor does peace pie correlate with the recent news that Radium 223 is not currently being manufactured, in Norway by the only company that makes it.  I accompanied my folks to Sacramento yesterday, where we learned that no radium treatments are being offered anywhere in the world.  The doctor’s assistant wasn’t sure why, but we discussed other options, like Xtandi and Ketoconizol, which is an anti-fungal that just happens to work well for prostate and bone cancer patients.  Dad will make an appointment with his oncologist to map out the next step, however I’m hoping that Bayer can sort out the Norwegians in a timely manner.  Radium 223 would truly best serve my father at this time, and time is a most precious commodity.

Still, I hear you rumbling, “What in the hey does that have to do with peace pie?  Is it some autumnal thing, baseball related, or Buttercup’s favourite dessert?”  Actually, it’s what happens when I have too many fireflies flitting in my brain (thank you Laura!).  My brother visited with the folks last weekend, then asked me what we were all bringing for Thanksgiving, which was his way of saying, “Hey sis, start a thread, will ya?”  I complied, noting that we would bring Grandma’s fruit salad, homemade cranberry sauce, and peace pie, with perhaps some vanilla ice cream for said peach pie.  Note the error?  I didn’t, but my beloved little brother did, answering what in the heck was peace pie (ya hippie!)?  I countered that I would also make some deviled eggs, they had to have an attitude, to which my sister replied how much she loved our family, big smiley face icon included.  And I answered that yes, at lease we are entertaining.

Then Mom asked why we had a lease?  And on it goes…

I said that’s what happens when I’m not writing, my spelling goes right down the loo.  Which is somewhat true, in that WordPress and my email provider, as well as Word, note the misspellings, but not the erroneous miscues.  Peace pie, at lease, the list is endless.  Similar to Radium 223; we assumed that was the next step, but maybe not.  Assuming is a tricky deal, not always for the best.  Maybe it’s best to be like Buttercup, hording the remote, ready to change the channel if the Giants get wonky.  And at least (not lease) Buttercup doesn’t care how I spell peach pie or at least.  She just wants to eat the pie, peaceful or not.

Dad wants pie too, and while ice cream is tasting good again, he prefers Cool Whip.  I also know he’d prefer radium over other treatments, just as he and I and Mom and my hubby and probably even Buttercup would prefer SF to win the Series at home.  But what we prefer is at times irrelevant.  All we can do is wait and see.

And eat the peach and peace pie with great big spoons.  And cheer on the Giants to perhaps another World Series championship!

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!