There is no gardening without humility. Nature is constantly sending even its oldest scholars to the bottom of the class for some egregious blunder. ~Alfred Austin
During an October afternoon, I planted 150 tulip and crocus bulbs. By the number alone, it would seem that there will be something that will resemble a metropolitan botanical garden. I jest, of course. I’m well aware that nature is incredibly humbling to the nth degree and that 150 bulbs are only a drop in the garden bucket. I could not resist buying the packs of “easy to grow” variety of colors and heights. The crocuses will grow to 4″, and the tulips should stand tall around 12″. I’m also well aware that seed and bulb companies have their marketing people creating the encouraging text to attract wanna-be gardeners like me. And, I was most impressed with the verdurous images on the handsome packaging. — I could have a garden like that? How amazing.— SOLD, to the lady with the pink purse.
The bulbs are “resting” four to six inches below the surface, and by March or April or by the powers-that-be, these little beauties will stretch out in a springtime greeting, and I will be ready with my green watering can. Should I discover that I made a blatant blunder, I will know that I’m in good company.
My new blog background is so much fresher in design, and I think will showcase my quilts nicer. Knitting has been placed on the back burner; however, there is a scarf that I must complete before the cold weather sets in.
As far as quilting, I had been working on a pieced windmill quilt top last year. The blocks are completed, but I haven’t sewn the inside borders to all of it. It’s one of those projects that’s always fun to resume. Here’s one of the blocks:
Pieced windmill block
I will always gravitate to the pieced blocks or the appliqued. I love utilizing small scraps of fabric from my stash. If I keep this up, I won’t have much of one left. However, an enjoyable pastime is stopping in at the local quilt shop and buying fat quarters, washing, pressing, and folding for future use.
I’m presently working on the blocks for a large appliqued quilt. It’s becoming one of my most beloved projects. Each applique is filled with tender emotion, because when I’m stitching, I think of a possible heirloom handed down and wonder whose hands will be folding it. Then again, in future years, it could be on a table at Goodwill. However, it’s still a warm thought it’ll keep someone cozy or even used as a wall hanging. Here’s one of many designs that will adorn the quilt:
I had purchased prints for this project, but I still found myself digging through the fat quarters and leftovers from other quilts lovingly made for friends and family.
It’s a helluva start, being able to recognize what makes you happy. ~Lucille Ball
The only time you really live fully is from thirty to sixty. The young are slaves to dreams; the old servants of regrets. Only the middle-aged have all their five senses in the keeping of their wits.
I excitedly tore open an envelope to one of my birthday cards. I just knew this particular one was going to be really good. On the front, there is 6… the inside shows …0. Then, it says Just wanted to give it time to sink in. I found it cute but a bit anticlimactic. Why did I expect ribaldry?! Is there none when we reach 60? Take the above quote by Hervey (his birth certificate must have had a typo)…I think he felt by the time we reach 60, our senses have escaped us. Well, upon research, apparently his did. His heart gave out either to over-utilizing the five senses from his past thirty years or clogged arteries. While sipping and spilling my Folgers this morning, a brilliant thought arose. Isn’t sixty the new middle-aged?! 😉
Posing with shopping bag sent by sorority sisters:
Friends are therapists you can shop with.
(and laugh with)
My upcoming birthday is a milestone. 🙂 I’ve been working on the largest quilt project that I’ve undertaken since I was introduced to the mad world of fabric scraps. There was a day that I’d look forward to smoking a cigarette for a fix, but now my drug of choice is printed 100% cotton.
Pictured above is one of the prints chosen for my project, and alongside that, my little tin of colorful, shiny threads. The tin was my grandmother’s. It’s one of those little sentimental objects that has remained with me throughout the years.
I have a birthday in a fortnight, and I’m wearing a pair of new boots. Check them out:
These are made by Fryes, an American company, and are an original design from 1863. What is it about a pair of boots that makes one feel empowered?