Floral Finish

Another finish!

"Clarissa" pattern from ge*designs

No Joy

I knew that pin-basting a quilt sandwich that I'd be hand-quilting in a hoop was a recipe for frustration, so I decided I'd use my New Joy frame to thread-baste the newly-repaired vintage top.

Based on the date of a bunch of information I downloaded from the interwebs, I bought this frame (used, through Craig's List) back in December 2013.

One of several pages of assembly instructions downloaded Dec 7, 2013

Jesse's Girl

Today as I continued to quilt this Bowtie beauty, it quietly told me who it would belong to (not these rascals).

Wraith has very deliberately kicked the towel out of his way.

CATalyst

I lost my sewing mojo at some time between the disappearering act and the Impeachment Act; I've got it back now, thanks to little fix-it projects around the house and the cats' persnickety ways.

When I made this tower, I was under the (well-researched) impression that cats love to scratch sisal rope.

They certainly loved scratching the upholstery-fabric-covered posts (Franklin is sniffing one of them), but they never ever touched the sisal post, little pills that they are.

On the pinning table

At long last (20+ years), this mind's-eye project is well on its way to becoming a full-fledged quilt!

Imagine two furry butts parked at one end of this, and that's the view I have from my recliner as I type this.

I had to pop out and get two more boxes of basting pins (300 pins each), but I've been needing to add to that particular stash for some time anyway. Watching an episode of NCIS took my mind off opening every. single. pin before tossing it in the tin. The pin tin.

I'm thinking that I'll be using up beaucoup partial cones of variegated threads, as there's no one dominant color on the back and many, many colors on the top. I might do some initial straight line stitching on the diagonal through all the taupe triangles (near the ditch) with an innocuous color, then take a beat to decide how I want to quilt the pinwheels. I've got plenty more pinning time to ponder the possibilities!

10:15 pm
Fuzzbutts: 2
Human: 0

 I'm going to bed instead.

I can do this. I'm allowed.

I stopped working a 40 hr/week job almost 13 months ago. It stopped being the job for which I applied, for which I was trained, and in which I was interested. So I stopped doing it. We were lucky in that we could afford for me to do that; I understand just how lucky we are!

But my work ethic didn't stop, and the hardest thing I've found to do these past 57 or so weeks has been to indulge in just the sort of activity I longed for when I WAS working: sitting all day in the recliner, enjoying the rainy weather, snuggled in with my cats, reading or knitting or sewing or watching Netflix or playing word games. Essentially: doing nothing. Nothing at which I could look back and think, "Yep, today was a GOOD day. I got so much stuff done!"

So occasionally I have to remind myself: "I can do this. I'm allowed." Then I refresh my cuppa, snuggle back into my comfy recliner (the cats have kept it warm), and continue encouraging myself to just be retired!

Laptop is open, but ain't nobody logging on!

You have my permission to do this too. You're allowed.

Bye bye!

Food, glorious food

Hubby took to the road early this morning, travelling half the continent on two of the shortest days of the year on his new motorcycle. He's off visiting family; I'm at home enjoying my own company. The clowder is completely confused. There's still a biped in the house, but they don't know how to act. It's not the right biped. They hover, they perch, they pace, but they don't nag, which usually starts in the middle of the afternoon.

"The Loud isn't here. Will we starve?"

Clowdy with a Chance of Hairballs

Since I'm pinned to my recliner by one of the beasts, I might as well do something productive, such as blog!

I have it on good authority that I am sharing my life with a clowder, a new-to-me word which is apparently the collective noun for domestic cats. Hubby asked what would describe a group of non-domestic cats; I suggested "pride" (as in "... of lions"), but a pride of feral cats just doesn't sound right, does it?

Anyway... let me tell the story of our little clowder.

Wraith