Passions

Everyone has a passion, even if it’s only to avoid having one. At the moment, my huge passion is quilting. After moving to Rison and looking around (not very well, evidently) for a quilting guild or group, I finally found not one… but two!

Last week I joined one of them, and I plan to visit the other one at their next meeting. I’m happy.

What I’m learning very quickly since setting up my sewing machine this past week is that I am not a very good quilter. I do much better with hand-piecing. For some reason my machine piecing just doesn’t look that great lately. (Maybe I just have to get back into practice.) I’ve checked my seams for the appropriate size. I’ve read and re-read directions for certain blocks. I’ve said little prayers. And still my latest block does not work. The sizes of the pieces are off, even though I’ve read and re-read and checked and re-checked.

Oh, well, I’ll figure it out.

In the meantime, I’m going to post some pictures of past work and some still unfinished UFO’s. 

This first quilt is my first finished quilt, a log cabin quilt that I pieced while we lived in Wilson. It’s paper-pieced, and I paid $30 to have it machine quilted. Since I hadn’t provided any binding, the machine quilter simply hemmed the edges. I was going to bind it properly, but before I could do that, my son Billy came to visit and begged me to give it to him. Who can resist a child, even a grown child?

I’m in the process of hand-quilting the following baby quilt. I started it about 18 years ago when one of my daughters was pregnant. Now 15 grandchildren later, it still isn’t finished. And all of the grandchildren are too old for a baby quilt. Oh, well, I consider this a huge learning project.

The following two photos are of blocks are made about a year ago when I was smitten with the 30’s fabrics. They reside on my design board, since I can’t decide on a layout.

And the last photo is of my honeycomb quilt. It’s a works in progress, and if God is kind, I’ll live long enough to finish it. It’s hand-pieced with one-inch hexagon pieces. 

Thanks for indulging me this little bit of whimsey. I guess this is my way of saying I hope to finish these UFO’s, as well as complete some new projects this year. With the inspiration and encouragement of the quilting guild, I might make it.

Run, Run, Run

During this season of the year, all we seem to do is run, run, run. We pause only to grab some sleep and catch our breaths. I’m not a person who loves running. In fact, I seldom move faster than a sedate stroll.

We spent a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday with our son and his new wife, and two step-sons, our daughter, and then on Saturday, our other daughter, and her family joined us. We ate and ate and played games and enjoyed the warm indoors. Between running the dishwasher and showers, I think we must have used twice the normal amount of water as for any other similar time period. What a clean bunch we were!

This is the first week of Advent, and with it, there are the beginnings of many seasonal obligations — and pleasures. Two potlucks today alone. You betcha, I’m utilizing my crock pot!  Tomorrow a meal out and a trip to see Christmas lights with a group from church. Thursday a much-needed trip to my beautician. My hair has reached that “nanner, nanner, nanner, you-can’t-control-me-any-more” stage. Saturday is our clergy family Christmas party. This will probably be the quietest week.

Oh, but come December 26th, and we’re off to the northeastern part of the state and our retirement home. This trip will be wild because we will be traveling in a pickup truck (NOT one of those trucks with a back seat), and we’ll have our animal carrier in the seat between Jim and me. Our two cats will be vying for space, and the older cat, Girlie, will probably win. She is huge. Poor little Max doesn’t have a chance. I’m sure we’ll be treated to a chorus of cat songs during that four hour drive.

Ah, but when we arrive, friends and parties await. On the agenda will be a trip to our favorite Mexican restaurant, a New Year’s Eve party at a friend’s, and perhaps a day trip to the gambling boat on the Mississippi River (only about 40 minutes from Rector). We always enjoy getting away from our regular routine, and the house at Rector is just right for that. I grew up in that house, with my grandmother and step-grandfather. We call it our cottage because of its size: two tiny bedrooms, one bathroom, a living room, kitchen, and added on laundry room. Oh, and did I mention the little mysteries that abound in that house? Like doors that open and close on their own. Lights that turn on by themselves. A knocking that we can never locate. Plugged in appliances and devices (the television) that unplug themselves. (Not turn themselves off and on, but UNplug from the wall.) Oh, yes, there are mysteries there in that little cottage on Valley Street where two of my step-grandfathers passed on to the world beyond this one. At least we think they did.  We’ll see how the new cat reacts to everything. A nice week away will be a treat.

Time to get busy.

Later, y’all. 

Wake Up and Smell the Coffee

I love waking up to the smell of coffee brewing. I’ve missed that this week while my husband has been out of town. This week I’ve had to get up and make the coffee, rather than reaping the pleasure from having it brewing when I awake. Miss you, Jim. Hurry home. 

Autumn is glorious this year in south central Arkansas. Or is it every year? Maybe I’m succeeding at last in living in the moment because I can’t imagine any time this sweet.

Aches and pains and frustrations still abound, but that’s life.

I’m talking here about waking up to a bright new day and finding that all is right with the world.

I know there is much wrong in this world. Not much I can do other than what I do now to help that. My meager contributions and work with raising money and awareness of the needs of those unfortunate in this world doesn’t seem much, but it’s more than I have done in the past.

Despite my recent blues, deep inside I am content. My children and grandchildren all thrive and live active and happy lives. My mother and I are existing in a peace we’ve never known before. My husband is busy, healthy and living his most fulfilled life ever. All is truly right in my world.

Thank you, God.

This morning I awoke with the joy of knowing that two friends slept in our guest rooms. Neither are early morning people, so I knew I’d have time for coffee and a few words here before either stirred. I was right.  Though they’ll be traveling home later this morning, I look forward to the few hours left in our visit.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life. Famous or infamous words, there. This morning I feel the sentiment of them deeply.

Later, y’all!

Discipline

When I first started writing, I was lucky to hook up with a group of writers in Memphis.  Linda Kichline had moved to Memphis and wanted to get some writers together for meeting and sharing and critiquing. I honestly can’t remember how we connected the first time, but the important thing was that some local women (I lived two hours away in Arkansas) met in a neighborhood library and formed a group of writers that was to become the River City Romance Writers. There were under ten of us. It was a beginning.

From this core group of writers, this brand new chapter of Romance Writers of America, emerged a group of us who started meeting for critiquing. None of us were published, and there were really too many. We met every Saturday come rain or shine, usually in someone’s home. Yes, I drove the four-hour round trip every Saturday. It was that important to me. In a few months, the group had dropped to four or five. Then down to three of us. Out of this group came Debra Dixon and Lisa Higdon, who became published romance writers. Debi was the first to publish, and even after publication, she continued to meet with us. Lisa published after the group suspended meeting, but publish she did.

The success of these dedicated and determined writers always fills me with a sense of awe.

I came close, but never quite reached that goal.

Nevertheless, discipline kept me writing consistently for about five years. Without that weekly deadline I probably would have gone weeks without producing any fresh pages. But even if I had a few bad days, I managed to meet the goals. Each week, slowly as a slug creeping across a patio, I produced.

When the critique group broke up, I lost that impetus. I lost part of my support system. Oh, I still had Debi and Lisa and others in RCRW who encouraged and read my pages and brainstormed with me. But I did not have to hand out at least ten NEW pages every Saturday. I soon stopped producing. And with the devastating rejection (that thing all writers experience and must survive), I lost the heart to write. Oh, I played around with some story ideas and wrote a little. But nothing like before.

Now I live in a rural county in southern Arkansas, about three or maybe more hours from Memphis. The old critique group is not there anymore, anyway.

This is not a piss and moan post. I know that only I can write my stories. But I miss that group. I miss the one-on-one, face-to-face interaction and discussions. I miss schmoozing with other writers. I miss RWA (yes, I let my membership lapse). I miss writing.

So why am I writing this? I think simply to express in my wordy, convoluted way that critique groups are important, interaction with other writers is important, sharing information about the publishing business is important… Ergo, isolation might work for some. But it doesn’t work for me.

Anyone else out there share my thoughts?