Never Happens That Way

I flutter at night.  Ping around doing this and finishing that and starting the other.  At eleven o'clock a night a couple of weeks in a hotel in some city in this state, I was trying to settle down.  It was hopeless really.  I had gone for a run at 5:00 and then made the errors of all errors - an iced coffee on the hour drive to the resting town for the night.  Wound up.  Eleven o'clock.  

This the conversation that occured between Karen and I via text.

Me in a string of four separate texts because when texting late at night it's important to make their phone ding four distinct times.  

Just had an idea!!

A fun ladder as a quilt rack.

Like a flat ladder that would lay against the wall.

Don't let me forget that!

She responded.  

???

Do you mean to be talking to your mama?

I don't quilt.  

I answered.

No you.

She came back.

Ohhhh, I get it!!  Yes!!

A quilt rack as a ladder.

Then I sent her a fist emoji.

That's a punch.  

As in, you fool.

Hahahahaha.

Remember our quilt rack discussions?

I mean I don't why at eleven o'clock at night her brain wouldn't go straight to understanding my entirely out of context and random ladder quilt rack string of thought bubbles.  The conversation ended with me saying something about how now I just had to find one and her saying she wouldn't let me forget and then me saying I'm wound up and her saying I know how you ping at night!  

So there you have it.  An idea was born.  Then last Sunday, I looked in my brother's shop and there it was!  Exactly what I had in mind.  When does that happen?  Never.  Things never happen that way, but this time it did and how lucky.  I power washed the ladder at the farm and it dried in my garage all this week while I was out traveling and working.  

Now it's a quilt rack ladder.   

My grandpa's ladder and my mom's quilts.  It simply doesn't get better than that; I love when a late night idea actually comes to fruition.  Of course one of the first things I did after setting it up was to text Karen.  

That's totally what friends are for.

Bread, a Quilt, and my Mom

Yesterday I tried something new.  That being baking bread not in a loaf pan but instead in a circular artisan style, hoping to create a bread bowl for spinach dip for today's last Christmas gathering with my dad's whole family. 

After a quick conference at the grocery store with their bread baker about parchment paper and using heat to make it rise high, I came home to give it a whirl as omelettes were being made on the other side of the kitchen.  I told you it was a just on this side of fabulous kind of Saturday. 

While the bread was rising by the fire, Christmas decorations came down which is not nearly as fun as putting them up.  Although I do find serious satisfaction in getting my house back in order.  I don't think it's a coincidence we all start the new year with clean houses; someday I will share my thoughts about how a cluttered environment makes for a cluttered mind, but that's not today. 

Today I'm talking about bread.  And how it actually did what it was supposed to do! 

The spinach dip is now made, the bread is cut into a bowl, and I'm ready for the family gathering this afternoon. 

Every year, we have a women's gift exchange and a men's gift exchange and we fight over the presents.  Mostly because it's fun to mock fight.  Partly because sometimes we really want something.  My mom makes a quilt every year, which is always a hot item.  This year she has been struggling with her health a bit since Thanksgiving (more on that later too).  Momma Debi wasn't sure if she'd get one made. 

The day after Christmas, which let's remember was Wednesday, my dad told her he would help and they would get one done.  Help he did and my mom worked her magic to create yet another beautiful quilt.  In four days. 

Last night my family all came over to my house for cheese, wine, and cards. 

We played International Rummy and my dad lost which always makes things interesting.  But it's part of his charm, as is supporting my mom and helping her with quilts.  You have to love him for both. 

While we played and Billy was exposed to the competitiveness for the first time, my mom sat next to me in my flower chair and finished hand stitching the binding. 

My mom is a saint.  She would never say how she doesn't feel well right now and how she finished that quilt despite of it, but I can say she is a wonder.  Because she is. 

And please add Momma Debi to your thoughts and say some extra prayers for her as we head into January with some important appointments and hopefully some not scary news.  For now, we will celebrate Christmas one more time today and spend time together.  And the quilt will be cherished by who ever's hands it lands in.   



Words and Cow Kicking

My little sister had the order of books for her spring semester college classes shipped to my house and I just opened the box.  Love a duck, now I want to be in her classes.  Seriously.  I will be reading a couple of these before she takes them in January.  And then she and I can discuss them in a nerdy literature way and then my heart will be very happy.



My big sister self is immensely proud to know she feels something for words.  It's a bond we are discovering between us; I sense many talks about the message of words and the beauty of their rhythm on the horizon.  With each of us holding a mug of coffee and wearing a thick crocheted scarf because that's how it should be when talking words. 
 

While we are on the topic of writing, I moved my desk area and it has put a firecracker in my creativity.  Rearranging and creating a different scene always works for me.  I've had the Singer sewing bottom and piece of slate from my grandparents' estate in my garage for two years waiting for the right burst of use.  New work space it is.

This vintage afghan was a find from the Sparrow Mercantile Etsy shop for a more than reasonable price so I checked yes.  Hell yes.   

It arrived in the mail packaged with ribbon and other details; I knew the owner and I were kindred spirits right from first sight of the brown paper.  Then, I opened the afghan up and found this card.  A vintage donkey kicking card.  Coincidence?  I think not.  Donkey kicking and I are tight.  Like leg warmers and yoga pants tight.   

Except now I'm looking at this picture of my donkey kicker and turns out...it's a cow.  So cow kicking it is.   

Gray, Yellow, and Throw Pillows

The fabric store saw me two times last week.  Once with my friend Brittany to help her pick out fabric to spruce up her classroom.  She went with gray and yellow which I quickly decided just might be my new favorite color combination.  I'm copying you Brittany.  I feel we have the kind of friendship that allows me to imitate your taste.  Right?   

Naturally, when I went the second time with Momma Debi and Sister Pister, I brought along the camera.  

Gray and yellow.  The latest to make my heart happy.  

Fabric stores are right up there with office supply stores in my book.  There's something about the way the colors are arranged in a gradient fashion.  So very organized.  Plus, all of the patterns and textures make for some serious eye candy.  I could spend hours perusing.  

Which is what usually happens when Momma Debi and I are together fabric shopping.  The time we spend and the amount of pinging around can get ridiculous.  Sister Pister does not quite share the same enthusiasm for the fabric.

Momma Debi and I though?  Total fabric nerds.  It's an absolute fist pump, donkey kick, twirl, and foot stomp situation.   

 

We were on two missions.  First, to find the perfect combination for the latest quilting project.  Second, to score fabric for my living room throw pillow make-over.  It's time for new outfits for all of my pillows.  Did you know that you really don't need to buy throw pillows more than one time?  As long as the first time you buy ones that have forms inside, not stuffing, they can be easily recovered and voila!  New pillows.

You have to use your imagination now because I haven't actually sewed the pillows yet.  And I'm leaving my two orange numbers from the couch alone, so there will be a little pop of orange along with these five.   

In the process of picking out that mash of "vintage meets modern meets a little slice of crazy Amy style" I realized that Sister Pister is secretly hiding her love for the fabric.  Because out of no where, she busted out some serious design chops.  I wouldn't have even thrown a look to the metallic purple or the blue floral, but she nonchalantly grabbed them and said, "Here.  You need these.  Duh."  

And I had to say back, "Oh oh oh oh!!  You are right!!"   

So, Sister Pister, once again you showed that maybe, just maybe we do have a few things in common.  

A trip to the fabric store on a rainy Friday afternoon to spend some quality time with my mom, my sister, and my new favorite color combination...a heart happy thing for sure.  

And being there undoubtedly brings out the dorky me.  Not that it takes much.

Like Eating Sunflower Seeds

Summer is a keeper of rituals.  Cotton candy at the fair.  Whole afternoons at the swimming pool.  Sunscreen baths.  Later dinner times.  The smell of the outside on kids' hair.   Sunflower seeds at a baseball game.  Watermelon at a picnic.  Summertime holds those rituals tightly in its grasp and it only feels right for us to become card carrying members.  

For me, going to sit on a wooden bleacher bench in between two arenas on a Wednesday evening to watch horse events with dirt flying in the air and the sun sinking lower and lower is a summer ritual. 

One of those times when I think to myself.  Now this.  This is what summer is about.   

Littles figuring out they can be the boss and they are strong and capable.  

Competition between two friends.  Fierce competition.  Without letting it get in the way of their friendship.  Not an easily attainable task.  Trying to beat each other times at one moment.  Laughing and gossiping the next.

Snacks on the go with sticky hands and dirty feet knowing both are nothing a quick bath at home won't erase and that these memories are far more important than being to bed on time.

Yes, it's a summer ritual.  This Wednesday evening affair.  I don't go every week but when I do, that sinking into the couch after a long day feeling washes over me when I'm on those wooden bleacher benches.  

Like there is no where else I'd rather be.  

Than with this face with cupcake leftovers on her lips on one side of me.  

And this face with his neck tan line and his camera avoidance tactics on the other side of me.  

With all of us watching the action as the sun continues to slowly make its exit.   Sitting on the edge of the bleacher to see which one will take it this time.  Megan or Sister Pister.  Because there is never even a mere full second between their times.  It's a continuing volleying match and baton toss back and forth to see who comes out on top each week.  Which only makes each of them better.  Because that's what healthy competition does.   Pushes and encourages. 

In between events, a spontaneous moment not on the usual Wednesday evening agenda popped up.  Momma Debi and I figured and puttered with our next quilt idea.  The noise of kids giggling and horse hooves clopping with the perfect not too warm and not too cool temperature and the tiniest breeze blowing all melted together.  Providing the perfect backdrop for fabric planning.  A happening I wish could have been frozen to be replayed over and over again.

As the moon showed its face and the arena lights were turned on and the horses were still running, I was never more glad for the summer ritual of those wooden bleacher benches in between two arenas on Wednesday evenings.  

Reminding me of what's important.