Old Goats.

A post from a long time ago.  Both Leslie and Cinderella have since passed away.  

Leslie - RIP

For the first time in a long time, my goats escaped.  My son received a phone call from the neighbor last Saturday morning to let him know that Leslie and Cinderella were on the loose.  He wasn't at home so he called me.  I was on my way home from town but unlike years past, I wasn't in a frenzy to get home and catch them. Because honestly, those goats are old just like I am. They are no more interested in going any farther to get something to eat than I am interested in traveling very far for food.  So I took my time and when I got home, I stood out back and sure enough, the goats were close to the fence nibbling on the neighbor's rose of Sharon bush.  All it took was for me to jiggle an empty bucket and the girls came trotting up the hill and back into the pasture without a problem. Also unlike years ago, they didn't run right back to where they escaped so I had plenty of time to gather the tools I needed and leisurely fixed the fence.

Chaos.

That is what happens when I try to organize my fabric. I've got fabric - oh, I've got fabric! I'm aware of all the organization systems and have read about each but when it comes down to organizing my own, I'm just befuddled. 

I'm ok as long as I am just working with plain old solid fabric or fabric I don't like.  But if I come across something that has a sentimental connection or that I forgot I had or that is exceptionally beautiful - I'll want to put it off to the side so I don't forget about it.  Consequently, I have numerous piles and nothing is organized. 

Now I've found mouse droppings in my sewing room. This means that I will be forced to go through all of my fabric and wash it.  Maybe as I'm folding it and putting it away, I'll manage to organize it in some sensible order. It would be so nice not to have to search through absolutely everything for that piece of fabric I know I have.  Only to not find it, purchase something else, and then find the fabric I was looking for when I no longer need it!

2.11.16

While searching for a restroom this morning, I noticed the Civil Collection room in Pond Lab.  Years ago when I had the opportunity to study history - was required to do so, in fact - I hated history.  Something happened over the past 30+ years and I've developed an interest in the civil war time period.  I give no small credit for this interest to Jennifer Chiaverini's book series of the Elmcreek Quilters including the Runaway Quilt, The Sugar Camp Quilt, The Lost Quilter and subsequent books, Mrs. Lincoln's Dressmaker and Christmas Bells. 

I love the stories of quilts along the underground railroad, the Gees Bend quilters and such. Last year, I had the luck of attending a quilting retreat in bed and breakfast which back in the day, hid runaway slaves. 

Now you see me.....

I've written before about being middle-aged, being invisible.  On one hand, it is great being invisible. I can do really stupid things and no one notices. After all, if you've seen one grey-haired old woman, you've seen them all!  It's great to be invisible because I can dress for comfort and not for style. But then, even when I was young, I never dressed for style.  But now that I have put on a few pounds, comfort is even more important.  But sometimes, being invisible sucks. Sometimes I want to be noticed. Sometimes I just want to scream  "I used to be something! I used to be smart! I used to be important!"  I've often thought of making a T-shirt that said "it's ok to smile at me" just because I was tired of people looking through me instead of at me.
I think that's what I like about quilting.  I can hide behind my quilts: literally and figuratively!   I can post on facebook and get likes and comments and no one seems to think I'm icky because I'm old/fat/ugly/out-of-style.  In return, many times I don't know the maker of the person behind the quilt that I am liking and commenting on. But sometimes I would like to see her or him.  When I think of other quilters, I imagine happy, smiling people. Intellectually, I know that isn't the truth. I know for a fact that many quilters have experienced unmentionable heartache and often times, they deal with that heartache by putting needle to fabric and making a thing of beauty that also provides comfort.
I think for many of us, quilting is a way of providing comfort to ourselves or to ourselves through others.  I think quilting for me, is a way to express beauty - to have something that is still beautiful about me.  It is a way to feel connected to others in a way I never have except through books.  For much the same reason, it's why I like facebook.  I don't have to respond in an instant.  I have time to thoughtfully prepare an answer the truly reflects my feelings.  I have a choice of who is allowed into my life but yet have the option of keeping them at an arm's distance.   
So I've started this blog that is about quilting and thimbles (I really like thimbles and thimble-related words - and I can't figure out why people think I'm odd). It's also about sticks because I live out in the sticks with my chickens and my goats and my pony and cats and dogs. 

2.10.16

Today would have been my dad's 88th birthday.  Today - if I follow through with my plans - will be the third day in a row that I've gone straight home from work and gone straight to bed. Or in my case, straight to couch.  Because I don't have a bed.  53 years old and I don't have a bed.  I have a house, I have a car, I don't have a bed because my husband sleeps in it.  I'm odd in that I do not want to sleep in the same room, let alone bed, with my husband or anyone else. Except my dog.

That said, if I do follow through with my plans, it will be 3 days that I have not sewn anything.  A pity because other than my kids who have now grown and moved on - with the exception of my 16 year old son - sewing is one of the only things that gives me a crazy amount of pleasure.  I would say happiness but that wouldn't be true.  There are a lot of things that make me happy but sewing makes my heart sing and makes me feel useful and special and worthwhile.  I love sewing machines especially old sewing machines that are so simply made.  There really isn't anything to them and I love that.