And I didn’t like it. I missed the blog, I missed the message in a bottle feeling I get whenever I post. SOmewhere, out there, there have got to be other people with the didning room overwhelmed with fabric, the bedroom buried in yarn, and the garage filled with dye. I keep hoping for some sign that the mothership is coming back for me, but instead I must search this globe for others of my kind.
This is a quilt made by my great grandmother. When I suggested to my mom that perhaps she and her sister would like one of the less damaged blocks, framed with the history of the quilt on the back, she said, and I quote “why on earth would you want to frame a rag?” Uhm I don’t know. So, it remains mine all mine, but I’m not sure what to do with it.
We built a tree house. Technically, a tall house next to the tree, since no one else in the 80 some years this backyard has exsisted thought to plant a tree in it, and thus the tree, a Santa Rosa plum, is only 4 years old.
Well, the bottle is cast out.