Busting Out the Sewer

Once upon a time I made a quilt.

Here's a close up of the moon face. He looks kind of mean. Like he's planning something malicious. I think it's the angle of his eye. And his nose. Meanie face.

Other than Mr. Meanie Face Moon needing an attitude adjustment, I'm pretty proud of this quilt. I made it senior year of high school and it's the first one I did entirely on my own. I did the cutting, sewing, quilting, and binding. I had made quilts of various sizes previous to this but they were done with the help of my grandmother.
 
My parents gave me a sewing machine when I graduated high school. A really nice sewing machine. I haven't used it much since I got it. Mostly I was busy with other things and what free time I had wasn't spent sewing.

I've decided it's high time I get back in to sewing and quilting. I recently took a skirt sewing class with my sistas. It was necessary to become reacquainted with my trusty sewing machine, which was the purpose of the class. It doesn't matter what I told myself; without the class, I probably wouldn't have busted out my sewer for months and months.

Even with my skirt class, it's likely my sewer would have fallen back asleep under a cozy blanket of dust. Luckily, I have an awesome Ma. Ma came home from the grocery store a little bit ago, proudly bearing a quilting magazine that she had picked up just for me. She brings home food magazines a few times a year, but a quilting magazine is completely unprecedented.

It was a sign. Sewing and I were fated to be good friends again. In the spirit of following fate, I dug through the clutter in the sewing room and came up with this:

I did this block fall of my first year of college. It's a paper-pieced quilt block, which isn't my favorite method but I loved the rose it created. I have a whole pile of fabric in an assortment of colors ready to be turned into roses.

It's about time they fulfilled their destiny, don't you think?

PS I found the pattern for my paper-pieced rose quilt in a book at OPL. That place is a mine of crafty information.

When I was a child I walked like a doof.

I have memories of my mother telling me to walk like a princess. The most vivid, specific memory I have of this happened as we were walking into church. I was four or five years old at the time. I don't remember exactly what I was wearing, but I'm sure it was a flouncy dress with ruffled socks and tiny mary janes. I do remember the frustration and annoyance I felt, and also the determination.

I had a habit of flitting about on my toes, only occasionally using my heels, and only after my toes had already hit the ground. Ma took great pains to assure me that princesses didn't walk like that. It was apparently well known that a princessly stride always went from heel to toe and that walking heel to toe was the mark of a true princess. I was determined to be a princess, however silly I considered their walk.

(Had I been smart I could have simply changed my ambitions from princess to fairy. Fairys are supposed to flit about. There would have been no need to change my walk.)

After much berating and bribing and frustration on both our sides, Ma no longer had to chide me with reminders to "walk like a princess." I walked heel to toe without being told.

As I grew older and my feet grew larger, and thus more capable of annoying noises, it became obvious I hadn't developed the the graceful, womanly walk Ma had hoped for. Instead, my walk was more akin to a heel-splat, heel-splat. I suppose it's not that surprising my walk turned out that way since walking heel-toe was a deliberate act for me. There's a lot of foot between the heel and the toe. How else can you walk heel to toe unless you aim for the toe with everything you have in you?

Heel-splat, heel-splat.

I remember various times through my junior high, high school, and college years when my mother encouraged me to walk less with a heel-splat and more with a heel-roll off the foot. I didn't pay much attention. I wasn't bothered by my splatty way of walking. There was also a sense of justice in my mother disliking my walk. It came about due to her persistent meddling, after all.

This past winter, working off the theory that if I develop a better walk I'll have a better run, I spent a few days here and there concentrating on walking with less splattiness. I didn't seem to achieve much more than tired, achy legs. Since I wasn't consistent or frequent about it, I figured these rare days of concentrating on my walk hadn't done anything.

That is until yesterday, when I wore heels instead of boots for the first time in months. I can say without a doubt that I walk differently now than I did several months ago, though I'm sure it's not enough to be noticeable.

However insignificant the change in my walk is, it's apparently significant enough to require learning to walk in heels all over again. I tried to fall out of my heels nearly half a dozen times in the four hours I was wearing them, and most of that time I was sitting.

Co-Dependently Wealthy

I've been planning for years and years and years to be independently wealthy. I've never been quite sure how I was going to get there, but it was going to happen. Me and independent wealth go together like almond butter and bananas. It was just meant to be.

Assuming I live to be quite old, I'm a quarter of the way through my life and nowhere near independent wealth. It's official. I don't know how to get there.

What do you do when you can't do something on your own? You get help, of course.

Luckily I have an awesome friend in Lindsay B. She suggested that instead of fruitlessly pursuing independent wealth, I should focus my efforts on co-dependent wealth. She generously offered to be co-dependently wealthy with me.

Two heads are better than one, they say. Co-dependent wealth will be far more achievable than independent wealth.

I Want to be Guy

I have never had any desire to go to Sante Fe. I've actually never had any desire to go to New Mexico. And then came Guy.

I saw this segment on "Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives." When they were first talking about the food it didn't seem to be anything special. Delicious, yes. Special, not so much. And then they started talking about how they prepare their food. I'm just about dying with want of going there. If I had a bucket list, this would be on it. Near the top. Probably in the no. 1 spot.

It wouldn't be too bad of a drive. According to google maps it would be about ten and a half hours. Not only is it not too long of a drive, the journey would take me through parts of this great land that I haven't seen. It's all about patriotism, I tell you. Getting to know my country.

Doesn't it look like great fun?

Ten and a half hour drive for smoked salmon quesadillas—totally worth it.

PS Really, I want to be Guy. How is it that he managed to snag himself a job where he flies around the country eating amazing food? Best job ever.

PPS Is there anything else worth seeing in Sante Fe? Not likely. It is New Mexico. I suppose that means I would be taking a nice, hearty road trip just for the food. Sounds fantastic, doesn't it?

I have ten weeks left in my school term (of six months). I have eight and a half courses left in my master's degree program. I'm planning on taking care of that pesky half tonight. That means that if I average about a course a week, I can finish my coursework by the end of the my term. Then, if I take two months for my degree capstone project, I will finish my two-year master's degree program in the hoped for eight months.

This is happening.

After all, believing is the first and, for me, most important step to becoming.

PS I need to begin believing in my ability to drink water when I'm working from home. It is not uncommon for me to drink 80oz of water during the work day when I'm in the office. At home I generally don't drink water at all while I'm working. Today was a work from home day. In an attempt to cure a headache that's been lingering since Saturday, I decided to drink some water. I've guzzled about 40oz in the past half hour. Thirsty? Maybe just a little.

PPS According to Wikipedia, a healthy body can process 1 litre (about 34oz) of water in an hour. Whoops.

You Can't Keep a Ma Down

I was supposed to be in Portland this weekend. My cute cousin is taking her own 18-month hiatus in Budapest, Hungary, and I was going to wish her well.

My plans changed when my mother became frighteningly unwell and was admitted for emergency surgery. Thank goodness for emergency surgery. She's fine now. Pa, the Little Sister, and Grandmother went off to Portland as planned. I was charged with making sure Ma didn't put herself back in the hospital, a rather difficult job. Each day is full of negotiations.

Ma, you shouldn't do that. You need to rest.
But I think that I should . . .
No.
But I need to . . .
No.
Okay, I'm just going to . . .
No.
Fine, fine. I won't do this, but I have to do this other thing.

On and on and on.

I do get some small satisfaction each night when Ma, sitting on the couch resting herself and her eyes, mumbles something about having tried to do too much that day.

Oh really, Ma?

She almost got me yesterday. She asked if I would go fabric shopping with her today. Without thinking I said yes, but then remembered and scolded her. I did promise her that if she was a good girl and spent all day today doing nothing but resting (she did negotiate for three coke runs), I would go fabric shopping with her on Tuesday.

So far she's stuck to her word, but only because she hasn't yet ventured beyond her bedroom. The good news is I inherited my mother's indomitable will. Let the negotiations begin.

I have a new study plan. And it works awesome.

It goes like this:

1. Sleep in Saturday morning.
2. Roll out of bed round about 7:30
3. Turn on the Hallmark channel
4. Watch hours worth of cheesy, ridiculous Hallmark channel original movies (those things are so hilarious, I just love them)
5. Do school work as I mostly don't watch the movies

I get through a surprising amount of school work this way. The best part is mostly I don't feel like I'm studying much at all.