Posie Gets Cozy

Summer Swell

Dude, did you see my garden potatoes? I AM PSYCHED.

Tonight, curried potato, corn, and shrimp chowder. And it's finally cooled off so we can make the choco cake. I'll write out the recipes when I get a sec.

You know how when your one sister goes out to lunch with your other sister for the afternoon and you should be doing some chores that you've been blowing off while you're home alone but instead you decide to make an Afghani nomad dress? So weird when that happens, I know.

Summer

Ah, yes. It speeds up now. I remember.

Indoor

Summer seems to have truly arrived! I know this because I've had my air conditioner on for two days and am afraid to leave the house.

Thank you so much for all of your incredibly kind comments yesterday.  xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoooooo

I got four of the books you recommended! I am excited! I am very drawn to books that have very strong plots lately. I need the plot. My life feels overly busy lately, so I like that feeling of following a line (doesn't have to be straight) through a book. I want to be hooked and pulled through the water. By a tugboat. Towed in.

Do you make good iced tea? I'm trying to learn. I love iced tea, but half the time mine is really disgusting.

*To those who have asked, yes, the crewel embroidery is from Embroidery Companion, and the Tanglewood bag pattern is here :-). Thank you!

I don't get it either.

No, it's not exactly the first time that, in the midst of general reorganizational chaos and general way-too-much-going-on, I've found it impossible not to stop everything else and (yeah) make a quilt.

A Serenity Now quilt? Well, okay.

Except for the tiny squares of fabric falling all over the floor.

(Thankfully, no, each little square isn't sewn individually [though some are]; long strips of fabric are sewn together, alternating the cream with the colors, then chopped into 2" strips, then resewn into checkerboards. More on this later.)

I also have 97 ridges of garter stitch in fingering weight wool in progress for the center section of my Quill. I think I'm about 1/3 there. Garter stitch in the midst of chaos while watching reality TV? See, like, that I get.

Peonies

When I was a little girl there was a lady on our block named Mrs. Schleeter. (I have no idea how to spell her name, but that's what it sounded like.) She lived across the street from us and one house down. Her house was like a little brick cabin; it was very different from the other houses on the street. For one thing, it was small and only one story. It had a large side yard, and a winding path down to the sidewalk. The forested train embankment rose up behind the little house, the way it did for all of the houses on that side of the street. Mrs. Schleeter was old. Long black calico skirts and aprons, long white hair pulled into a bun, a men's plaid wool coat in the winter, men's boots, a cane in a bony hand. I remember my father telling me once that she had told him (possibly in the only conversation they had in the twenty-five years my parents lived there) that she and her husband had bought the house many decades before, when the street was still sparsely populated with houses, because her husband (who was long passed) worked for the railroad, and she liked the railroad. My dad liked the railroad, too, and so did I. Soo Line freight trains rode those rails above our street several times a day and through the night. It's still a sound that I love, and a sound that feels, along with the coo-coo-coo of the mourning dove, just like home.

I think my dad liked her and respected her. Mrs. Schleeter was not a friendly lady, and I think he liked that too. She didn't socialize with anyone on the street. She never said hello, never waved. If she was outside and other people came out, she would go in. We were told to give her her space, and leave her property alone, because that was what she wanted. Weeks would go by without a glimpse. There were probably twenty kids on our block. I think I can count twenty. We lived on a cul-de-sac, and we kids had free reign over the wide, quiet two blocks that made up our world. Oak trees towered from either side like flying buttresses and formed a vaulted ceiling of green. The houses were large and old and pretty but weathered; people lived here for a long time. Lilies of the valley, hosta flowers, rusty wire fences, long grass. The only cars we ever saw there were owned by our various parents and we knew each of them; if a strange car came down our street we all stopped at stared at it, wary, until it moved on. We knew everyone and everyone knew us. I had been in almost every house on my street (except Mrs. Schleeter's), and if I hadn't been in the house I knew the people who lived there.

There was a school yard at one end of the street, down near our house, and that was our school. The other end of the block butted up against the elevated Metra train tracks, which went downtown to Chicago (another world), and that end of the street had a slightly more refined, more cosmopolitan air. Our end was the woolier end. We were wild kids then — the minute we finished dinner we were outside until dark. It was the '70s, and, as everyone will tell you, things were different. No one watched us. We knew to come home when the street lights went on. If we were late, my dad would come out onto the front porch and call for us. That was not preferred; he would not be happy if he had to do that. We almost always came in before we were called. If one person got called in, the whole group would disband. Fireflies lit the humid air. Every seven years the sound of cicadas sizzled, constant and frenzied. We had many societies, most of which were focused on fighting with each other, competing with each other, or generally doing things we weren't supposed to: going up into someone's crumbling attic, sitting on the roof of the Miller's garage (their parents were divorced, and their mother was never home) with a pack of cigarettes, climbing over the fence to the railroad embankment behind the school yard and throwing rocks at stuff. Every summer there was a new, very competitive game: Kick the Can, Running Bases, Rummy 500. Fall was miserable, as it was always Acorn Wars. There were tears, tattling, and bruises during Acorn Wars. We spent the time after school collecting hundreds of little nuts in dozens of coffee cans that we'd hide from each other (it was usually boys against girls, which got complicated if you had brothers, which I didn't), and then after dinner we'd race back outside, excavate our cans, and whip acorns at each other for hours, until someone went home crying and someone got in trouble. I hated Acorn Wars, was pummelled mercilessly, and was usually one of the ones who went home crying.

Mrs. Schleeter's house was in the middle of all of this. But we never walked on her lawn, never congregated on her sidewalk, never played Ghost in the Graveyard on her part of the street. There were rumors that she shot squirrels and ate them. There were rumors that she had kidnapped kids, or at least had yelled at them which, as someone who was scared of getting yelled at, I thought was almost as bad. In spite of the fact that I had once wiped out on the sidewalk in front of her house (it was winter but there was no snow, I was getting over a cold and my legs were wobbly, I was running past her house and faced-planted in front of it, resulting in a long scrape and subsequent string of scabs running from my forehead to the tip of my nose to the space above my upper lip [scab mustache] to my chin for the Christmas picture — see, I shouldn't have been near her house!), I had secretly always liked it. I thought it would've been perfect for me. My own cabin. Rust-colored brick. A little tremble of smoke constantly coming from the little chimney. A big front window made up of rectangular panes, the skinny trim of all of those panes painted black. Crooked, ancient-looking apple trees in the side yard. A raucous, old-lady's vegetable garden out back (rhubarb, rutabaga, cabbages, turnips?). The edge of the weedy driveway was lined with two dozen blousy, blustering peony bushes, white, light pink, and dark burgundy wine. She, and it all, seemed like they had been there for a hundred years. A fairy tale crone-cottage on Forest Avenue. I liked it, and looked at it a lot.

In early summer, on only one night (one very special night that I think now she probably waited for all year), she came slowly out of her house. She would wait until we kids were somewhere close, learning the Bus Stop in the Papienski's yard or playing volleyball in front of mine, and she beckoned to the closest one of us. "Come here." The child would drop the ball, and, walk, looking back nervously, across the street. "Come here" — a crooked finger gesturing toward the rest of us; a small herd of small sheep, we'd walk as a unit toward her house and our nervous friend. It was very quiet. She didn't speak. She had several pairs of big black scissors in her big patch pockets. She handed them to the oldest kids among us. Our little sisters and little brothers were close on our heels, wide-eyed. She walked to the long row of peonies and we'd follow. There must have been of a hundred enormous flowers, perfectly in bloom or bud. One by one, she'd point to exactly where she wanted the stem cut — that one, there. That one, there. This one, there. One flower, and one child, at a time. The stems were thick and crunched when you cut them. The scissors were metal, dull black, huge and oiled. The peonies were heavy and twitchy with ants. Blossom by blossom, kid by kid, she directed each cut until our arms were filled with flowers, and our little hands could hold no more. Those great bushels put my wedding flowers to shame. When she was finished, she collected the scissors and moved, in her long skirts, back off toward her house like a ship, until next summer. Chagrined, thrilled, still slightly terrified, we whispered our hoarse, peony-scented thank-yous and skittered away to bring the bouquets home to our mothers. Our mothers would say, "Did you say thank you?" and we'd nod, still nervous. I remember that my mom would put the bouquet in the middle of the dining room table. I'll have to ask her if she remembers. Along with fragrant handfuls of square-stemmed lily of the valley from next to the front stairs and billowing clouds of lilacs from under the dining room windows, peonies are the only cut flower I remember us having in the house, and only Mrs. Schleeter's, and only for that one week.

We have ten pink peony bushes, all coming into bloom just now. None of them seem like the right varieties to me, though when I bought them (as dried up little roots, in a box) ten years ago I was trying to get the same ones Mrs. Schleeter had. The smell of the bouquets in the house takes me right back. When I was in River Forest this past summer I saw that Mrs. Schleeter's house had been seriously remodeled, the yard tamed, the peonies gone. If I see some big black shears at an estate sale, I'll get them.

My Spring Rain Quilt

This quilt is so big I didn't even try to capture the whole of the design, but you can track its evolution here and here and here and here. It's soft and fluffy and puffy and warm and makes me happy. I am about to start another quilt now. This one will be a triple Irish Chain. Classic, with a creamy background, but scrappy and random (and small patches!). I have always loved the Irish Chain design and I've always wanted to make one. I thought I would do another very random patchwork, but then I felt I just needed a little more structure than that in my life right now. I may try to back all of my quilts in cotton lawn, like most of this one, from now on. It's really expensive (though I did find all of these pieces on sale and had been holding on to them for years; doubt that will be happening again, or at least not for a while), but you just can't believe how soft and squishy and light it feels. Also, the wool batting is seriously scrumptious. The whole thing sort of reminds me of a Pavlova. And the kitters is pleased, so there's that.

Lemons and Poppyseeds

I finally finished tying the quilt shortly after I took this photo. It was all I could do not to take it out of the dryer (I always wash and dry my quilts [on warm] the minute I finish them), put my pajamas back on, and hop back into the bed. But instead I made a poppyseed lemon cake. I'll let you know how it turns out. How both turn out!

April Showers

In between sunbreaks I would like to tie the quilt, especially when it's pouring, and I mean pouring rain outside and us girls are all tucked in upstairs after dinner, waiting for Andy in the warm, rosy lamplight with some coconut cake and my new favorite show, Dual Survival. But this dear little Violetflower is always on the quilt now, which makes it tricky (and cat-hair-covered). I don't deny her anything these days. The quilt is so big I was actually able to tie all over one of the corners of it while she was cozied up on a pile of the bulk of it a few feet away. So, slowly but surely.

I ordered some patio furniture. Here's how I did it:

"Honey, I just wanted to let you know that I got some new poufy chairs for the backyard with a little round wooden coffee table to go in the middle so that we have somewhere to sit happy birthday babe!!!!!"

Like that!

The minute that thermometer hits 68 these doors and windows are flying open and I am not coming inside for four months!

Yesterday I was up in a part of the city we lived in for a short time with friends when we first moved to Portland (that cute kitcheny window belongs to this restaurant, which I think used to be the little newspaper I did copyediting for). I can't believe how much the neighborhood has changed. I need to get out more. A few people have asked me about the stuff-to-do-in-Portland list I was working on last year. I had forgotten about that. So I just looked at it. That thing is huge. It's not entirely finished. But I will do that, and put it out here in a couple of pieces, so stay tuned.

Spring Rain

Whew. A few days ago I was about to do something else, and before I knew it was sitting under an enormous half-finished quilt with a big blister on my finger. It was like I accidentally stepped into the fairy circle, then was further tempted to eat one of their little cakes (even though I know you should refuse all offers of food there!). And so then they just kept me for a while, and made me sew. And sew and sew. Yes. I think that's what happened. I was under a spell.

I do remember that it was pouring rain for several days straight. It was a rain spell. At times I think I had almost every light in the house on just so we could see what we were doing. The sun came out just for a short, glorious while on Saturday afternoon. Andy came into the studio with me and played video games on his phone while I went from cutting table to sewing machine to ironing board, and back again. I just kept adding patches to patches patches. In all honesty, seriously, this quilt top came together faster than any quilt I have ever made. If you really look at it, once all the pieces have been cut, it's just a matter of putting it together like a puzzle, and many of the patches are BIG. I left a few of the big long pieces uncut until closer to the end, when I knew whether groups of vertically pieced patches were going to match up to groups of horizontally patched pieces. (Sometimes they did, sometimes they didn't.) If they didn't (and if they didn't it was, luckily, never by too much), I just added a bit to some other piece that I hadn't cut yet so that the collective group of patches was still the right length, or width. It came together exactly like the diagram except in a couple of places, like where my little green blocks didn't get done in the right order, and I needed to add a strip to the bottom of the log cabin column because it was way too short (and I still don't really know why). As each part came together, I was very happy. I thought it all looked so pretty together. Thank you to anyone who was here over the weekend with me! Your comments were cracking me up bad! That was really fun.

When I first started to cut all of the patches, before I stitched them together, I basically printed out a diagram of what I had drawn, so I knew exactly which patches I needed. As I cut them (randomly, from some new fabrics and from my stash), I crossed them off. So by the time I started sewing I had all sorts of little piles, labeled with sticky notes: 16" x 4", 4" x 4", 58" x 2", etc. Almost all of the patches are 2", 4", or 8" wide. The grid made it easy to see the exact size of each patch, and I just added 1/2" for seam allowances to both the length and the width before I cut. As I finished each strip or section, I hung it in front of the sliding glass door and then I sat and looked at it to figure out where to put some of the darker colors, so that they were a little bit balanced. I didn't plan which fabrics to use where in any sort of labored way, and they just sort of fell where they did. I didn't follow the chart color-wise at all, expect for a few places like the big gray boxes, and the navy-and-green mini stripes.

When the top was all finished I realized that I wanted it to be even bigger than it was, so I added a 4" border all the way around. The binding will be some kind of mustard yellow, or maybe brown. The back is a patched mix of really beautiful cotton lawns — in fact, there is a ton of cotton lawn in this quilt, from Liberty prints to some from my friend Anna to various stuff I've collected over the years. I don't know how well it will all wear, but oh dearie me is it dreamy to touch and work with. It also has made the sandwich so light. I used Dream Wool for the batting (which is what I used for my log cabin quilt). They say you can stitch up to 8" apart on it. I love it. It makes the whole thing feel like a big puffy comforter. I prefer that so much to flatter, cotton-filled quilts. Firstly, it's so much lighter and loftier. Secondly, I just like the way it looks more poufy when it's all finished. Thirdly, It's seriously warm. I was sitting under it (with all its pins in it) last night with just my thin nightgown on and I was toasty.

To finish it, I've decided to tie it. I was thinking of having it professionally quilted, but then I decided that I really just wanted this project to be all mine. It felt like me, and I wanted to keep it close to me. It will take much, much longer to tie than the top did to put together, I think. I'm going to use all sorts of different colors — to match the background fabrics — of embroidery floss. I don't want them to show up too much. Not sure exactly what kind of arrangement I will tie it all in yet. I'll work on the binding first. I stitch that by machine on front and by hand on back. It's about, oh, eleven yards of binding, so that will take me quite a while. But at least I can do it while I'm sitting under it.

Oh — I almost forgot about the cross-stitched patch I made for the back with my initials. It only seemed fair to make a cross-stitched patch, though I didn't actually think of it until the back cloth was all pieced together. So I used 14-count waste canvas and sort of centered it on there. I ran out of room, so although it was supposed to say 4-1-12, I just had it say 4-12 for month and year. I expect to be working on the second half (finishing) through April. Though knowing me I may become possessed again and in that case I can't say what will happen.

Did you notice the woodpecker (I think it's a Nuttall's woodpecker? Downy woodpecker — thank you!) in the second photo? I took these pictures from the house, so I was quite far away from the birds.

I know.

I've got problems.