Winter Passing



When winter slithers in during late Autumn, I relish its arrival. Its sends me fast into the house to rest my gardener’s weariness. Shovels and hoes are cleaned and set aside for the new year. I set myself inside a fire-warmed house and dream of next years seedlings. I welcome the rest from the ever-calling landscape that surrounds my house.
But winter has rested outside my window for far too long. I am quite rested now and grow weary of this lifeless house. I grow weary of the whiteness that blankets my northern landscape. My heart longs for green buds and the sound of the birds that I know will wake me with the sun. I peer out the window’s sashes that enprison me inside. I watch the snowfall melt away and a picnic table appears on my lawn, once hidden in the snow, I see even its legs. Soon, even the tables feet will appear and soon after that I will see dark yellow straw-like grass, still sleeping its winter nap. But I know the secret. After the snow melts and shows the yellow grass so still, the sun of spring will come and waken it again to green. …and then out the door I go and back into the garden.

Quilting

Triangles, squares, rectangles and really anything that falls from the scissors edge, our hands lift gently, lining up edges and place them beneath the presser foot. Our hands hold still as our foot takes over with its marriage of electrics and mechanics that stitch the fabric together. Seam done, our foot stops and our hands remove our new assembled cloth. Our eyes choose another piece, then hands, then foot, then hands again and the piece grows….it grows into something expected and unexpected, something we will take pride in and something that will teach us what will need to be better next time.


In the end we step back and look over what we have created. I am always a bit amazed what comes from the union of our eyes, our hands, one foot and a pretty sharp scissor.
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The evolution in my quilting soon took a turn for vintage or the contemporary pretense of it. The faded rose at each corner made all the difference. I tied the layers together not yet owning the ability to hand quilt. An art that deserved it own time and undivided attention.
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My Vintage pretense masterpiece only found home near the old door, with the old candlesticks. I never did dare to actually pour that cup of tea.

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I got bold and brought one outside where neighbors might see, I wondered what it would look like in the sun. The house trim matched and the chairs were the perfect accent. Even the plant stand in the background seemed to join in the chorus of color.

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I was getting tired I think and thought bigger pieces meant it would make up faster. It didn’t work that way. They left less room for error. I didn’t like the final quilt as much as I might have, had I taken the time it deserved. I hung it in the sun, it somehow deserved such a nice sunny day.

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I think I began to embrace color organization with more zest than I knew I had, Once outdoors, I was matching quilts to porch furniture and lawns.



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My favorite photo. I liked the marriage of color in the landscape and in the quilt; the blacks, the greens and the accent of the sun dancing off the white on white floral that brightens everything.


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Thank you for visiting.

~Susannah

Doll Clothes;Dresses of Our Keepers.

What is it about Dollclothes?
No matter how old we become, there is kinship with the dolls of our childhood. There is comfort in their prescense and comfort in the clothes they wore. We all have them tucked away somewhere; Barbie’s gown, Betsy’s blankie, someones lost shoe, all bring tugs to our heart. And why not? It’s deserving. These pieces of stuffed muslin, cast plaster and vinyl were our first friends, the first receivers of our whispered dreams, the first ears to hear our cries and displeasure at the world around us. No one knew us, like our Dolls. They carried our heart and feelings until,well, it wasn’t that we outgrew them…no, none of us did. We simply became too old to carry them publicly. So we quietly, thoughtfully, and regretfully began to set them aside. But they remained our keepers. They are the ones who still and will always be there in the night ready to listen, always agreeing, while wearing the prettiest dress we never did get around to ironing and silently accepting whatever hairdo we graced upon their heads. They remain our first best friends and keepers of our early secrets. Here are a few of the outfits I have made for someone’s Best Friend.
~Susannah