Thursday, May 25, 2017

Don't pay the ransom...I've escaped...

For a few minutes. I've miss you all so much. I haven't touched a ravioli since I made my tassel in the last post. Work is being all encompassing. It may be about over.

So this is how I am after work being work and in the middle of everything...moving my office.

I'm bathed in sunshine, and a little wilted. OK, I'm a lot wilted, but keeping upright. 
 I'm holding hope in my heart that I'll even get to sew one ravioli this weekend.

And just imagine the treasures I'll get to enjoy when I get to read all your blog entries.

Aloha, and I hope life is treating you well.

Hunter

Sunday, May 14, 2017

Dear sewing machine diary...




Lizzy, I put the other foot back on and no more clunking.

I was minding my own business trying to make another little group of ravioli.

I found out just how handy a seam ripper can be when the bobbin thread somehow raps around the bobbin.

Or, at least, that's what it looked like.

Look! I made a pom pom (tassel) mess.

I miss you all.

And for some reason, the text of my blog post turned blue. Except for this note about the text turning blue. Sigh.

Sunday, May 7, 2017

The Universe, fate, or whatever can (verb) itself...

And along those lines, I sat down at the sewing machine to put a few ravioli together. I thought I could simply not breathe another moment if I didn't create something. Something that no one could take away from me or criticize or try to change.

Here were the rules and the instructions to the Universe. There were:

None. Zero. Not a one. Zilch. Less than one. None.

No matter what the sewing machine did or does. (See the previous post.)

The same color can land next to itself or not.

The seams can match up or not.

Many, if not most things lately, I have had to accept that I don't or can't control them.

The Ravioli Quilt isn't one of them.

Witness the truth of it:

I love it. Every single stitch. Every crooked seam. The two little matching squares sitting side-by-side.

I'm even over the occasional clunk the machine makes when I sew a little too fast. (Although I will admit, I keep expecting to break another needle. I can't figure out what's hitting what, but the dear machine I have named Turtle sews on.)

I guess her name is Turtle because she and I stitch slowly along. We're a little slow, but we don't stop. We keep moving forward. No matter what.

Peace and love.

Oh, and does your machine have a name?