life changing day

You brought spring with you then as you always do...

Happy Birthday, Sweet Anne.

Love you more than I can say.

choice

I recently received an email from Michael McCormick, founder and publisher of Quiltfolk magazine. I can't say enough about the quarterly publication (which contains no advertising.) Each issue focuses on the quilt scene of a specific state.
Michael's words read as a sort of homily on making choices and moving forward. I've copied his email for you to read with his permission.

The Quilt You Didn't Make Steve Jobs said, "Focus means saying no to the hundred other good ideas.” He added he was “as proud of the things we haven't done [at Apple] as the things I have done.” As a business owner, I’ve reflected on this many times, and now more than ever. As Quiltfolk grows, I constantly make decisions that affect our business and our team’s future. Every day, we discuss dozens of good ideas, great story leads, and new approaches to things. And in the end, only a fraction comes to fruition. And that’s not because we don’t get things done. The opposite is true: Our team is energetic, organized, and efficient. But the sheer nature of creativity is that you’ll always come up with more options than you can handle, more than you can execute. Hence the need to choose. The Latin word for “choose” — decidere — literally means “to cut off.” This is fitting, since whenever we make a decision, we actually “cut off” all other alternatives, no matter how appealing. Depending on which study you read, humans make anywhere from hundreds to thousands of conscious decisions each day, begging the question: What is left in the scrap heap of our own history? What priceless things have we cut off with our daily decisions? Quilts themselves are the result of a significant decision process. Colors, fabrics, block pattern, thread, quilting motif, binding — what choices did we make? A finished quilt is the result of myriad conscious and unconscious choices, and in the end, we’re left with a literal heap of scraps. So what about the quilt you didn’t make? The one that used that other blue, that different thread, that alternate pattern. The one with the stitching that zigged instead of zagged. What might you have made, had you chosen a different path from the very first cut? Wondering what might have been is characterized in popular culture as “FOMO,” the fear of missing out, the dread of regretting what you might have experienced or created, had you chosen differently. But perhaps there is an alternate view of these consequences of choice. I learned recently about a belief in some Judaic traditions. The empty (or negative) space found in scripture — that which lies between the text — is as important and worthy of interpretation as what the text itself reveals. In other words, reading between the lines is not simply an idiomatic expression, but a way of gleaning true insight into the author’s intent.   The great business mind Peter Drucker echoed this concept when he said, “The most important thing in communication is to hear what isn't being said.” Robert Frost titled his iconic poem The Road Not Taken — and not “The Road Taken.” The list goes on, of interesting people who join Steve Jobs in caring about what didn’t happen. What is cut out can be pretty interesting and important — if only we pay attention. When it comes to quiltmaking, one thing is certain: We will never see, with our eyes, the quilts we didn’t make. But they aren’t entirely lost either. Embedded within our finished quilts, the ones we take to show and tell, give to family and friends, and enjoy for decades, are our omissions. Our myriad decisions can be felt, even appreciated, if only we take the time to look. And these choices, about what to include or not in a quilt, are in their own way a recorded history of who we were at the time of its making. The tagline of Quiltfolk magazine is “Telling the stories behind the stitches.” But maybe it’s time to look between the stitches too and ask ourselves what can be gleaned from the small cuts of fabric buried deep within the scrap pile. While the quilts we didn’t make will never take first place at a show or keep us warm at night, their inexistence has paved the way for our most inspired work to see the light of day. Until next time,  Mike Karen of Sewandsowlife recently challenged herself and her readers to go back to projects that have waited for some time to be finished.  Karen's home state of Vermont  happens to be featured in the upcoming issue of Quiltfolk.  Getting Mike's email message about choices, and not only permitting but also encouraging me to share it here, lit the tinder Karen had provided. I'd been avoiding a quilt top I had labored over a long while back but lacked the courage to finish. It was those mitered corners that had me stymied. I'd never done them before but knew they were necessary to the design. Last week I stopped at the local dollar store and purchased a couple noodles. No, not that kind of noodle. I put up with much teasing at the store and in the parking lot. Some time last fall I had seen a Youtube video of someone using those noodles to help layer her quilt tops and I filed the idea away in my head. (dangerous, I know) I find it a difficult chore sandwiching my quilt tops before quilting them and thought this idea might help. I had to modify their technique as they use two people and four hands. I would be working solo. I'm happy to say it worked splendidly. Handling each layer rolled on noodles was much more manageable. And once done, the prepped quilt top can stay rolled on the noodle until I can get it to my machine, though now that I've overcome my obstacles I can't imagine not getting to it right away. The statistic about hundreds or even thousands of choices we make each day includes choosing not to choose. Remembering Mike's message when  paralyzed by the realization that I'll never live long enough to get to all my ideas is liberating. I'm not supposed to get to it all! I just need to honor my thoughts, ideas, plans, and possibilities as part of what gets me there. Vehicles for the journey. Wow. Thanks, Karen. Thank you too, Mike.

soon

Winds are rocking us up here on the ridge. Rain, ice, snow is in the forecast. Snow is still knee deep between the house and the chicken yard. The chicken yard annex has snow higher than my waist. Yesterday's temps just above freezing left us with a sizable ice rink between the house and the out buildings. In other words, winter won't let go.
And so, I'm looking for signs...
We change the time tonight to give us the illusion of longer days. The Amish function within the community on daylight saving time but don't change the clocks in their homes. They prefer to remain on what they call slow time. From now til November I'll need to ask them "our time or yours?" But the time change bolster's my belief in winter's end and I always look forward to it.

Seedlings are under the grow lights in the basement. A few brave greens are struggling toward the artificial light. I wonder just when they'll be able to be brought up and out to the mini greenhouses I'll set up on the porch. When the ground will be exposed to the sunlight. How soon the warm crops can safely be started indoors.

The photo above was taken two years ago today. I had just finished pruning the grapevines. I can't get near them now. But I know in my heart that spring will arrive. A new growing season will begin. The chickens spent the entire day outside yesterday, in the mud around their house. They've left the funniest footprints in the snow along the edges of their bare ground. It never fails to lift the spirit to spend time with them. And they are laying their splendid eggs after their necessary rest during the coldest months.
From time to time I catch a note of birdsong that hasn't been heard much this winter. For the first time in a long while we seem to have several cardinals near.

Although I've posted here a photo of a cardinal in our maple near the pond, the maple and the pond were removed last season. Sad but necessary decisions. This is a photo taken on an April day a few years back. Thinking to find some evidence I walked where I could yesterday, searching, and not one of our trees is showing any sign of letting go their tight grips on this spring's buds. But yesterday was the first temperature above freezing and local maple producers are talking sap. The sun is reaching into windows at angles not seen since autumn. Our local True Value is gearing up for its annual March sale event, a carnival of sorts.
Soon.