This time next weekend I will be with great friends and artists at the Front Range Modern Quilt Guild Retreat! I’m so glad. My heart is weary with vigilance. I have stopped reading books, stopped writing, can’t sleep through the night. I don’t even make waffles for Sunday breakfast anymore. I can’t seem to turn away. Morbid fascination pulls me into the thinking, the hoping, the praying. The last few months have stolen my peace. I am looking forward to time away from the pelting deluge of discord and upset that has gripped our country.
I am completing my gigantic spool quilt (I can watch the news and quilt at the same time 😦 unfortunately.) I think I will be able to bind it tonight. That done, I can bring it to cover my bed at the retreat. Since I created it at the last retreat, that seems fitting – and exciting!
The task, now, is to decide what to bring. I have SO many unfinished projects. Creating something new seems unwise. And yet… and yet… there is something about the creation that I love to do with my friends. I have some lovely left over shot cotton scraps, from the above mentioned spool quilt. Maybe I should go rogue. Try something improvised? Still thinking. Anybody have a grand idea??? I am certain that I have fabric to do it – whatever it might be. #theonewiththemostfabricintheirstashwhentheydiewins
Tonight I made two tote bags from one hunk of super pretty rooster and hen fabric. The smaller one pictured up top here is the front, just below the rear view with pockets for doo-dads, is for Aunt Rose, to thank her for her hospitality while visiting Fresno. She knows it is coming but what she doesn’t know is that I will pack home made Biscotti inside. I ate most of hers while chatting over coffee and watching the household scurrying around preparing for a back yard wedding. **** Best I pay her back with better than I took!****
The taller tote bag below is from the same fabric but it is for me to take to the Farmer’s Market in Old Colorado City. If you have not been to that particular market, I recommend it highly. Very funky cool. Here are pictures of the tote bags. Next entry – pictures of the Saturday next Farmer’s Market.
This morning I was hungry to play with fabric. I have a favorite quilt shop, a bit of a drive from The Springs, in Fountain. Let me start by saying that this is not the most beautiful time of the year on the Front Range. Everything is still hunkered down, waiting for a last blast of cold before Spring. The landscape can be downright dreary in April, when it really ought to be stretching its green arms toward wet skies, flirting with each slice of blue that winks beyond friendly clouds. I think back on how it looked in California and whisper that word to myself… desolate. When I first came to Colorado I was singularly unimpressed. Desolate, I thought at the time. Simply desolate. It
was April then, too.
Well, to bring color into my day I headed down Academy until it turned into Highway 85, bound for Nala’s Quilt Shop on Main Street in Fountain. Highway 85 is a good old road. A Route 66 in it’s own right. Motels and joints, gas stations, stop lights and train tracks. Nala’s is named for Nani and Laura, the sisters who own this shop. The building that houses their business is made of big stones, carved into squarish hunks. The ceiling is very high. The walls are covered with colorful quilts, and there is a dog. She was wearing a red and white stripe tutu today.
I found only a few pieces of the fabric that I had been hunting, but it is enough to make some napkins for my French Country kitchen. (I am redecorating.) I will take some pictures of the 1930’s wrought iron rack that I bought, my new curtains, and some of the other treasures that are turning my little 1968 dated galley kitchen into something with charm.
The best part of the trip (next to feeling fabric and eye candy on the walls of Nala’s) was being stopped by a long long long train. I counted cars and watched the wind whip dead looking trees into frantic dances. I smiled, sending warm hopes into the toast dry fields flanking my path. The Colorado prairie has its own kind of beauty when you notice how it mirrors that Western America of old; the backdrop of a Glen Ford movie or the frame of a Russell painting. The mountains of Colorado are undeniably beautiful, but the windswept prairie speaks a lovely language of its own. It is the hump of our continent, upon which rests the spine that holds this land together. I like visiting Fountain. It is sort of “Last Picture Show” quaint. I like the trains and the high strung wires, whispering in the wind.