It's Raining!

I can't believe it's raining! Thank you, Don*! I really didn't believe any moisture would make it this far north in Texas. I'd like to be out in it, dancing, glorifying, but there's this dog sitting on my foot.


We were out on the porch and I was noticing some small, but puffy, gray clouds floating around, when CRACK! THUNDER suddenly boomed and even rolled a little. It's been so long, the dogs have forgotten. Frankie and Harley hurried from their respective spots in separate yards to where I sat in my chair by the connecting gate, and Chelsea... Well, Chelsea actually tried to climb up in my lap! She's a little too big for that now. She was almost too big the last time she did it, frightened by fireworks on the Fourth of July three years ago as a six month old grown pup.

Now it's over. I'm so wishing for more, and more, and more to soak into this dry, dusty yard of mine.

Chelsea still hovers, licking my feet, pawing my leg, lying against my foot - any and all reassuring contact with Mom.

I'm about to disappoint her. I'm going back out and try and attract some more. A rain dance, perhaps. 


 *Tropical Storm Don, now giving some relief to parts of south Texas and Mexico.

My Quilt Journal

This morning I started a new blog to share and write about my quilts. I'm not sure how to direct you to it other than type the url, or suggest you go to my profile and click on that blog.

http://fabricofourlives-byjudeann.blogspot.com

I like blogger, and am figuring out what I want to do here. This quilt journal is a must. Judyism, my original blog, will trend more toward memoirs - the telling of stories from my past experiences that make me "Me". There will be at least one more blog to come. I'm not sure anyone is actually reading me yet, including my "followers", but that's all right now. I just need to write about stuff. And if others - family, friends, quilting buddies and dog friends - find it interesting, that will make it fun.

The Birth of a Quilt

The Deer Quilt

(for son-in-law)

My favorite time with a quilt is just after its first wash (hand wash, of course), when I'm drying it on the line, snipping little threads and watching the quilting design pop out.

It's similar, actually, to feelings experienced just after the birth of your child. The work is all done, the hullabaloo is over, and both you and your baby have been washed clean and sweet-smelling, swaddled in your large and small blankets, and left alone to get acquainted. Oh, you already know one another very well - so many months you have spent together in this process of creation and growth! Now it is done, and with pride and love swelling your heart until you feel you may burst, you thoroughly examine this new thing, each crease and seam, each point and curve, and caress its incredible softness. No matter where this child or this quilt may go during its lifetime, it will always be a part of you.

If you look for imperfections, you are sure to find them for none but God is perfect. The birthmark at the base of the spine, the elfin ear, Grandpapa's nose... none of them matter. This is the most beautiful child you have ever seen.

We are more critical of our quilts as we note the slight pattern variation caused by the misplaced square or the substitution for fabric that didn't go quite far enough, and always in my creations, the quilting that meandered off into next block when it wasn't supposed to. It can be very disappointing if we allow it - we hope to someday make the perfect quilt! I'm reminded of the lesson of the Amish, who are widely known for their beautiful, exact quiltmaking. They intentionally include a mistake in every quilt to glorify God. It is a visible reminder that only God can be perfect.

How often throughout the quiltmaking process do I say, "Well... there's my one mistake," and a little bit later, "Well... there's my other one mistake." And later: "Well... there's another one." Hallelujah!

Back of the quilt, in sun and shadow

Chelsea and Frankie showing how good they'd look

on it, back when the top was just completed

A Secret Pleasure

Teehee! It's not what the title would lead you to believe - it's another dog blog!

 Frankie, my 100 lb pitbull mix, is often called "Mister". Mister Personality, Mister Enthusiasm, Mister Tippy-tail. Head into the kitchen, and he leaps up and bounces after you, toenails tap-dancing on the wood laminate floor. The more noise, the better, he thinks, as he clatters across the tiles to the corner cabinet which houses the large box of dog biscuits. By this time, Chelsea is prancing and dancing along as well, and in the bedroom, Harley has sprung up from his lumpy imitation of a wooley rug and is bobbing back and forth behind the hallway gate. You reach through the crowd of noses (yes, two can be a crowd) to get three bones from the box. Frankie takes his and runs back across the kitchen and living room to leap onto the couch and crunch it up, Chelsea hunkers down and eats hers right there on the kitchen floor, and when you pass Harley's through the gate, he whips around and hops onto his futon at the foot of the king-size bed. Throughout the evening, they beg for milk bones, and ALWAYS it's an all-for-one, one-for-all deal - everybody gets one. If one of the three happens to have gone outside, we wait for him to come back in. We do this three or four times every night.

Eventually I slip through the gate to get ready for bed and let Harley out the utility door. Chelsea and Frankie jump up to go out with Jack, as he picks up his lighter and taps out a final cigarette from his pack. When they all come back in, they complete the ritual by having one last dog treat before Chelsea joins Harley and me for the night.

The other night Frankie and Jack could not go to sleep. Frankie especially was still restless long after the other dogs and I were sawing logs in the other room. He began to be quite pestersome, so the story goes, hopping up beside Jack and whiskering him in his face, then jumping back down to the floor and pushing a cold nose in his ear.

"Do you want something?" asked Jack. Smiles and wags replied, "Uh huh."

 Jack sat up and whispered to the dog: "Okay. But we have to be quiet about this - absolutely quiet!" He could hardly believe what happened next.

 Frankie turned and walked slowly on the pads of his feet making no noise whatsoever on the way to the cabinet in the kitchen. He sat very still, waiting as Jack carefully extracted a milk bone from the box and handed it to him. Then, he walked slowly and soundlessly back to the couch and stepped - not jumped - STEPPED up onto it, curled up with his face to the wall, and ate the treat with as little crunching as possible.

 He never ceases to amaze.

The Prankster

FRANKIE

One day I brought home a package of three hard rubber, high-bouncing balls as a surprise for three bouncy dogs. They were curious and full of sniffs, but not overly excited as I led them out onto the big cement slab we called the patio. But when I tossed the first one down and it rebounded high in the air, the game was on! Balls and dogs were all over the place, and if somebody else snatched your ball just before you could get it, it was no big deal, you just ran after another one. Every once in awhile, one of the balls would get lost under something, and Jack and I would help find it quickly before anybody started feeling left out. It was a fun, fun playtime.

After a bit, though, two balls were lost at the same time. Frankie still had his, held under one outstretched paw as he rested on his brisket with the other paw curled in toward his chest. Surprisingly, he just watched as the rest of us hunted everywhere - usually he'd be right in front of you everywhere you looked, completely blocking your view while he stuck his nose in first. Harley and Chelsea eventually gave up, greatly disappointed, and started looking for other dog things to do. The game was over.

I was pretty impressed that Frankie wasn't tossing and bouncing his ball, rubbing it in. Then as I strolled past him, I happened to catch his eye, and it was absolutely sparkling. He saw me looking at him, and then he was grinning. Did he? Could he have? I leaned over to look, and sure enough, just under his chin and hidden behind his paw, were the two missing balls.



He's the mischievous boy! What can you do? I motioned to Jack, who quietly made his way over to see what I'd found, and then the three of us all had a good laugh. Chelsea and Harley glanced up curiously from their dog business for a moment, then got back to it.