A kid-sized quilt is easy: small, colorful, new patterns, a chance to try out some ideas before committing to a larger size. And, in the end, I get to mail them off to Quilts for Kids, hoping that each one will make a kid in a hospital bed feel less scared and less alone in the middle of the night. And in the middle of the chaos that is present-day America, I lose myself in colorful strips of cloth and designs that bring something new to my quilting skill set.

This photo is actually four different kid quilts.

Top right is a half-square triangle quilt I started before my first hip surgery and then finished as my first sewing project when I could sit in a chair long enough to make it count. The points are far from perfect, but it was a victory to me to just be sewing again after a month away.

Middle right is a scrappy disappearing patch design (nine-patch, maybe? I’m not so good at remembering pattern names). It uses fabric from a quilt I made for my nephew in Virginia and also some sea-themed fabric I used to make braided-style rugs for my cousin’s five daughters and granddaughter, which was a really fun project.

On the bottom is a simple patchwork quilt using two charm packs, which are precut five-inch squares. Monsters, rockets, and confetti, this one definitely has got kid appeal.

Top left is really scrappy, it was made from Tula Pink fabric left over from an EPP project I did over the winter. It also served as quilting practice, making different shapes in some of the squares.

And each quilt also has a fun backing, so that the kid can use both sides, depending on how they feel about things. I try to make the backing both soft to the touch and delightful to the eyes.

The stars on this backing kinda match the rockets on the front and it’s also different enough that it’s like a different, more soothing quilt when the front feels too much to handle.

As I was getting these four quilts washed and ready to go, I went through my “kid quilt” pile and realized I had one more half done, so I pulled it out and got to work. I finished the main part, then added two borders to make it just squeak under the suggested size for a kid quilt. The back is more of the stars fabric because I had just enough to fit.

I’ve got two more kid quilts in process, both my own takes on two different designs. One quilt top is still under construction, while the other one is me practicing some quilting skills I learned in a class last week. Stay tuned for those…

I like to have different project I can jump on, depending on my mood and also my stamina and eyesight :-) So I’ve got two lap quilts underway, one almost done and the other ready to be quilting, and I have pieces of another lap quilt cut out and ready to piece together. Guess it must be time to pick a new design and size and start playing with fabrics in my stash to see what magic I can make!

When you do things from your soul, you feel a river moving in you. (Rumi)

The Shop Hop runs from the beginning of July till the end of August, so I do have time to explore. I’m not sure I’ll get all the way to the tip of the Delmarva Peninsula or up to Newark, but I am thinking of a couple nights in a westerly direction since I’ve never been to Pittsburgh and that would be a fun little road trip.

I really haven’t explored that much of Pennsylvania, so the Shop Hop is showing me a way to travel around and find interesting town and beautiful little backroads. Yesterday, for example, I discovered Carlisle. It’s only 50 miles west of me, so I figured it would be a good test of how my new hip likes driving, and sitting in that truck seat for a few hours at a time. Carlisle features two quilt stores, and I could hit a third one, in Camp Hill near Harrisburg, on the way. So, gassed up and with a cold drink in the car, I was off on a Saturday adventure.

By the time I got to Carlisle, I’d been driving for more than an hour so I was a bit stiff as I carefully lowered myself out of the truck and set my two feet firmly on the asphalt of the free parking lot (free on weekends!). I looked up and saw this lovely building and decided right then and there that I was definitely going to enjoy this town.

Both quilt stores were amazing in their own ways. Each owner stocks fabrics they love, and what they think their customers will also love, and it’s amazing how different the two stores were. One is smaller, but with a good selection of Tula Pink fabrics, which I tried hard to resist (and succeeded, for once). It was a half mile to the second store, and so I decided to walk it. I’m pleased to report that my hip was fine, and I felt like a normal person strolling down Hanover Street, window shopping and enjoying the sunshine on my face. It’s been too long since I felt that relaxed, and also too long since I explored a new place.

The second store had a deal where you can buy a half-yard of fabric for $7 but you can get the full yard for $10. Needless to say, I found some fabric to buy at that bargain price! I’m not sure what this will turn into, but I’ll definitely enjoy the colors!

I took the long way back to my truck, and discovered a lovely bakery that had an absolutely delicious chocolate-filled croissant that became my lunch.

And who can resist an old-fashioned movie theatre marquee? Not me, as you can tell!

An hour’s drive home via the PA Turnpike, and my day trip ended with new fabric and renewed confidence in my returning mobility and strength. Next Tuesday will be 12 weeks since my first surgery (10.5 weeks since the second one). My initial recovery was slow and frustrating, but now I’m walking longer in the morning, and faster, and I can see improvement in my balance and mobility. I’m not 100% yet, but I’m getting there.

In wisdom gathered over time I have found that every experience is a form of exploration. (Ansel Adams)

When I can walk longer, I’ll be able to get to this green section from my house, but for now, I drive to the parking lot at the other end of it and walk from there. I get birds, chipmunks, rabbits, and, yesterday, an excited three-year-old girl with her grandma who pointed out where she’d just seen a deer cross the path and disappear into Landis Woods.

Walking around my neighborhood has been interesting for a different reason: they have started tearing down five old aparment buildings down the street, and the piles of rubble are something to see. Three buildings are down, this is the fourth one, and I’m kind of amazed how cleanly that John Deere scraped off the end unit and left the adjoining wall intact.

As my recovery has continued, and my overnight sleeping has improved, I’ve had more energy to get back to quilting. I went through my drawers last week and found two kid quilt projects I’d tucked away in various stages of construction. It’s so fun to sew these kid quilts because I choose fun fabrics and bright colors, and they’re small enough to be done quickly (well, once I actually sit down and sew).

I’m behind on my “one a month” goal, so I finished up the quilting on the second project, and now both are washed and packed, ready to be sent off with a kid quilt I finished way back in March. Here’s the fancy quilting one, I was learning how to do different quilting designs, at a very basic level.

This quilt is all leftovers from earlier projects, so I kind of hate to see it go, but I know some lucky kid will enjoy the different fabrics and maybe trace all those quilting lines with their finger to see where they go.

My recovery was so slow and so convoluted in May that I’m really appreciating every marker of forward progress in June. I can actually sit down, bend over, and put on my socks, and tie my shoes! And clip my toenails! And get dressed without needing a grabber to pull up my shorts! And bend down to pick up something I dropped on the floor, or get dishes in and out of the bottom rack of the dishwasher! I’m sure at some point I will take all those things for granted, but right now, each has felt like a tiny miracle on the road back to normal.

A few more weeks of physical herapy, another check-in with surgeon and primary care PA, and I might be looking at a calendar not stuffed full of PT sessions and labs and doctor visits. So let’s end this happy update with a photo of blue sky and beautiful clouds, a reminder, perhaps, to look up and see the beauty of the day.

When you rise in the morning, think of what a privilege it is to be alive, to think, to enjoy, to love… (Marcus Aurelius)

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Just last week, after attempting a slow half-mile walk in a local park, I ended up in tears back at the parking lot because I could barely navigate a very slight uphill on the walking path. I worried my September and October trip to the UK would be a disaster, me hobbling with a cane, not able to hike or even stroll around London without help or frequent rest stops.

But, as my surgeon said this week, looking at the incision now almost completely closed into a nice thin car, it’s amazing how the body can heal itself from the most violent things, like cutting your hip open down to the bone and shoving in some shiny new metal and plastic parts.

Today, I walked a mile outside, using my lightweight hiking poles to make sure my gait was even and I wasn’t “humping” the surgical leg as I got a bit tired towards the end. Every day, I can feel my balance improving and the quad and glute on that left side getting stronger as I work through my PT exercises. Saturday, I drove out to the local quilt store (shoutout to Old Country Store in Intercourse, PA) and wandered around the stacks of fabrics and patterns, feeling more like a normal person than I had in weeks. I’m slowly getting back to the things I love, like cutting fabric, which involves standing upright with good balance since you don’t want to suddenly lurch sideways as you’re making a cut with that very sharp rotary cutter.

There’s still a lot of work to go, and three and a half months, before I get on that plane to London, the train to Edinburgh, the ferry to the Outer Hebrides. Today, it’s all about celebrating how far I’ve come in the last six weeks, grateful for the family and friends who’ve supported me in this harrowing journey and ready to see how strong I can be by September.

If there’s one thing I’ve been trying to learn this last six weeks (and indeed, the last 11 weeks since I realized a hip replacement was in my near-term future), it’s that worrying doesn’t do anything at all to help the situation. I’m really excellent at worrying myself into sleepless nights and horrific recovery scenarios. I’ve been trying to stop that behavior, and the quotation below has helped me a lot:

Worrying is a kind of rushing. It’s uncomfortable to sit in a state of uncertainty, so we fast-forward the tape, accelerating our lives past the present movement into fearsome imagined scenarios. (Melissa Kirsch, New York Times)

I’ve never felt comfortable with uncertainty, despite realizing that life itself is a whole long series of uncertainties and uncontrollable outcomes. My profession as a project manager taught me how to face and manage uncertainty in software and hardware scenarios, but I didn’t apply very much of that experience to my personal life. Maybe now, at the ripe old age of 70, having been through the wringer with this hip adventure, I’m finally learning to accept that uncertainty is just a part of life, one I can’t control, but worrying is something I can. Deep breathing, journal-writing, and marking small steps of progress have all helped me gain better perspective on the setbacks I’ve faced. Good lessons for the future, where I’m sure there will be lots of uncertainties and more than a few unexpected outcomes.

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LSU held an info session on AI and data centers (I was part of that effort) and canvassed residents in the pouring rain last Saturday. Last night, more than 300 people showed up for the borough council meeting, so many that the largest public building in town couldn’t hold them, so some voluntarily stood outside the big open windows to make sure the building capacity limit was followed (It was in the fire house!).

For almost four hours, people spoke passionately about their homes, their quality of life, and how they didn’t want that data center. People who had probably never been to a council meeting, let alone testified, stood up and spoke out. Everyone who wanted to had the opportunity to say their piece. In the end, the entire borough council voted NO and did not accept the offer.

WE WON! No data center in Columbia, PA!

I watched the whole hearing on YouTube (the borough channel!) and seeing American democracy in action was amazing and moving. Before this hearing, the majority of the council appeared ready to accept the $6.35MM offer for the land purchase, but they actually listened to their constituents and did what the majority of the people asked them to do: stand up to an outside company with sketchy finances and a bad track record and stand up for their quality of life and their hometown values.

This morning, I’m more hopeful for our democracy than I have been in a long time.

The video in this post shows the council vote and then the reaction, so you can watch democracy in action too. (Courtesy Lancaster Stands Up Data Center team)

(Full story at the Lancaster Online website)

It’s a same-day procedure, so I was home before 6PM, 11 hours from start to finish. My friend stayed with me overnight, to make sure I was OK to get to the toilet and back to bed. By 10AM the next morning, we’d both assessed I was feeling fine, using the walker to get around, so she went home and I was on my own. So far, so good.

A week after surgery, things started to go down an unanticipated path. The incision was still itching and there were some pink areas creeping out from underneath the silver bandage . The very next day, I saw my surgeon. The incision looked “angry” and so he made the decision to go back in and clean out the incision. Two days later, 10 days, after my original surgery, I was back in the OR. They cleaned out the incision area, didn’t find any infection that they could see, but replaced two of the four hip parts out of an abundance of caution, then layered in antibiotics as they worked back up to the surface and closed the incision. I spent three days in hospital getting blasted with IV antibiotics and really great pain meds, along with my new favorite drug, anti-nausea pills.

My nephew had flown out from Denver to support me this round in hospital, and I felt good enough by Sunday to sit in the recliner chair and research with him some ideas for our time in London this fall, a trip we’ve been planning since January. That trip is a big reason why I did the hip replacement now instead of later, because we have hikes we want to do in Scotland. I was released on Monday and so had a few days hanging out at home with him, watching movies and napping (OK, I napped while he worked remotely). All too soon, he was leaving for home and I was on my own, mostly on cane support, resting a lot but still able to make my own meals and such.

The first incision check a week after surgery was good, and I was given clearance to drive and walk around and generally use my leg, but with the three standard restrictions (no bending past 90 degrees, no crossing my legs, no crossing the midline). I did a few walks outside, so slow compared to my previous pace, and tiny distances compared to my pre-surgery usual. And perhaps I overdid it, because by Monday, the incision was complaining a bit and a check in the office showed some stitches were a bit swollen. So back to doing nothing for a week. Great, I thought, I’ll just put myself on bed-and-recliner rest and see how that goes.

What I hadn’t realized, in all the worry I’d been spending on incision health and hip recovery, was that I wasn’t actually pooping. All those antibiotics had wreaked havoc with my internals and so Tuesday afternoon, I ended up in the ER with severe constipation issues. The only funny part was that the x-ray confirmed my colon was stopped up, and each medical person had to find a polite way to say that I was, at that point, literally “full of shit.” I spent two nights in hospital while they tried everything they had try to unstop the colon. I will leave out the details except to say that I never expected to wear an adult diaper, but there I was, grateful for the damn thing. By the time I was discharged on Thursday morning, I was exhausted and just wanted to sleep for days. Which I kind of did, taking till Saturday to feel human again.

Which brings us to this week. Monday I was back in the surgeon’s office. The news wasn’t the best possible (all healed, sutures out), but it was pretty good. The stitches are healing, although more slowly than either the surgeon or I had hoped. So I have a shiny new silver bandage and another week of waiting and limited mobility. I’m resting it as much as possible, and visualizing the stitches closing that last bit up so the sutures can come out. The usual timeframe for incisions to close after hip surgery is 2-3 weeks, and I’m at 2.5 weeks right now. And I remind myself this is a second incision for this poor bit of skin and the allergic reaction didn’t help, so it may take longer than that. Patience, little me, patience.

As for the original incision issue, there has been no trace of infection, not in the tests they ran while I was still in the OR or in the cultures they grew for 7 days post-surgery. So the working theory is that I really am allergic to dissolvable sutures (which is pretty rare from what I can tell). This second incision has old-school black thread sutures, which leave more of a scar but at least my body isn’t actively attempting to attack them.

And next time I need a walker, I want something like this… (photo courtesy of Just Dragons on FB and Instagram). And yes, it is a real walker, custom-made by a motorcycle builder out of titanium and fitted precisely to the owner’s hands and height. And those ribs are actually a basket. Pretty cool, and way better than any walker I’ve seen!

The great thing, if one can, is to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as “interruptions” of once “own” or “real” life. The truth is of course that what one calls the interruptions are precisely one’s real life.

C. S. Lewis

If you’ve spent any time on social media or pop culture in general, you’ve probably heard the phrase “I didn’t have that on my 2026 bingo card.” Only three months into the year, and there is SO MUCH that I didn’t not have on my 2026 bingo card. Another war in the Middle East, for starters. I honestly didn’t think I’d be still protesting foreign wars at my age, but I can’t remain silent. (And a shout out to all my readers who showed up for No Kings III last weekend.)The economy wreaking havoc on my retirement accounts hasn’t been fun to watch, and watching the gas prices rise by more than a $1 a gallon has been painful on my pocketbook. The constant political turmoil hasn’t helped my anxiety level, so I try to just read news in the morning and then walk away from it for most of the day.

Quilting has been my sanctuary; I can work on a quilt design for hours and not think of anything else.

On a personal level, the biggest “not on my bingo card” moment so far this year had to be staring at an x-ray of my left hip as the doctor carefully showed me everything that was wrong with it. I’d been struggling with hip pain for several weeks, and only went to see a doctor because nothing that usually worked for running/walking injuries seemed to be helping. Long story short, the solution is a hip replacement. I’m relieved to know the problem can be fixed, and the pain will go away, but I’m also slightly terrified at the prospect someone sawing off part of my skeletal structure and replacing it with metal and plastic.

I spent most of the day after the surgery decision wondering what the heck just happened. My calendar is now filled with more medical appointments than I’ve had in the last year, everything from blood tests to a class that will share what I can expect before and after surgery. I have a list of steps to take to get ready for the big day, and the days and weeks after. Everything from purchasing loose sweats to wear home after surgery to figuring out how to get groceries since I can’t drive for four weeks. My friend is my “hip coach” who will get me to and from the hospital, and make sure I’m surviving (and hopefully thriving) in the days following. I kind of like the phrase “hip coach” and I may refer to her as that even after this big adventure is concluded.

The year so far hasn’t been all bad, though. I went back to the Lancaster-Lebanon quilt show end of March, and ended up trading in my sewing machine for an even more better model, as I hope to do more machine quilting in future. And it has an automatic needle threader, which is pretty amazing, once I got the thread through all the hooks correctly to set it up right.

In a nod to my sore hip and not being able to take my daily walk, I pulled out an English Paper Piecing (EPP) project and obsessively worked on that last month. EPP is all about hand sewing, so it takes more time but it does make for very precise points. Now all I have to do is quilt it on my new machine, a process that will take me a while as I learn how to make different quilting designs.

What’s that old saying, March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb? It feels like the lion is still roaring, but I’m hopeful that the peaceful lamb part is just a bit delayed and will make their appearance by the end of April. I could use a little less drama, both in the big world and in my own life. Meanwhile, I’ll look out the window and watch the spring blossoms and leaves appear, as if by magic, reminding me that life is all about change and renewal and, sometimes, new body parts.

It is morning, and again I am the lucky person to be in it.

Mary Oliver

Marian Anderson Hall is a beautiful building, and made all the more interesting by being under the huge glass dome of the Kimmel Center. Once you’re inside that massive dome, the cold winds and piles of snow outside fade from memory, coats are shed, and the excitement level rises as ticket-holders enjoy the warmth before the bell asking everyone to take their seats.

The program included Tchaikovsky’s Capriccio italien, Opus 45, followed by Prokofiev’s Violin Concerto No. 1 in D Major, Opus 19, featuring Hilary Hahn, a violinist long on my bucket list to see live. The sounds she can coax out of that violin are truly breathtaking, and this concerto highlighted all of her talents. It was also very cool to see the orchestra change size and shape from the first piece to the second (compare the picture above with the one below).

The intermission was an excellent opportunity for me to explore more of the Kimmel Center, which I definitely did, going down stairs and up escalators to see more of the architecture. I gotta admit, music and architecture in one afternoon is one of my happy places!

Once back in my seat, it was on to the last piece of the concert: Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 6 in B minor, Opus 54. I wasn’t at all familiar with this piece, but it turned out to be so much fun to watch the musicians play their parts. There were so many instruments, so many little duets and solos from so many players. And when the strings joined in, their bows were like waves across the stage, from basses to cellos to violas to violins, and it took my breath away to watch such coordinated movement flowing back and forth.

To give you a flavor for how wild this Symphony is, here is a listing of the instruments required (from the program notes): “… piccolo, two flutes, two oboes, English horn, three clarinets (III doubling E-flat clarinet), bass clarinet, three bassoons (III doubling contrabassoon), four horns, three trumpets, three trombones, tuba, timpani, percussion (bass drum, cymbals, snare drum, tam-tam, tambourine, triangle, xylophone), harp, celesta, and strings. Whew! (And if you read all that without your brain starting to put those words to The 12 Days of Christmas, you’re a better person than I am…)

All too soon, the concert was over, and we all filed out of the hall and went our separate ways. Even the Friday afternoon traffic getting out of Philly couldn’t take away the joy I felt from the performance. It was a much-needed reminder that the arts can help ease the unrelating tension of navigating the political and economic turmoil in my country. Yes, there are still protests to attend, letters and calls to make, and rights to fight for, but there also has to be room for joy, for moments of happiness that transcend the current situation. And for me, music in so many forms, does just that.

“The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable.” (Kurt Vonnegut)

The snow squall that rattled my windows at 4AM left but a dusting of thin white stuff on the ground, already being melted by the weak sun finding its way through bare branches. The quick-moving storm also left behind a fierce wind that pummeled me as I headed out on today’s walk, even though I had layers and layers of winter clothes on. I was happy when my route turned northward and the wind gusts had less of me to push around; exploring outdoors can be a tough gig during a Pennsylvania winter.

Every time I walked the bikeway near my home last month, I’d see this beautiful set of branches framed against the sky and and every time, I’d mutter something about needing to bring my phone so I could get a photo. Today, I was exploring with phone in pocket, so I wandered past the “Staff only” sign at the open gate and worked my way closer to the two trees. It’s New Year’s Day and a windchill of 7F so I didn’t really worry that any staff would be coming out to chase me away before I got the shot.

And while I was trespassing with good intentions, I snapped this one, too. This little house looks so remote, but it’s actually right at the edge of the museum parking lot; careful framing makes it feel so remote that I could almost see the settlers emerging from the cozy house to survey fields bounded by dozens of bare-branched trees.

Farther down the bikeway, something about this scene caught my eye, and I backed up just to take the shot. Maybe it’s that empty crate leaning against the tree trunk, or the way the haphazard branches are not quite hiding the shallow lake. It feels very middle of winter to me.

And so ends the first walk of 2026 and the first of what I hope are many, many opportunities to explore whatever strikes my fancy this year.

What are you going to do with your 2026?

Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Mary Oliver

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January’s quilt was a scrappy one, practicing how to cut and sew triangles, and also how they come together in fun or odd ways as the triangles meet up with each other. It took a lot of focus to get the points matching so I watched and read less news, sewing in the evenings instead of doomscrolling on social media.

This second quilt was inspired by the frustration I felt as the new adminstration issued dozens of executive orders in February, targeting those they perceived as “other” - immigrants, the hungry and unhoused both in the US and worldwide, and government workers from climate change experts to vaccine specialists. I used bright colors and a brilliant orange border to keep the darkness at bay in the cold weeks of the second month of the year.

I spent a lot of March staring out the sliding glass doors of my winter condo on the beach, waiting for the sunrise and then watching the clouds and light play across the water. That month, the kid quilt was about my love of the ocean, and I hope it went to a kid who loves the water as much as I do.

I especially like the backing fabric I chose for this quilt:

By April, things were increasingly chaotic in the US, with massive government layoffs and closings. My own situation felt chaotic in a different way, fighting a winter-long bout of depression and moving to an apartment in Pennsylvania. So I made a rainbow quilt, the bright colors giving me something to look forward to each day. It was a tricky little pattern and my strips didn’t all line up perfectly, but it’s cheerful and happy and that’s pretty much the only goal for kid quilts.

I matched the backing to the colors on the front, but with a totally different look, using one of my favorite Henry Glass fabrics, Bubble Dot. Even the name sounds fun!

By mid-April, I was starting a new quilt, going for a quicker “win” with big squares and bright colors. For some reason, I don’t have a photo of the finished quilt, which is annoying because I did some nice machine quilting in the interior of each triangle.

I’d bought a couple charm packs (5-inch squares) at the first quilt show I went to after moving to PA because I knew they’d make a fast and fun kid quilt. And it did. I loved working on this one in May and June, partly because it was the first one I made with my new (and vastly better) Bernina sewing machine and partly because it grounded me as I moved house and tried to find my footing in a new place. It’s my own design, kind of simple but like how it turned out. And, yes, I used some fancy stitches on the ornage border, just to make it more fun for a kid.

In July, wanted to improve my sewing skills, so this quilt was all about lining things up, making corners meet, and becoming technically more proficient.

August, that month of continued political chaos combined with very hot and very humid weather, inspired me to go in a completely different direction: Thomas the Tank Engine. My young friend Liam was a huge TTTE fan back in the day, and we even visited Thomas and rode on the train one day outside Seattle. So I got to think of him and that trip while I was making this pair of kid quilts.

I was originally going to make just one, but I had enough squares to make a second one, so I did that in September. I didn’t have enough border fabric left over from the first quilt, so I dove into my stash and used a Kaffe Fasset fabric.

And as long as I was going with wild prints, I decided the backing had to go along with that theme. (I’d picked up that fabric that I ended up making a lap quilt out of it and the other fabrics in that line by Marcia Derse.)

If you’re still with me, we’ve now made it into October. For this month’s quilt, I went into my stash of five-inch squares, most of them cut from remnants of previous projects. I have a little five-inch cutting template and it’s very relaxing to go through renmants and make little squares of them. I had accumulated quite a pile by October so I went with the “all Kaffe Fassett, all the time” theme. He’s one of my favorite fabric designers, as you might guess!

By mid-October, I was ready for a challenge, and that’s what this one brought. I used a bundle of fat quarters and a wonky log cabin pattern to create it, and I like how it turned out. The tiny white squares in the middle of each block are barely an inch when finished, so it took some careful sewing to make the blocks square up. I like the border and backing for this one, same colors but very different designs.

December’s quilt was all about rainbow sherbet colors. The November elections were a bright spot in the year, with American voters seeming to stand up for their fellow citizens, and committed to providing food and shelter and social services that the administration wanted to remove. I loved making this happy little quilt and it seemed like a good way to finish my 2025 commitment to kid quilting. I’m not sure you can see it in the photo but I used variegated rainbow-colored thread for the quilting.

But wait. I had one more quilt left in me. Or rather, the flood of December’s news cycle made me seek refuge yet again in the rhythm of laying out a design, piecing it together, and then quilting it into a new creation. Dolphins and whales and divers and octopus squares, with borders left over from a big rug-making project.

And now it’s the end of the year, and I’ve made a baker’s dozen of kid quilts. There’s something a bit addicting about them: they are fast and fun, but it’s more than that. With each one, I send a bit of love and kindness to a kid I’ll never meet, and their family, letting them know someone out there cares about them. And the world can use more of that, so I’ll keep making kid quilts in 2026. I’ve already got an idea for January…

Mistakes on purpose,

Sewn into every new quilt,

Nothing is perfect.

(a haiku found on BlueSky)

I also wanted to have room to lay out a new design or a set of fabrics and play around with it and not have to pack it all up every night so that I could go to bed; the bed doubled as my “fabric wall.” When you’re living in a 17-foot trailer, with 100 square feet of floor space, it can be a challenge to have hobbies like quilting.

When I arrived at my one-bedroom apartment in March, rented sight unseen (!), I very quickly decided I’d rather have a sewing space than an actual dining room. I’ve never hosted big dinner parties in my entire adult life, so the idea of a dining table and chairs taking up a whole room seemed crazy, especially when I could fill that same room with sewing stuff. So that’s exactly what I did!

Welcome to my sewing space! It’s taken me months to figure out what to put where and what furniture would work, but I think I’ve mostly got it sorted now.

Back in March, within a week of moving in, I bought a demo model of the Bernina 570QE at the Lancaster-Lebanon quilt show. Moving from the Singer to the Bernina was like going from a VW Bug to a BMW! Over the next few months, I took classes, watched dozens of YouTube videos, and learned how to use different settings, stitches, and feet. But… the Bernina was sitting on a folding table from Home Depot and that meant it moved if I sewed too fast, and there wasn’t really room to work with big quilts. So, in October, I bit the bullet and bought a sewing table and matching chest of drawers. Wow, what a difference!

In the photo above, the tabletops on both pieces are fully extended, so I have about a 48 x 48 inch surface to work with. This supports more fabric and it’s way less work to sew big pieces because I’m not stopping every 6 inches to make sure the fabric isn’t tugging the seam one way or the other. And as a bonus, the sewing station has an electric lift, so I can move the machine up or down (up is handy for maintence, and Berninas do like to be cleaned and oiled on a regular basis). I could put it all the way down below the tabletop, and put the cover on the “hole” and then have the entire work service available for layouts or quilting. I haven’t done that yet, but I’m thinking about it for a large quilt I need to sandwich with batting and backing.

Right behind the sewing station is the pressing station. It is such a luxury still, after all these months, to have a full-sized ironing board and iron just a few steps away! When I was a kid, being paid a nickel for each pillowcase I ironed and a quarter for each of my dad’s white business shirts, I never dreamed I’d be happy to own an iron and ironing board!

The other side of the room has my cutting station and a huge design wall where I can stand and play with colors and shapes to my heart’s content. The other day, laying out a new kid quilt, I literally spent the afternoon in front of the design wall playing with colors and strips of fabric and didn’t realize the time until it got dark enough I had to turn on the lights. I was in the flow and it felt great.

The cutting table is just a Home Depot folding table, but it has adjustable legs, so I set it up to be waist high when I’m standing. It makes such a difference cutting fabric to be able to stand up straight and not bend over. My back likes this table so much.

The first piece of furniture I bought, back in April, was this open-backed shelving unit from IKEA. It’s so heavy that I had to bring it up in pieces from my truck, but it was worth the work: plenty of space to store notions and patterns and fabric and all kinds of things and see eveything at a glance. And, as a bonus, it is placed so that from the living room, I just see the side of the unit and not all the messy shelves.

The most recent purchase was this thread rack which lets me store bobbins on top of the matching spool, a win when colors are so similar (like those dark blues on the bottom row). I also just like seeing the rainbow of colors on display!

I’ve been binding a queen-sized quilt this week (one for me, with wool batting) and that sewing station has been so handy. I did the binding for a queen-sized quilt last year on a narrow table and fought it every inch of the way; it’s so much easier with my new setup.

I added it up and I think of all the rooms in my house that I had to furnish (living room, bedroom, sunroom, and this sewing space), I spent the most money on this one. But its been worth every penny. The act of sewing - from idea to execution, color choices to quilting - has been my refuge this past year. From political chaos to the selling of my trailer and finding a place to settle down and make my own, it’s been a difficult year for me. When things feel like they’re spinning out of control, I can step back from the madness for a moment and create something unique and beautiful out of nothing. It feels like magic, and perhaps it is.

I am rooted, but I flow.
All gold, flowing.
My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery…
When you consider things like the stars, our affairs don’t seem to matter much…
This is the most exciting moment I have ever known.
I feel a thousand capacities spring up in me…

(Virginia Woolf, The Waves)

I didn’t grow up with snow so the first real snow of the season always excites me. Yes, it will get old by February, I’m sure, but today? Magic time! Yes, it was 22F out there, with the wind driving the wind chill down to 3F. But I was ready for it: fleece-lined wind pants and puffy jacket, merino wool shirt and socks, mittens, neck gaiter, and a wool hat, and — the finishing touch — a pair of nano spikes strapped onto my walking shoes.

It was a winter wonderlant out there, and I was probably grinning the whole time I walked. The three miles I was aiming for flew by as I reveled in the change of scenery, bare branches now frosted with snow, bushes with thick white coats, and the path itself covered with footprints of other intrepid souls celebrating the first serious snow of the season.

Landis Run, which crosses the walking path, looked like a Christmas card today, a huge improvement over the dried out brown ground cover I’ve been looking at the last few weeks. I hope the snow sticks around for a few days, and it might, given the forecast.

My first mile, I had snow flurries sticking to my eyelashes. The last mile, brilliant blue skies overhead escorted me home. Now I’m indoors, sun lighting up room as I write this, warm and dry. The first walk of the snow season was a good one.

Snow was falling,
so much like stars
filling the dark trees
that one could easily imagine
its reason for being was nothing more
than prettiness.

Mary Oliver, Snowy Night

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Yes, there were lovely old Victorian houses and, yes, there was good food and some nice shops to wander through. But really, this trip was all about the beach. Every morning, I got up and explored the ocean along the boardwalk. Even the construction crews at both ends of it couldn’t harsh my mellow at once again hearing the surf and smelling the salt air.

I spent an inordinate amount of time standing in front on these rocks, waiting for the spray to fly up. I didn’t actually mind the wait at all.

The other selling point of Cape May, at least to me, was the lighthouse. I’ve visited lighthouses from Washington down the Oregon and California coasts, and from Maine to Georgia, so Cape May was a “must see” during our getaway. As it turns out, they are thoroughly modern, hiding a handy ticket machine in an old outhouse building so you can go cashless in paying for entry.

I love the spiral staircases they feature, and it’s a special treat when they allow you to walk all the way up and see the same ocean view the old lighthouse keepers saw a century ago.

It was hella windy that day, but we were both brave and walked around the narrow perch at the top. That’s Karen holding on as she navigated the walkway, and I did too, although I had to let go for a few seconds to take this photo.

Three nights isn’t all that long and before we knew it, suitcases were packed, cars loaded, and it was time to leave our little beachfront hideout. That morning, I took a longer walk on the sand, towards the lighthouse, one last visit with the cold wind and crashing waves to last me till the next time, whenever that may be.

If you need a bit of beach today, here’s a short clip from Cape May. Enjoy!

The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever.

Jacques Cousteau

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The wind over the last week or so has stripped most of those leaves off the trees and now the bare branches are on display. I grew up in LA, where big trees with tall branches reaching out and up were rare, so I am still, after all these years living in the eastern part of the country, totally enamored of the stark architecture of naked trees in winter.

I’m amazed by the number of empty nests revealed as the leaves are shed. The birds have long since flown south to warmer climes, except for the flock of Canada geese that seem to like the nearby pond. Will the birds make new nests come Spring, or seek out the old one, or move into someone else’s abandoned perch?

The first snow flurries of the season came yesterday, a quick swirl of white flakes outside my window, like little bits of magic on a Sunday morning. As with big trees, I didn’t grow up with snow or a clear change of seasons heralding the end of shorts and sandals weather. I still remember my first freezing day in New York. It was sunny so I walked outside with just a sweater on, and got a block away before I realized it was COLD and I needed an actual coat. In LA, sunny = warm; this math clearly didn’t apply to New York in November!

I’m adapting bit by bit to the onrushing cold temperatures. This morning, I remembered to pull on the cashmere-lined leather gloves I bought 30 years or so ago in London before going outside to run a few errands. Later today, I’ll hit up the outlet stores, looking for bargains in things like fleece-lined pants and a windproof lined jacket for my outdoor walks. Right now, though, I’m sitting at my desk, soaking up the slight warmth of sunlight through the windows and wondering what tomorrow’s storm will bring. Ah, cold winters where you bundle up outdoors and snuggle under lap quilts indoors, I’ve kind of missed you all these years.

What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.

(John Steinbeck, from Travels with Charley: In Search of America)

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I know what they were doing because sixteen years ago, my Dad and I were doing a little exploring of our own, in the Forest of Nisene Marks, a lovely bit of parkland near where I lived in Santa Cruz County. He was up from LA for a visit and I was driving him down the narrow logging road, showing him one of my favorite places to run because it had dirt trails and tall redwood trees. As we parked and then walked across a bridge, he stopped and looked at something. I couldn’t quite tell what was going on so I just waited.

In another minute or two, he’d worked it out. A mechanical engineer by training and profession, he’d been figuring out how the bridge had been assembled from various parts and installed over the narrow but deep canyon. I stood there listening to his explanation, realizing I’d never thought for a minute how that bridge had gotten there, or what engineering challenges were overcome to build it. From the bolts to the beams and trusses, it was as if he’d read invisible blueprints, appreciating the design and the talents of the team that had built it.

I never ran over that bridge again without thinking of that moment and of my dad. I hadn’t thought about it in more than a decade, since I moved away from Santa Cruz. But today, those two old men made me remember it and appreciate the old man that was my dad.

Memories, even your most precious ones, fade surprisingly quickly. But I don’t go along with that. The memories I value most, I don’t ever see them fading.

Kazuo Ishiguro

Like last Saturday’s No Kings protest march and rally here in Lancaster, PA. Thousands of people showed up, with signs, costumes, and voices, to declare that we love our country, we believe in the Constitution, and we are fighting back against the authoritarian administration and the billionaires and corporations that curry favor with it.

I know one day of protests does not make the revolution, it’s an ongoing push, and needs all of us to do something, anything, to resist the tyranny and cruelty of the 47 regime. (Please, please, get involved, even if it’s only sending your Congressional reps an email or filling out their contact forms online.)

Every morning, before I read The Guardian or check in on BlueSky or here on Substack, I put on my workout clothes and a pair of comfy running shoes, and I go out for a walk, an hour or so of alone time before the rest of my day kicks in. Sometimes, I mutter the whole time about yesterday’s news (the East Wing destruction gave me a push to my fastest per/mile pace yet). Some mornings I see the kids waiting for the school bus and wonder what world they’ll have when they’re my age.

And sometimes, like yesterday and today, I go hunting for colors, an activity best done when the sun is just peeping over the rooftops of the two-story homes and three-story apartment buildings in my neighborhood. Time it just right and I get to enjoy this:

And this:

It’s worth the cold wind and the temps in the low 40s to remind myself that this world is more than politicians and charlatans, divisions and hate-filled ideologies. Looking up at the blue sky, seeing a deer staring back at me from 20 yards, or admiring that red-tailed hawk perched on a bare branch high overhead - all these moments ground me in the real world.

It’s worth fighting for, all of it. So that’s what I’m doing, bit by bit by bit. Join me in the fight.

We don’t have a federal budget, people on SNAP are going to go hungry next month, and healthcare costs for people on ACA will rise to unaffordable rates end of the year. But hey, let’s trash the East Wing of the White House and build a freaking ballroom monument to the wannabe dictator. You know, the guy who posted a video cartoon of him shitting on American citizens who were exercising their Constitutional right to protest.

If you’re not furious yet, you’re not paying attention.

I didn’t know it that morning, but these purples last less than a week. They burst into bloom all at once, creating a brilliant splash of purple against the greenery I’m used to seeing. As I stop to take more photos, other walkers come by and we exchange smiles as we enjoy the spectacular show. After a summer of drenching rains, searing heat, and high humidity numbers, seeing these purple flowers feels like it was worth all that to get these few days of high beauty.

Up close, they don’t look like much, each individual stalk is already losing tiny petals. But step back and look at the field full of them and it’s a thing of immense beauty.

There’s probably a lesson in there somewhere, right? How the world close up can look like a right mess these days, but step back a bit (or step into nature…) and you get a different perspective.

Step closer again, and focus on one thing rather than trying hold it all in your head or your heart. It’s tough times right now, so much division, so many angry words and hateful actions. So much violence, so many shootings. Some days, I’ve had my fill of the news before I get halfway through the morning paper online.

That’s when I look up at the bulletin board over my desk and see the hand-written note my friend Starla sent me last winter:

Do the next right thing…

Whatever that may be for you, do that. Maybe its taking your own walk outside in search of beauty, or writing an email to your congressional rep asking them to support a bill that matters to you. Maybe it’s closing your doomscrolling browser window and checking in on a friend you haven’t talked to in a while. Maybe, like me, it’s quilting something for someone else to enjoy down the line.

For me, the next right thing has been a series of choices: making kid quilts, writing postcards for the fall election, journaling with my favorite fountain pen, and getting myself out of bed every morning to go for an hour’s walk. And listening to music, mostly classical, often cello pieces.

Next time you feel overwhelmed by whatever is going on in your life, remember that one idea: Do the next right thing. You’ll be okay.

I won't look too far ahead
It's too much for me to take
But break it down to this next breath
This next step
This next choice is one that I can make

(The Next Right Thing lyrics © Walt Disney Music Company, songwriters Kristen Anderson-Lopez and Robert Lopez)

Somewhere beyond those trees, lost in the fog, is a whole row of two-story houses. But you’d never know it by this photo. A runner slid by me on the path, a ghostly apparition that came and went in the blink of an eye.

My route took me through the Landis Valley Mennonite Cemetery, which always challenges me to take a moody photo or two. The fog made that an easy task today, obscuring the big brick church building across the street, while making the headstones look worthy of a cameo in an Addams Family movie.

The farm buildings and trees took on a completely different look without the bright glre of the early morning sun. I could almost imagine this place a century ago, farmers scything a path to that barn, kids playing under the trees.

The horses the next field over were hard to spot at first but there they were. I was late, and they’d already had their breakfast so they were grazing in the field. It must be nice to be a horse at this farm: you get your food delivered every morning and then you can graze for dessert afterwards.

I’ve been enchanted by trees my whole life, falling in love with one or another over time until it or I move on to the next phase of life. This lovely is my current obsession and I’ll often add in a little loop just to check out how it looks on any given day. So today was a treat, or perhaps a preview of the coming fall and winter when gray days will be the norm.

The fog highlighted the varying shapes and thickness of the branches and makes the leaves look far more delicate than they appear in bright sunlight. It looks like a period piece, maybe a matched set with the barn and field photo. It would be a great tree for a kid to scramble up into. I used to climb trees when I was a kid. Do kids today do that or is tree-climbing one of those activities that helicopter parents and lawsuits have done away with?

I post these walks to escape for a few minutes, and to show that all is not madness in the world. Nature may yet outlast us, despite the steps backwards the US is taking (denying climate change, pushing coal plants, and removing incentives for solar and wind energy). Many mornings, I ponder where all these political actions are taking us, and how to resist or fight back. Some mornings, I just list the things I still believe in, so I don’t forget the rights we have been given by the Constitution and by law.

• I believe in love and the right to marry whom you choose.

• I believe in a woman’s right to control her own body.

• I believe in a woman’s right to vote, independent of any man or family ties.

• I believe immigrants have made this country stronger, not weaker.

• I believe in protecting our environment, for us and for future generations.

• I believe that vaccines save lives.

• I believe in the Constitution, not in any one politician.

There are so many more things I could add to my list. But I’ll stop here and ask what’s on your list?

You have to be persistent. (John Lewis)

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When the clouds and the low fog (yes, fog!) diffuse the light before the sun tops the trees and two-story houses on my route, it can be stunning. Sometimes my pace is severely affected by stopping to take photos, but it’s worth it. I find myself breathing deeper when I stop to look around me and take a few photos, which is why I usually carry a camera.

The light on new leaves is one of my favorite things to spot when I’m walking with a camera. From the tiniest, newest little things at the end of the branch, to the big ones who are maturing quickly into darker green, they make me see the cycle of life all in one place.

Light plus early morning rain on a daisy means I’ll stand still for more than a minute, trying to get things in focus and framed before I snap the shutter. Yes, I carry an actual camera, not a phone, when I walk in the morning. It makes me take my time, waiting for the camera to turn on and the lens to open up, and during that few seconds, I get to appreciate the beauty that stopped me in my tracks and think of how best to capture it.

Sometimes, it takes several shots, or several locations, before I get what my mind’s eye sees. The light hitting this little cattail of a plant was probably the 10th shot I took, most of them with a grouping of these, showing the light shining through them, but none of them were as delicate and delectable as this solo shot.

And on rare occasions, I just get lucky, like having the camera still on when this cardinal flitted by me and then stopped to rest in the branches to my right. One quick shot, that’s all I had before the bird shot off to somewhere else, completely unaware he was posing for me.

What small things did you notice today or earlier this week that made you appreciate beauty or feel joy at the sight? Feel free to share in the comments!

It’s not the greatest but the little things that show us the path and guide us home. (Bhuwan Thapaliya)