Pieced, basted, ready. There was a cotton batting already in the house, so I’m using that, although two stitches in and I hated it already—hand-quilting through a cotton batting with the big needle and big cotton thread is Un. Fun. [note to self—learn this, wouldja?]
One of my secrets for sewing happiness: that little fabric bowl there? That is a miniature (and cute) (and crafted) wastebasket. All those ravelly threads and snipped-off ends that usually end up on my pants, socks, and the floor? They go in there. Somehow that makes the whole thing nicer for me by an order of magnitude. Before I figured that out, I was spending twenty minutes picking little pieces of thread off my clothes trying to get presentable again—precious seconds, people! I’d rather be sewing!
The red is so red it is practically pulsating. It is not ordinary. It is the least ordinary color I can imagine. I’m glad about that, too; this is my hand-pieced quilt—I even hand-pieced the back-- and it is right to be making a splash.
Now I need an unbroken rainy day or something. When the sun shines in June, I can’t be indoors. I can’t.
Quilt? What quilt?