Fellow quilter Marei is making one too. It was her idea, in fact, that we pick a free Bonnie Hunter pattern that neither of us had made yet and make it simultaneously. I happened to have a few on my bucket list and thought it was a great idea! Marei doesn't have a blog, but perhaps she will upload some progress pics to her Flickr page at some point (hint-hint). I have seen a sneak peak of her blocks and they are awesome!
These blocks are so fun and quick to make. I am using all stash and scraps for this quilt. Some of the light fabrics I'd pulled turned out to be a little too busy, though, so I've had to cull a few and get creative with the remainder, including:
- a vintage cotton curtain found at a flea market a couple years ago
- a feed sack fabric, still in the shape of a sack until I cut it apart for this project
- two thrifted men's shirts
- a quilting cotton that was a little too yellowish-brown a print on its right side, so I flipped it wrong side out.
Mama Mallard has come back this year to nest in the same place in the hosta bed on the north side of the house. She's made herself comfortable among last year's leaves.
Doesn't she look all cosy and camouflaged? She is very unflappable, that girl. I did rake the bed out around her this weekend and she didn't budge, just kept a beady eye on me. I talked to her in soft tones as I raked, not that she really cared.
She's kind of gimpy this year. I think whatever attacked her eggs last year may have gotten her as well. She was seen limping around the yard with the drake on her heels before she got on the nest and parked it. Once the hen starts sitting, she shoos the drake away. He flies off elsewhere to strut, preen, drink his fill of pond scum, and chase more tail. At least that's my assumption. What happens in Duck Vegas stays in Duck Vegas.
Three strikes and I'm out of underwear. Let me explain.
I needed new undies, so I headed to Kohl's to buy the brand/style I like. Wouldn't you know, they didn't have the same ones anymore. So I bought something similar, same size. Let's call that size X, where X represents a digit I will not disclose. Sure, I'll talk publicly about my underwear, but the numeric value assigned to said underwear shall not be named. Boundaries, y'all.
I have worn X for years. I've worn X when I weighed less and I've worn X when I weighed more. X was/is my size. Theoretically.
When I got home with X size undies, I tried them on, as you do. They were too tight. Okay, maybe this style ran smaller. Strike one.
Went to Penney's and bought a Warner's brand, very comfy looking, similar style, seemingly all the right ingredients to a good pair of knickers. Make that three pair, because there was a buy two get one free deal. Swiped my card, took them home, tried them on. Strike two.
A couple weeks pass, allowing time for my frustration level to decrease, and this time I'm at Walmart looking at the display of drawers. So pretty. So inexpensive, comparatively speaking. And what's this? "The Best Fitting Panty in the World." Size X. Sold!
You guessed it: Strike three.
I am convinced the Universe has conspired to have me face facts: Thy bum is bigger. No longer X but [insert audible gasp] Y, where Y is that size that careens dangerously down the granny panty aisle.
Darn you, Universe. I bet you go commando.