NaPoWriMo Day Twenty-four

This image hit me on the way home.

driving home

the houses run through the trees
to meet those driving home.
they may not know the journey,
carefully matching the
straight and turning pavement
with the lean of the car
but they bide and welcome.
the yellow eyes in the woods
unblinking, watching, waiting
can they call out the
one set of tires, the
singular motor,
the muffled radio
knowing the one they seek
The houses run through the night
lights weaving through the trees
then back to its normal perch
and it opens a door, come in!


NaPoWriMo Day Twenty-three

Thirty-three degrees
Night rain glass beads on car door
Late April morning

Still dew illuminated
Fog flowing soft over hill
weighted by stillness

top step creaks with frost
Morning, chill fog expanding
gold floods the hillside.

hidden birds waiting
quiet hillside wrapped in fog
trees golden with sun

Sunday, August Is Flying

When I got home tonight, there was still the August Postcard Poetry Fest poem to get done. Earlier today I’d responded to a post on Facebook and thought and then forgot about the line which I thought, at the time, would make a great inclusion in a poem. I was a good way down the poem when I remembered! Yeah coffee! So the poem includes the line

the red caboose of contentment.

Because who could resist that line?

At the meeting, someone pointed out an actual slide from an actual Macworld keynote… I knew where my July 2001 badge was. It hangs over my desk. At some point, I had put my old-new name on it again, but everything else is as it was, before the world changed.

MB and Mom as Tourists

After a long week at work, I have some vacation. Mom and I are doing the locals-being-tourists-where-we-live thing. It started on Saturday with me taking advantage of mom’s central air to get the facing sewn down on my quilt. What a pleasure. Next up the sleeves.

Yesterday we went to the Albany Institute of History and Art which is celebrating their 225th anniversary. They had a big display of ephemera and of their wide-ranging collection and that was fun but what we went specifically to see were the mummies. They were part of our childhoods and they were still there but now they’re on the third floor rather than downstairs. We spent a lot of time looking at all the tomb objects and the writings on the sarcophagus and everything.

We did enjoy the roomful of Alexander Hamilton, the many Hudson River School paintings and well, everything. Lots and lots of local history connections.

Then we headed off for some dinner and ended up at The Olde English Pub. A nice couple gave us advice on feeding the parking meter (and I read afterwards that you better feed the meter!) Our fish and chips and my beer were great and we headed back to mom’s house quite happy.

I went off to writer’s group to try and regain my postcard poetry momentum and to choose three poems to send off for review. Mission accomplished.

Now to get ready for day two!

You can follow along at home:


How much stuff can your brain do?

I’m becoming convinced that quilting and the figuring and measuring and all that I’m doing in this part of it, knocks out whatever words might have come out of my brain. Getting anything down for today’s August Postcard Poetry Fest postcard was tough. So I wrote about this problem, LOL. Bleah, my brain is empty.

I have gotten eight lovely postcards so far, plus a bonus one from Mom sent while she was in Norwich VT (where we went for years to the Vermont Quilt Festival!). Thanks everyone! (And for the record, Mom’s postcard had a poem on the back!)

Monday after Sunday

Hi! I’m Mary Beth and I’m a collector of art supplies. But at least I can say now, honestly tht I’ve had to replace paints because I’ve used them up and gone through a whole pad of 5.5x 8.5″ paper!

I realized yesterday as I was getting ready to finish the edges of my current quilt-in-progress that no one will see what I put into the quilting after I sew down the facings. Yes, if you looked really really really hard on the front you might see it. This is on the back, never to be seen again:

Note to Self

I often get asked what my favorite part of quilting is. That’s hard to answer and I usually say I like all the parts.

That’s a lie.

I don’t particularly like the part I’m doing now which is the trim up the edges and make it a real rectangle part. Fabric, even layered, quilted fabric, wriggles and moves. It moves around. I’ve pushed and pulled it while quilting. I confess. And now I’m asking it to lay perfectly flat and be good. Ha!

Note to self: When you win the big lottery or move into the single huge room studio: the table in the middle that does everything must be bigger than 50″ by 80″ or have a folding top that opens out to that big.

Yup. Bigger table surface would be good. If I’d remembered I could have made a surprise appearance at my guild’s afternoon group and used a few large tables but who knows how long the whole thing would have taken… Oh well. It looks like it will work out now.

In the meantime, I’m hitting the showers while the quilt ‘relaxes’. Yeah that’s my story.