Hey! What'd you do with spring?

After a sweet streak of days in the 60s, we're back to tubercular skies.

I've been finishing up a series of mailart that required the sewing machine, in order to start on a new quiltlet that I think is to be yellows with some pink and lime and turquoise for good measure.  In the switch from sewing fabric and paper together to sewing only fabric, I need to use a finer needle, and I HATE changing needles, so I thought I'd finish the first before starting the new project.  Interesting concept for those of us with ADHD.  I actually considered buying a new sewing machine so I wouldn't have to do this change-over but it's too much trouble to drive to a sewing machine store.  (And some studies suggest human beings aren't logical.  Guess I proved them wrong.)

While I'm working on that, I'm also making the mailart to go out to the bishops along with my explication of how they've made the transition from going on to perfection to going to hell in a hand basket.

Mother was cheery on the phone yesterday. Her cousins Bess and Tom had been to visit earlier in the week; and she'd won three prizes playing bingo; and not only did she get her hair done again, but she'd also gotten a manicure. One of my persistent memories from childhood revolves around going to town. Before we left home, Mother would sit at the dining room table and polish her nails.  Fire engine red is the only color I remember -- and probably the only color she used, because that's what all the trendy chicks were wearing that decade. Totally solid memory, what with the color and the smell and the excitement of going to town, not to mention the inevitable thrill of the race out the door so as not to miss the boat. We'd catch the  Erie Isle for the hour and fifteen minute ride to Port Clinton, shop at Uhlman's, have lunch at Bob's, go to two grocery stores because A&P was the only place she'd buy meat, and then catch the boat home.  You can see why for me Mother=manicure=good times.

If you've got some spare time, hop over to It's Only a Book and take a gander at my REAL tree in my living room.