Happy Anniversary

This is a story about someone I know from about 5 degrees of separation, but I have met her once.  It's their anniversary.  They sold their home in Washingon, DC about five weeks ago, and their new home (he just retired) won't be ready/won't close for two more weeks, so they are traveling around the East Coast, taking in the sights, staying with friends and family here and there.  She posted this photo today on Facebook with this description:

We went into Target yesterday to pick up some things. We went to the card aisle and both picked out amazing cards for each other - exchanged them - read them -kissed in the aisle - put the cards back and left the store.

I laughed because I totally get this. 
Happy 42nd anniversary!

Red and White Quilts

There's an amazing quilt show going on right now in New York City, but it ends on Wednesday.  It's a collection of 651 quilts, all collected by one woman, who does not consider herself a collector.  What an amazing collection gathering of these interesting and bold quilts, and the way they are all displayed is also amazing.  I included some links, as well as more photos over on my quilty blog.

We need these. . . Really?

 

Oooh! Tres Chic, you might say.  

But we need these shoes, because. . . why?

Because we can pierce flower blossoms on those heels, layering them up like a walking lei.

Because we can break ankles wearing them.

Because we all lay around on flowers.

Because other women will say Ooooh! Tres Chic!

Because the platforms will keep our feet 1 1/2" out of the water.

Because our toes can peek out while the rest of the foot stays warm.

Because we really don't have to walk anywhere.

Because if we did, our feet would hurt within 5 minutes.

Because we all are trying to prove we are tres chic.

Because the fashion industry says so.

Because we are all trying to cripple our feet so we can wear SAS-type shoes when we are fifty.

Because then we won't be so tres chic, only tres grandma-looking.

Like I am now.

Sometimes

Sometimes when the news is so bad, like today's sorrows from Japan, all I can do is be sad.

I came out of a building in downtown Lima when I was 12 years old, the ground shaking.  My friend gripped my arm, her face white, and we watched as all around us the buildings swayed, the glass cracking and tumbling down.  "Let go, let go," I pled.  "I've got to run."  But she held on and in our terror we lasted out the nearly minute-long 8.1 earthquake.  While there weren't many lives lost to the quake, it triggered huge mudslides in the mountains that wiped out an entire town.  After that experience-- my first earthquake ever--whenever we'd feel an aftershock, no matter where we were in our house in Miraflores, we'd tear downstairs, fling open the door and stand--all of us--in the doorway, waiting out the temblors.

I live in California, and occasionally I'll feel an earthquake--a shake, a crackling of the wood beams in the walls of my house, a sudden unsettling of the floor.  I go very still and I wait, poised to run down my stairs and stand in the open doorway.  My house is a frame house and we are perched on granite, so my rational mind knows I'm in good shape.  But when you feel the vibrations, no matter where you are, you go very still while your mind races on and on.  When I moved to Wisconsin, people kind of thought I was funny to have lived in California with all its earthquakes, but after a particularly bad tornado season--and after spending a lot of time in my basement--I wondered which disaster is worse: the one you anticipate or the one that travels through the earth unbidden and unannounced.

A disaster is a disaster, no matter what form it takes.  I watched the news all day long; my thoughts and prayers and hopes and courage go to those suffering at this time from the earthquake and tsunami devastation, far far away.

Favorite Movies in Riverside

While browsing through my Netflix, looking for a suitable movie to stream down while doing my quilt applique, I found this illustration of Riverside's Favorite Movies. I was kind of surprised.  Not that I expected a stream of Jane Austen flicks, or some weighty and thoughtful human interest movies like Mostly Martha, but . . . well. . . welcome to my (depressing) world.

I knew we'd have some element of white power, given the letters to the editor in our local newspaper about all those socialists in Washington and Don't You Dare Cut My Social Security.  Boyz in the Hood points out the reason why perhaps my students have so many spelling problems.  But, wow.  We have multiple universities here, and are less than 60 minutes (on a good traffic day) from a major metropolis with world class art museums.

Obviously none of the finer points of living here has translated to our Netflix viewing habits.