Up until January 23, I had knit every single day. I think it was something I needed after carrying the lingering winter crud into the new year. When I didn’t pick up my needles, even for a few minutes on the current sock project, I felt a surprising flicker of guilt. And here I am, still thinking about it.
That pause came because I was busy preparing the floor loom for its journey to a new home. Once it was gone and the studio felt more open, I slipped right into sewing quilt blocks for a baby quilt I wanted finished before February. It’s headed to an expectant mother who happens to be one of the neighborhood kids my own children grew up with, now all in their 30s. That realization alone made me feel firmly in my “elder” era.
My fabric stash is modest, at least by quilter standards. About one tote of quilting cottons and a small stack of linens for clothing. It’s a supply I’d truly love to use up, eventually paring it down to something like a single shoebox of fat quarters for random stitching projects. That feels reasonable to me. How about you?
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