patchwork
The quilt heretofore named "Doppler Shift" or "O My Stars and Garters" is coming along nicely. All five fussy-cut stars are made, even the one that will droop across the border, which means that the border is also designed. Slices #7-19 are in the process of being sewn together. #17-19 actually have the first fussy-cut star embedded in them, and it looks just dandy. And I can't think of a name for the thing. I want a happy name that's neither flip nor gooey, and also doesn't indicate something that that kind of name would normally indicate. For instance, "Razzle Dazzle" implies a lot of metallic ink, or at least metallic rick-rack. Nope! Oh, well, the right name will come along.
In response to the warmest January on record, and a February that had its warm days, too, the daffodil blades are slicing through the earth both in my front yard and on the school grounds. I was reminded that I also have itty bitty crocuses along the side of the house, and if it doesn't rain this weekend I should go out and water them. We had our driest Feb. on record just now. The front yard is covered with leaves but the back is gasping -- and I should put up the birdbath, too, give my girls some entertainment, not to mention the birds.
A grove of trees grew on a hill, and someone found the shade, beauty, cool breeze, and singing birds highly conducive to meditation and prayer. Likeminded friends agreed, and the words, song, and movements they made to bring them into a meditative state evolved into what they considered to be a religious ritual. At some point someone decided that this ritual was what made the space sacred, and an equally beautiful, healing, and utilized grove on the next hill over was not because the ritual had not been performed there to this self-proclaimed authority's satisfaction. Then a tree died, undoubtedly of old age or disease. So the religious community replaced all the trees with a marble shrine, and the authority required that the ritual be repeated so that the marble tree space be officially sacred. Then the next hill over could not have a sacred grove even if the worship were ritualized, because the grove had to be made of marble to be sacred. Later on, someone from out of town took shelter from a storm in the marble shrine, and herded his goats into it so they wouldn't get soaked and catch pneumonia, and the authority declared that this un-sacred use of the shrine desacralized it and the ritual would have to be performed all over again. Finally, the religous community gave up on all this bumpf and moved away, and the authority looked for other people to hold power over, and the roof fell in and the birds flew in and out and the trees grew up through the floor. And romantics from far away came to look at it and exclaimed at the sacredness of the space.
We have two bishops at present, an Emeritus and an Ordinary. The Ordinary, well, I don't know if he requires the ritual, the marble, or both to call a space sacred. He has looked at the chancery's meeting space and declared it not sacred. This is a building filled with people who spend their days laboring, for very little pay, for the benefit of the greater religious community of this area. IMO that by itself makes the entire building a sacred space! The meeting room itself has seen many masses and other prayerful meetings, and IMO that by itself makes that room a sacred space. The Emeritus agrees. He, and the employees who were there with him, walk into that space, and for them it resonates with the sacred events it has housed. The Ordinary sees nothing sacred about the employees' devotion to the purposes and needs of the Church. He walks in and sees only a place to stable his goats.
Update on the quilt name problem. Today I'm liking "Serendipity."
In response to the warmest January on record, and a February that had its warm days, too, the daffodil blades are slicing through the earth both in my front yard and on the school grounds. I was reminded that I also have itty bitty crocuses along the side of the house, and if it doesn't rain this weekend I should go out and water them. We had our driest Feb. on record just now. The front yard is covered with leaves but the back is gasping -- and I should put up the birdbath, too, give my girls some entertainment, not to mention the birds.
A grove of trees grew on a hill, and someone found the shade, beauty, cool breeze, and singing birds highly conducive to meditation and prayer. Likeminded friends agreed, and the words, song, and movements they made to bring them into a meditative state evolved into what they considered to be a religious ritual. At some point someone decided that this ritual was what made the space sacred, and an equally beautiful, healing, and utilized grove on the next hill over was not because the ritual had not been performed there to this self-proclaimed authority's satisfaction. Then a tree died, undoubtedly of old age or disease. So the religious community replaced all the trees with a marble shrine, and the authority required that the ritual be repeated so that the marble tree space be officially sacred. Then the next hill over could not have a sacred grove even if the worship were ritualized, because the grove had to be made of marble to be sacred. Later on, someone from out of town took shelter from a storm in the marble shrine, and herded his goats into it so they wouldn't get soaked and catch pneumonia, and the authority declared that this un-sacred use of the shrine desacralized it and the ritual would have to be performed all over again. Finally, the religous community gave up on all this bumpf and moved away, and the authority looked for other people to hold power over, and the roof fell in and the birds flew in and out and the trees grew up through the floor. And romantics from far away came to look at it and exclaimed at the sacredness of the space.
We have two bishops at present, an Emeritus and an Ordinary. The Ordinary, well, I don't know if he requires the ritual, the marble, or both to call a space sacred. He has looked at the chancery's meeting space and declared it not sacred. This is a building filled with people who spend their days laboring, for very little pay, for the benefit of the greater religious community of this area. IMO that by itself makes the entire building a sacred space! The meeting room itself has seen many masses and other prayerful meetings, and IMO that by itself makes that room a sacred space. The Emeritus agrees. He, and the employees who were there with him, walk into that space, and for them it resonates with the sacred events it has housed. The Ordinary sees nothing sacred about the employees' devotion to the purposes and needs of the Church. He walks in and sees only a place to stable his goats.
Update on the quilt name problem. Today I'm liking "Serendipity."
posted by Carrie | 10:50 AM
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