When you become obsessed with stitching (hand-stitching) patchwork.
I blame the television series Alias Grace which had a lot of scenes where prisoner Grace sat in the Governer's drawing room talking to a devastatingly handsome young psychiatrist whilst stitching lace petticoats, fine cambric drawers, patchwork quilts and the like. The thing is, one may be able to recount harsh tales to a mind doctor whilst piecing quilts but one cannot type and sew at the same time.
So that is why I've not been here for a while.
It is going to be what my mother called a crazy quilt and the fabric is mostly sourced from a collection of old aprons that Pearlie owned. Pearlie always wore an apron when she was at home even when she was very old and couldn't do chores. She said she felt cold without an apron which I found odd. For how can a little square of cotton keep a person warm?
Most of the aprons were homemade, fashioned from old dresses and the like. One of them was made from a blue skirt patterned with blowsy pink roses which I'd given her. That skirt I bought from a vintage stall in Portobello Market forty years ago and I wore it to death. Then it became Pearlie's apron and now part of a quilt. Some things just never stop being purposeful.