In A Bookish, Quilty Mood

Title and idea courtesy of my husband. And the hens, lol. Oh, and the Year-End Smashwords Sale! Do chickens have guardian angels? Do humans? I don't know the answer to either of those queries, but I have suspicions, and who is to say chickens or humans don't possess someone assigned to their well-being. I will say that yesterday morning my husband scraped a LOT of nasty poo off the wall, leading us to wonder if said chickens had coccidiosis. Yet, we didn't have the liberty to do much more than pray about it because we were meeting our eldest daughter in Santa Rosa for lunch and to exchange Christmas presents. We fed the chickens, I gave them some bonus straw in which to play, then chased after Nadia who slipped from the coop, that nimble hen! Finally trapping her near the door, I slowly picked her up, then set her where she belonged, wondering if later that night I'd be dosing their water with Corid. Highway 101 yesterday morning, photo courtesy of my husband, as I was ...

Seven of eight chicks on a perch my husband fashioned. Their baby chick perch remains a fave spot too, lol. Nearly a week has passed since we moved the chicks into the coop. Their first few days in a new to them home was steeped in their adjustment to plenteous room, no feed overnight, and us attempting to coax them from said coop to the attached run. They seem to love more space, haven't minded waiting for breakfast (although they cried the first night when we turned off the light, and on subsequent evenings when not under the heat plate when that light was again shut off), and finally braved the strange opening to the outside world that of course is far more exciting than their spacious coop. Getting them back into the coop was a chore, and not for worms or scratch would they head up the ramp. We're still searching for an appropriate treat in which to lure them hither and yon; today I'll try some grated carrot (Update: they couldn't care less about grated carrot, sigh...

A pretty apt photo for today's subject. Over three years ago Smashwords and Draft2Digital became one company. Last night I received notice that it was my turn for the migration queue, and for the rest of the night I was...slightly pensive, nostalgic, and resigned to change. Lol. Change is often not nearly as traumatic as we think it will be, current American governmental coup notwithstanding. I chose not to do more than ponder this somewhat monumental to me alteration, instead working on a one thousand piece puzzle (see above) that will keep me occupied until I feel the shingles are truly GONE. 'Nuff said about that. Yet for Smashwords, my goodness! I independently published The War on Emily Dickinson on July 16th, 2011, that's coming on fourteen years ago! SO MUCH has changed in indie publishing, although this is not an analysis entry, more of a walk down memory lane while assuaging my mind and heart that ALL WILL BE FINE. It truly will, ahem. Since then, I've releas...

We're enjoying some glorious sunshine and warmth, sometimes those don't always go together. I trimmed the garden blackberry bush, then sat in the sun reading before going in to wash the dishes. I'd hoped to get to that Cornflower Quilt, wanting to make that quilt sandwich, baste it, then bring it downstairs to begin the hand-quilting. But my work table needed to be cleared, which meant putting away the paper shapes from the above mentioned quilt. It's thrilling to remove papers as the blocks, then rows, are sewn together. Bagging those papers, I knew eventually I'd need to return them not only to their box, but from the sources where I borrowed squares and diamonds to complete it. Fortunately I'd written down how many I used, so it was a matter of counting out shapes, slipping them back into envelopes. Certainly not the exact shapes I'd removed, but the papers were in good condition, and I won't be using them anytime soon. I put the Cornflower Quilt box ...