I have set up a blog where you can go read a few of the things I've written over the past three years. You might not want to take the chance, though. They are not pretty, sentimental, God is wonderful posts. Most of them aren't anyway. Mostly I've written out the pain, excised it like you do a boil when you have to slice into it and squeeze out pus until it bleeds enough to leave a clean space behind where the healthy skin can grow. What I write doesn't end up pretty, because I have a fatalistic, apocalyptic point of view about life. What I write doesn't have happy endings with "deus ex machina" showing up to straighten everything out . Life is hard over and over again. I use real words, but not obscene ones, just the real ones that hardness throughs up.
Wednesday, July 25 at the International Quilt Festival in Long Beach, CA Today I rode on a tour bus. Met a fabric designer in her chic little store named French General on the corner of Allesandro and Riverside in Los Angeles. Had coffee with her mother in the alley behind the shop. Toured the Alexander Henry design offices and shipping warehouse in an old Coca-Cola bottling factory located in Burbank, CA. Watched the artists work on designs for fall and winter of 2013. Watched the history of a line a fabrics called the Ghastleys from the first sketches to the finished products. Had a shift in perspective towards whimsical, holiday or children-oriented fabric. Never realized how much artistic design and hands-on work went into light-hearted themes. Ate lunch at Phillippe’s, home of the French dip sandwich (unfortunately, this did not mean au jus.) Ate lunch at red linoleum topped table while seated on a stool. Enjoyed chatting with other quilters. When they left I ...
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