in which the author (literally) surrounds herself with books

Yesterday, I went to my local quilting store to baste a quilt. I’d been worried that my floor wouldn’t be large enough for a while, but we probably would have pulled through. However, on Friday I accidentally rearranged all of my furniture. I’m enamored with the new layout, especially the part where I made a little reading cave out of bookshelves, but it decimated my floor space.

book cave

book cave



When I realised that I needed somewhere to baste this quilt (and spray basting it outside was so not an option due to rain, mud, and more recently, hail), I walked around to my local yarn and fabric store, and quilt shop. At the unnamed yarn and fabric store, my request was immediately denied by someone who didn’t even know what “spray basting” was until I explained it. They said “we don’t allow the use of harsh chemicals here”. I blew a metaphorical raspberry and decided to continue not buying any yarn there.

The quilting shop was perfectly nice about it, and said I could use their teaching space as long as it wasn’t booked. They largely left me alone, which was good, as I was having a bout of “oh no, all the actually experienced quilters will see my sloppily pieced spring break project and judge me” anxiety. I overcame my anxiety enough to buy some clearance fabric, but it was difficult.

Bonus piece of fabric from my stash:

cat personal ads

cat personal ads


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