Two years ago I made my first memory quilt out of my old t-shirts. It was also the last time I would even think about making a t-shirt quilt because I struggled so much with the execution. Cotton jersey is a nightmare to sew, even on the machine. My hands didn't want to cooperate so I couldn't do as much embroidery as I wanted to (that was the very first time arthritis kept me from quilting, I think.) The fact that it's become one of my favorite quilts does not tempt me to revisit the experience. I also know I couldn't make this quilt now (or it would take me a year or two.) The old me struggled with the making; the present me would not even try. I can barely hold a needle anymore. So I crochet, and I tell myself that's a reasonable substitution because what else can I do? I crochet well. I crochet a lot. Still, I miss quilting. And I hate that I miss quilting. And then I miss quilting and the me who could do it even more. And then I hate myself a li...
After so many (too many) DNFs it was a pleasure to read a properly-written book, which is absolutely Dear Old Dead by Jane Haddam. I actually took my time reading it because the writing, the story, the characters, the detective and basically every other element of the story were so good. At a charity, church-supported Harlem health center, saintly director and surgeon extraordinaire Dr. Michael Pride is not having a great night. After being arrested on a vice charge for frequenting a notorious gay sex club and having his image splashed all over the papers (keep in mind this novel was published 32 years ago in 1994), Michael is trying to clean up surgically the mess created by an ongoing gang war. Then he receives news that his wealthiest media mogul patron is waiting for him in his office, and goes to face the music -- only to find the mogul dying of strychnine poisoning. It doesn't help that basically everyone at the health center wants the mogul dead, and the poison used...