Hexagons.

Almost 2 years ago I learnt to hand sew hexagons at Bronnie's.

The pattern that you usually use to interlock hexagons is called "Grandma's Flower Garden" which for most people is meant to denote something sweet and old fashioned.
Sadly to me, it was more aligned in my head to the naughty concept of the "dried flower arrangement" often sported by older women. ;O)

So I knew I had to use hexagons for good instead of evil and having already taken 5 years to choose the fabric I thought I'd sew them into diamonds instead, thus avoiding any further smutty references.

Finding Australian Aboriginal fabric that is actually designed by indigenous artists has not been easy. And even when I did find some, my concern about who was actually profiting from it was large enough to prevent purchase.

But find it I did. And it seems genuine, to the point where I can now tell you the names of the individual artists and have access to the meaning of their stories depicted on the fabric design.

Choosing colour ranges with this type of design was really difficult, due to both their and my inclination to get excited and stuff in plenty of colour all over the place. So I simply chose the ones I liked and worried about how they'd look combined later.

Sometimes I like to make it up as I go. Free balling is my thang.
That will possibly not surprise anyone who's seen me sew.

I even thought about turning this one into the shape of Australia and then doing blue marbles around the outside for ocean...just another 3 years work, no problem.

At that point though, my neck and shoulder became so bad from scrunching up as a I sewed that my osteopath asked my what the hell I was doing to aggravate my condition.
I had so much trouble explaining that I gave up and took the quilt in to show him what he was up against.
His response was, "Oh, gee..."

Apart from one side of a hexagon that Bron did for me as she taught me, every stitch was done by me, and very few were sewn with any impatience or frustration.
I really enjoyed the mobility of this kind of sewing. I love being able to watch TV with the boys but still do something with my hands. TWSS
I miss it.

I cannot imagine how many football games were stitched into that quilt. Even more than actual hours of 19th century BBC literature programmes though.

Sometime s when I look back at my sewing, I can recall any strong thought patterns I had while working on particular sections. Running my eye over this quilt brings up thoughts and feelings related to:

• Souths
• Jane Austen
• wanting to quit a job I was very unhappy in
• thyroiditis
• starting a new business
• the History Channel
• sewing on the beach/s
• sitting on the couch at my in-laws, my Dad's and Yoga Boy's and later, in the car, at Souths games
  

Anyway, Bron is coming over next week to have a look at it and to show me how to finish it so I can hand it on to be professionally quilted.
The lady who will quilt it may even be able to quilt Aboriginal motifs onto it. I'm thinking a big dreamtime snake (TWSS) or kangaroo prints.

So, it's not even been 2 days and I feel at a loss of what to do next.
I only have 3-4 quilts to finish, but they're not TV watching quilts, so I really think that even before the day is done, that I will start another hexagon quilt.

I'm going to use the fruit and vege fabric that I bought maybe 6 years ago. I'm just busting to sew mushrooms up against raspberries up against rockmelon and then broccoli - if only to see if it can be done.
Maybe I'll make it look like the inside of the fridge or the displays at the green grocers.

And this is how it starts...

Good luck with your vagina , my dear.

That's probably what I would title my autobiography if I ever wrote one.
And one's all I'd need to write, because with such a title, one's all that would sell.

Do you play that game? Name your autobiography?
My title can vary from day to day depending on what's happening within and without me.

Hell Boy once told me that his might be, "Happy landings, cunt." but never went on to elaborate as to how he arrived at that mantra.

Now, I've never considered that I need luck with any part of my body, oh, okay, my feet, but one day when I was working in retail, a lady took her leave of me by saying, "Good luck with your vagina, my dear."

After saying, "Well thank you very much," I hastened out the back to make a soothing cup of tea just to give myself those precious couple of moments to figure out how a stranger could feel comfortable enough within 10 minutes of meeting me to say that, and how I could think that that was not only reasonable, but polite.
Is that normal?

I've really given this some serious thought. Like maybe 3-5 years of serious thought, and so far, all I can put it down to is being Australian.

I have noticed that Australians, by and large, are chatters.
Travelling showed me absolutely that this is not the case globally.

I suppose that even in the crowded cities, Aussies are more open than most.
Curious too.
And willing to share personal information and intimate details with total strangers with precious little encouragement.

So, when I met this lovely lady, I think the conversation went something like,

Me: "Cool earrings."

Her: "Thanks, I made them myself. I couldn't find anything to match these shoes."

"I hate that, but it should never stop you buying interesting shoes."

"No. I'd rather be dead than boring."

"Check."

Then suddenly she went straight into a detailed and terrifying tale about her reproductive health, which worried me not, as I honestly believe I've heard it all. And what I haven't heard, I've seen.
I empathised with her, gave her all the necessary sensible and effective suggestions for a total recovery and told her I hoped it would be up and running soon. wink wink

Transaction complete.

Then as she left, she turned just outside the very crowded store, which was blessed with excellent acoustics, and bellowed, "Good luck with your vagina, my dear!"

Good luck indeed.