Some of you may remember my column
a few years back about the scratch-off lottery games I found on
the path while walking Ruby, our Doberman, and how, after
dutifully scratching off all the numbers, not one card was a
winner. Well, my luck changed. In late March, I won a door
prize—for not doing anything other than “being there.” I had
attended a local quilt show with two neighbors. As we entered
the show, we were given slips of paper to write our names on,
and told to place them in a basket for an hourly drawing. My
name was one of three picked in the first hour of the show.
From a shelf full of donated items—mostly for quilters (which
I’m not), I picked out a western-themed cloth handbag with rope
handles, crafted by a local artisan who sells her “Cowgirl-up
Purses” at home and gift shows. The inside was stuffed with
squares of quilting fabric, which I gave to my neighbor friend
for use in her quilting projects.
The quilts—over one hundred of them, in sizes ranging
from placemats to king-sized wall hangings—were picked for
exhibit by a “jury” of peers. There were quilts made for
gifts—weddings, births, birthdays and anniversaries—quilts made
for comfort, and others for the simple challenge of being able
to finish a project. A few dated back to the early 1900’s and
were created from cotton or flannel remnants, and pieced
together by hand, some taking years to complete. Others were
machine-made, but just as attractive and creative as the
“homemade” ones.
By eleven o’clock, the Senior Center was crowded with
viewers, with everyone “oohing” and “ahhing” over their
favorites. After another one of my neighbors won a door prize,
we considered ourselves lucky and headed home to read our Sunday
papers.
Spring has indeed come to Central
Oregon. After several fits and starts, the days are getting
warmer, the dove and quail are pairing up and the weeds are
growing thicker by the hour. Herbicides, sprayers, and mowing
machines are big business here. Considering how shallow the
soil is, I am amazed that anything can reach maturity given the
region’s short growing season. Yet, people plant gardens anyway
and some of the best tomatoes, spinach and squash we’ve eaten in
years have come from our neighbors’ yards. Still, May
especially is a very changeable month—it can be warm and balmy
one day and drop into the low 30’s at night, with winds that can
snap a small tree in two; a month in which an errant
thunderstorm spewing hail the size of golf balls can wipe out a
well-tended garden in two minutes flat. Greenhouse anyone?
As Cynthia suggested, I road-tested the new Calliope web
site and came away more optimistic about our future as the “best
little newsmagazine for writers in the world.” This is a real
opportunity for our contributors to reach a greater audience
than through the print version. Kudos,to Ralph Sabelhaus for a
job well done.
Please continue to send your stories to me, or contact me
by email:
sreditor@clearwire.net for any comments you might have
regarding the fiction we publish.