Here is the quilt I've been working on for the last three months, although the statement is kind of misleading. I seldom worked on it except on weekends. In any case, it was finished last Sunday except for giving it its first washing and snipping the last thread ends. Wednesday I rounded up a clothesline and some clothespins, washed the quilt, and dried it on my front porch, fastening the line between two posts with a simple clove hitch. The pattern is made up entirely of Nine Patch and Snowball blocks and is in a book of a similar name. I took many pictures, several of which were okay, but wouldn't you know, the best picture of all is the one featuring the cameo appearance of two of my dogs, Chelsea and Frankie. (I think it was deliberate - Frankie's butt seems to show up in a lot of my photos.)
![](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_srYUrxk5loKiWe-CHdcUWaoQ6Gz_UGVnSi8ImYHosFfjI1JgVM06tew8wTBiiufZC83a_7ENRvM92lyIEjyXWp-zrBqhQqtQxw6ZwMFOE-t-ZySk0r0YGG0YIOyzvIlCo=s0-d)
On Thursday, Thanksgiving Day, I presented the quilt to Marie-Jo, a close friend of my oldest daughter, whom I first met about 12 years ago, and who soon was beloved by all our family. Soon after I pieced the quilt six years ago, MJ moved back to France. She visited here two and a half years ago, but her quilt top had not been out of its bag. This trip, however, was planned three months ago, and I knew I must finish Marie-Jo's quilt so she could carry it home.
During her years in Texas, Marie-Jo celebrated the American Thanksgiving with our family. One year she was even put in charge of roasting the turkey. Now she is the one Frenchwoman celebrating the American Thanksgiving in Paris. Turkeys are difficult to find there, she says, but she chooses a roasting bird and faithfully follows our family recipes for my grandmother's stuffing and my Aunt Helen's pear salad. This year's holiday was extra special, with her here to meet the new sons-in-law and the two babies born while she has been gone. She holds her own in our "traditional" card game, Liverpool Rummy, which we have played at family gatherings since generations before I was born. And when I introduced another game I played as a kid, Michigan Rummy, she beat the pants off us, taking all our chips.
I love my French daughter.
On Thursday, Thanksgiving Day, I presented the quilt to Marie-Jo, a close friend of my oldest daughter, whom I first met about 12 years ago, and who soon was beloved by all our family. Soon after I pieced the quilt six years ago, MJ moved back to France. She visited here two and a half years ago, but her quilt top had not been out of its bag. This trip, however, was planned three months ago, and I knew I must finish Marie-Jo's quilt so she could carry it home.
During her years in Texas, Marie-Jo celebrated the American Thanksgiving with our family. One year she was even put in charge of roasting the turkey. Now she is the one Frenchwoman celebrating the American Thanksgiving in Paris. Turkeys are difficult to find there, she says, but she chooses a roasting bird and faithfully follows our family recipes for my grandmother's stuffing and my Aunt Helen's pear salad. This year's holiday was extra special, with her here to meet the new sons-in-law and the two babies born while she has been gone. She holds her own in our "traditional" card game, Liverpool Rummy, which we have played at family gatherings since generations before I was born. And when I introduced another game I played as a kid, Michigan Rummy, she beat the pants off us, taking all our chips.
I love my French daughter.