I went to the most exquisite wedding on Sunday, and after we all smashed our glasses, we were asked to sing "at the top of our lungs" as the bride and groom left the church "You Are My Sunshine." The words - at least, their version of them - were printed in their leaflet, and as we all sang/shouted, I KNEW that this quilt was for Lisa and Patrick! I have put a great deal of sunshine into it and have moved from this last Wagon Wheel, where the middle circle is about the most difficult thing to do with any kind of aesthetic virtuousity, to the Crossroads below, a much simpler block but one without the excitement and pizazz of these wheels.
Having taught Robert Johnson's mythological guitar reputation when I was teaching Sherman Alexie's Reservation Blues, I am compelled by the notion of the Crossroads, going to it and then deciding - or not - where to go next. I had to flood this crossroad with a patch of sunshine, and the next one looks more
like a rug sample, if you see what I mean; I really like it, but it's more about the kind of crossroads where you find yourself there and know you've got to move. This is not a staying sort of moment. Instead, I'd say I'd be compelled to hit the road again or lurch on over to the sides of the road where the sparkling golden leaves and flowers beckon. This block is more about the crossroads in winter's mind and memory. I almost said in winter's clutches, but I'm not yet ready to succumb to that mentality, if ever I will be even in the jaws of winter's bitter cold, there are those exquisite blues and purples of the afternoon light on snow and ice especially in the wooded trails of the Wissahickon. Now THAT's blue!
Having taught Robert Johnson's mythological guitar reputation when I was teaching Sherman Alexie's Reservation Blues, I am compelled by the notion of the Crossroads, going to it and then deciding - or not - where to go next. I had to flood this crossroad with a patch of sunshine, and the next one looks morelike a rug sample, if you see what I mean; I really like it, but it's more about the kind of crossroads where you find yourself there and know you've got to move. This is not a staying sort of moment. Instead, I'd say I'd be compelled to hit the road again or lurch on over to the sides of the road where the sparkling golden leaves and flowers beckon. This block is more about the crossroads in winter's mind and memory. I almost said in winter's clutches, but I'm not yet ready to succumb to that mentality, if ever I will be even in the jaws of winter's bitter cold, there are those exquisite blues and purples of the afternoon light on snow and ice especially in the wooded trails of the Wissahickon. Now THAT's blue! 
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