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Tuesday, September 30th, 2008

Life is changing all around us. A friend saw the sonogram of her first grandchild … and framed it. The Jerusalem Artichokes showed their first wonderful yellow, composite flowers, two days ago. While every other vegetation in the garden is changing its appearance, the tall stalky plant, a member of the Sunflower family, is blooming. Its edible roots make a lovely Tompinabour Soup that has an earthy taste.

Jim has done away with the vegetable garden and removed the fence around it. Now, the local, feral? cats have found their own personal space to do you know what. It’s a wonder we don’t see more cats decorating the busy road. I believe it is criminal to abuse cats and throw them out like that. Yet, it seems common in our neighborhood.

This week has been another busy one. The page proofs for the January 2009 issue of The Quilter look very colorful.

The leaves are quickly turning and it’s time to take a trip to northern New Hampshire, very shortly. Other friends are heading for the American Quilt Study Group meeting in Ohio. I hope that all have a good time and come away inspired and with new friends.

So, it’s been just another ordinary week, one of a death in the family, politics not quite as usual, some amusing moments with some of the candidates, but mostly somber ones as everyone tries to figure out the financial crisis.

There’s nothing further to report, no more letters from a young man from Italy who would willingly move in with me if I’d pay all his expenses and move to a beach so he could surf all day. Just the usual requests from students who need more information for their projects. I am beginning to think that “the same” is just fine.

Patricia Cummings

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Saturday, September 27th, 2008

Without 4-H, I would not have had a chance to learn how to sew, how to knit, or how to identify seeds and plants. I would not have waited on a supper with an international theme, to raise money for trips. I would not have played my guitar before an audience, or worn a two piece bathing suit in a fashion show (those were the days), or participated in a Can-Can line, in a rented costume. Without 4-H, I would not have had a senior mentor who taught me all about houseplants and gave me “slips” of plants, whenever I visited her. I was so fond of her, one day I walked 3 miles, to the center of town, where she lived. Fortunately, I got a ride home.

Without 4-H, I would not have had the chance to visit Washington, D.C., racing to the top. I would not have enjoyed the Smithsonian Institution, with all of its dinosaurs and other bony artifacts. I would not have gone to the Washington Zoo, and been able to see Polar Bears, for the first time.

Some people have memories of Girl Scouts. Living in a rural community, I forged my early relationships with other 4-H members. There was a camaraderie among those who were Jr. Leaders. Another fun group was the Horsemanship Club.

My hometown encouraged 4-H activities, and then, there were also County events. I remember the outfit I wore to a County Dress Revue. It consisted of a white blouse with a stand-up collar and bell shaped sleeves with lace trim, worn under a green (was it a light weight wool?) jumper, with a square neck, and two pockets.

None of what I achieved in 4-H would have been possible without adult mentors. Some of the items we made were entered into the local agricultural fair in town. Somewhere in this house, I have a stack of blue ribbons that were won for “most creative floral arrangement,” “horsemanship,” “white bantam chickens,” etc. I have to smile when I recall the fun of my youth, as I was introduced to wholesome activities that have been friends throughout my lifetime. Here’s to 4-H and all that it does for young people, and moreover, here’s to the adults who teach, guide, and oversee, and make it possible to learn lessons whose effect is everlasting.

Patricia Cummings

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Friday, September 26th, 2008

Let me preface this by saying that I rarely watch television. The exception is the News. However, last season I was intrigued by the show, “The Office.” I was looking forward to the new season because I liked various story lines.

What a disappointment with that show, and the one preceding it, “Earl.” Last night, both shows had the need to portray women as involved in extramarital affairs or illicit activities. In the later case, Earl’s father’s neighbor moved away because he felt guilty after he helped himself to Earl’s father’s wife, apparently with her urging and full consent.

Back at “The Office,” the Boss’s ex-girlfriend is expecting a baby and when she shows up at the workplace, he rubs her belly, crooning, “Who’s Your Daddy?”

In another scene, one of the “girls” has become engaged to a co-worker, and while he is busy trying to plan some wonderful honeymoon trip, somehow she keeps wandering downstairs to hang out in the closet with her ex-boyfriend, another co-worker, admonishing him each time that it will be the “last.” She explains, “I really like my fiance.”

There is something about these shows that is very disturbing in a moral sense. Based on these productions, we could ask if Americans have any moral fiber left. And, furthermore, if these images bother a middle-aged woman, like me, what effect are they having on young people who watch this irresponsible behavior? I mean, if you don’t know who the father of your baby is, you’ve been cavorting with a few too many boyfriends, don’t you think?

We always come back to the age old question:  Does art portray life, or is it an exaggeration? In this arena, of so-called humor, are the scenes supposed to be (sickening) funny, the more disgusting the better?

Last night, when “The Office,” was not being gross, or the characters not being crudely insulting of each other, (one calling another, “retarded,”) then, there was some other unsettling scenes. One I did not appreciate was when a new girl said she didn’t want to go out with a guy because she preferred women … but then said, that she had lied. You know, I never heard about “gays,” growing up, and I was the happier for it. Now, the idea is crammed down our throats everywhere we turn, and especially in the media. Sorry, I see no reason for “pride.”

Finally, I had to turn off the TV after one of the characters, who was on an enforced diet, by the boss, fell off the scale upon which all of her co-workers were involved in their weekly weigh-in. She landed on the concrete warehouse floor and was lying in a pool of blood. That was enough! Somehow, I don’t think I’ll be tuning in next week. I could see nothing entertaining or culturally redeeming in either of the shows. At least with the News shows, the events actually happened and therefore, are believable.

Patricia Cummings

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Thursday, September 25th, 2008

When I was sixteen, my father set up an account for me in the Credit Union that he founded. Handing me a passbook, he told me to save my babysitting money and any other money gifts. I did not receive many of the latter, but I did have a doting aunt who faithfully sent one dollar in a birthday card to every niece and nephew she had, yearly, without fail.

Well, I found that I did not make much babysitting money because I lived in a small, farming community where folks usually retired with the chickens. Some of the city slickers who decided to move to our quiet town presented the possibility of watching their unruly offspring. In one instance, I had the opportunity to babysit two demons. Between the menacing Siamese cat making threatening noises, from any point she could reach that was higher than my head, (mainly, the stairwell), and the boys “finding” a (fake) snake in their bed, the event was topped only by a drunken father who insisted on driving me home. In fact, I believe that is the last time I ever agreed to babysit. Yet, I digress.

I am most thankful to my father for the financial lessons he taught me. The first lesson is to not abuse credit. Never spend more than you can pay back in a month. Of course, the credit card companies frown on that practice. The game is to entrap people into spending more and more, to the point that consumers may never be able to pay off the debt.

With hard work and frugality and yes, self-denial, when it came to expensive vacations, we are ok. Self-sufficient talents assist the cause of financial independence. The government is not doing so well. One would think that Americans would never forget the lessons of the Great Depression – “Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without,” being one of them. I remember meeting a woman who would take the collars off of her husband’s shirts so that she could sew them on the other way to give the shirt longer life.
I have thought about the ramifications of the current, national, fiscal crisis. I suspect that the enormity of the problem is actually being minimized. I do not own any investments. My father tried the stock market compare prices cialis and lost  money. He said, “Never again.” The rule of thumb is never to invest more than you can afford to lose. I’ve always had my eye on the bottom line, and have never had any discretionary income that I would be happy losing.

“Save for a rainy day,” was a Credit Union/Cuna Mutual Insurance Co. logo that involved the depiction of a little man with an umbrella stamped on various pieces of ephemera. I took the image seriously.

I am sure I don’t understand “big business” and I am equally sure that I don’t care to try. I don’t know if it is just a matter of convenience to blame the current situation on “Republican” greed, cronyism, and corruption.

I just have one question, why hasn’t anyone been “watching the store?” I mean, this didn’t happen overnight, so where has the oversight been up to the present? We have a fine way of getting ourselves in a pickle. I’d rather eat a pickle, a homemade one, if you please, a little tart and a little salty. As for the rest of this “mess,” I simply don’t get it. That said, I’m off to tend to my own knittin’ in hopes that those who know more about financial matters will get this straightened out. So, “Amen & Amen!”

Patricia Cummings

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Wednesday, September 24th, 2008

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These are words that appear on a potholder- style quilt, each block bound separately, then joined together, made by the Ladies Aid Society in Portland, Maine, made in 1864.

Motifs that appear on the surface blocks are bunting flags, a lighthouse with a flag, an anchor, a Bible, drums, stars, crossing flags, an eagle with arrows on the left, canon balls, swords and more. There are twenty blocks in all.

This quilt is very dark in color, with some of the designs almost indiscernible from a distance. I don’t believe it would photograph well. This is held in a private museum in New England. I cannot clearly remember any details about the quilt, only those I wrote down at the time. I saw it several years ago. It appears to be a group effort quilt made to honor soldiers who fought during the Civil War.

Patricia Cummings

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Tuesday, September 23rd, 2008

The television show, “The Waltons,” was a long running series. Grandma and Grandpa Walton lived with the next generation down, and their children. Sitting around the table, there were quite a few people, all caring, all loving, all ready to help each other. The grandparents were ready and willing to provide advice, all of it sound.

The economy status of the household depended on productivity of the farm. Scenes would often occur in the barn. The show itself was a scrubbed-clean look at American life. Church on Sunday, everyone around the dinner table, giving thanks for God’s bounty, and at the end of each show, everyone calling “Good Night” to each other, one by one.

That may have been a romanticized look at life as we think of it … in the past. The reality of today’s world is that no one has time to give each other the right time of day, let alone an “extra” box of raspberries. We have become so ego-centric, and so disinterested in others, it’s exasperating. I call it the “get ahead” mentality, a system I don’t want to get caught up in, as I already have “a head.”

For a moment though, it is pleasant to think of charming stories like compare prices cialis and compare prices cialis. In fact, literature and cinematography transport us to a place where we can, in our minds, be better than we really are. Just recalling the two story lines bring a smile to my face. It’s so nice to think of what might have been … but never was.
Patricia Cummings

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Monday, September 22nd, 2008

Do you remembering being a little kid? The idea of “tomorrow” was a hard concept to grasp. The notion of waiting for a special event, like Christmas, was even more difficult. A song whose lyrics say, “but tomorrow never comes,” has a ring of truth to it. The fact is, we can only live today. The real fact is, we can only live “in the moment.”

How can we fathom concepts like “eternity,” when we can’t wrap our heads around “tomorrow.” We can only live today, and hope that in the future, we will have better times. I am told that the Vietnamese language does not have words for yesterday or tomorrow. Purposely left out of the lexicon, those people can just dispense with thinking about time concepts. Isn’t that kind of freeing, in a sense?

When we have today, and only today, we can center our accomplishments and our fears on a 24 hour time period. We no longer have to worry about deadlines. Those of us in journalism “approve this message.”

Our country is in quite a state right now with some people looking back to 1929 with the idea that this past week has been a near miss from financial ruin for many. It’s always “the little guy” that takes the fall for the malfeasance of others, and the constant mistreatment by those who have more.

At least financially, the more well-heeled do not have to worry about tomorrow, that is, if there is a belief in place that money is the answer to everything and will provide all that is needed to sustain life. Like the man who allows pollutants, like dyes, to enter a river from which he hopes to drink water and bathe, there is a false sense of security, these days, and a lack of awareness that we have been destroying our environment in the name of making money.

For one, I will be so happy when the political elections are over. Maybe we can back to concentrating on things that matter so that we can all have a better tomorrow. Without careful stewardship of our assets, our workers, and our environment, the song’s prophecy that tomorrow may not come, may come true. While we are busy redistributing wealth, what is Russia doing with their nuclear arms? While we are busy thinking about oil and where we can drill in the ocean, that could potentially lead to oil spills and environmental damage, why are we not as busy developing those hybrid cars to reduce our reliance on foreign oil?

I prefer the Democratic theme song, “Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow … it will be here sooner than you think. Yesterday’s gone … yesterday’s gone.”

We should stop being greedy and looking out for number one. We should stop trying to beat out the people whom we consider to be our competitors, and yes, I have witnessed this, time and again, even in the quilt world. Just be the best that you can be. “You” are a unique blend of experience, education, and talent. Use those assets. Money isn’t everything. In fact, when you come right down to it, money, as an isolated entity, isn’t anything compared to your own life.

If we all work hard and keep our own affairs in order, we will have something to give to the world. In so doing, we will have achieved a great deal more satisfaction than someone whose main source of amusement is sitting around, admiring the six digit numbers of a bank account.

Live for today.

Pat

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Sunday, September 21st, 2008

Yum Yum

Mikado quilt photo by James Cummings

Above, you see a portion of a piece of Mikado cheater cloth produced by the Cocheco Mills in Dover, NH in the late nineteenth century. After I bought a Crazy Quilt with this image, and those of many other characters in Gilbert and Sullivan’s musical production, I decided to investigate the story and any ephemera I could find regarding it.

What fun to watch the show on DVD, from the comfort of my own living room and to acquaint myself with the plot of the tale. In the November issue of , just now distributed, I have an article that summarizes the story, shows the entire Crazy Quilt and individual components. This subject was an enchanting one to research. As usual, the magazine is available from Borders, Barnes & Nobles, some grocery stores, Walmart, some quilt shops and from the company itself.

Two examples of the Cocheco Cloth have been located, one in the private sector, and one in a museum. In addition, two quilts with “Mikado” fabrics have been spotted in museums. Yet another quilt, that is rendered in Redwork, features an embroidered block based on the popular operetta.

I hope that you can round up a copy of the article. I believe it contributes quite a lot to the study of quilt history, as well as material artifacts.

Patricia Cummings, quilt historian

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Friday, September 19th, 2008

One of my favorite folk songs, “Urge for Goin’,” speaks of the change of seasons from fall to winter. “The warriors of winter give a clear, triumphant shout.” That’s a poetic way of saying that Old Man Winter is heading this way and no one, but no one, will stop him.

Last night, the temperature went down to 44 Fahrenheit. It was the kind of  night when the heavy comforter, we currently have on the bed, did not find its way onto the floor by morning.

There was no killing frost yesterday. Most people who have gardens are scrambling to get in the last of their vegetables to use, to can, or to freeze.

Today was designated as the day when the air conditioner would be taken out of the bedroom window. Soon, the heat will be turned on again, and we will be making those hearty soup and homemade bread meals, and we will put aside the lighter fare of summer … like cucumbers!

The first magazine of the season arrived in today’s mail, and it centered on holiday trees and decorations. A beautiful tribute to Tasha Tudor was featured, and appreciated. It’s always nice to recall times past that seemed more simple. When I remember Tasha, I always think of the word, “Simplicity.” She passed on recently, but her work and her gentle ways will forever live in our hearts.

As winter approaches, I think of the stories a friend once told, of sleeping under wool quilts, so heavy, that there was no hope of getting up at night, nor of even turning over.

Whether you are thinking of Christmas or other Holiday gifts you plan to make, or whether you are trying to finish up some quilts so that you and yours will be warm this winter, consider making an extra wheelchair quilt or lap throw, and bring the finished quilt to your nearest nursing home, or veteran’s hospital.

Gestures of caring are never out of date, or fashion. Have fun as we transition into the next “phase” – a time of closed-up living, the coziness of home and hearth, and moreover, a time to “take joy” in all that our hands create.

Patricia Cummings,

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Thursday, September 18th, 2008

Since time began, that is human time, man has discovered new things, and upon some survival depends. We have learned how to make fires; we have learned how to fight forest fires. We have learned to communicate with each other, and with future generations, by using animal blood to make cave paintings. Those who have not been damaged by vandalism still survive. We have developed sequences of sounds that we call “languages.” These words strung together, have sometimes meant survival or a call to arms, as in, “The Redcoats are coming!”

We have created sublime works of ceramic arts, fine art paintings, and other artistic renderings. At the same time, we have painted ugly graffiti, full of hateful, and confused images. Most art work is meant to be expressive. I suppose any art work compare prices cialishas to mean something to its maker. Take Picasso. Yes, I mean … take Picasso … please. His famous painting, “Guernica” that depicts the Spanish Civil War, is not my cup of tea.

I can see the idea of war. Some kid gets smashed to the ground in the playground and his glasses get stolen. Well, he is going to want retribution, not to mention his personal property back.

For the life of me, I cannot understand thousands of men, fighting with each other, to the death, when they are not personally acquainted and have no personal quarrel. Yet, this has happened time and again. What gives? I can’t see myself marching up to someone I never knew before, and say, shooting that person in the head. Maybe I’m naive. I don’t understand violence, but I do “get it” a little better, if there is a cause.

I started out by asking “Why Be Neanderthals?” Can I rephrase that question? Why NOT Be Neanderthals? I mean I didn’t see their daily “rag” or anything, but I have to think and to hope that they were too preoccupied with trying to start a fire to cook something tasty, and that random casualties were rare.

I’ll have to revisit my Art History books. I am probably all wrong in mentioning “Neanderthals.” It was most likely some other group who made the paintings in places like the Caves of Altamira. Neanderthals were simply the earliest group of humans who come to mind. The name wreaks of a certain primitivism that is appealing. I’m merely trying to make a point. If I have to explain it to you, then I’ve already failed.

Live free and enjoy peace, and if you see a Neanderthal running toward you with a stone axe raised high, head in the other direction … fast. I’m sure I’ll be sharing more of my silly wanderings with you on another day. For now, I must turn to more serious matters.

Patricia Cummings

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Tuesday, September 16th, 2008

compare prices cialis is an interactive book for middle level readers. Kelly Ann Butterbaugh has written a book with twelve chapters that encourage everyone to look at history “in an entirely different way.”

The author asks such questions as how women’s quilts impacted the Civil War? Did women really stitch together their dresses to make a hot air balloon? Throughout the text are sprinkled many questions, and suggestions for student activities. Kelly earned an M.Ed., and is a seasoned English teacher of ten years in public schools, and five years, teaching writing, at the college level.

By turning learning into an active experience, she proves that history does not have to be boring. Just glancing at the book, it is apparent that she wants students to “think historically.” The 107 page book, published by White Mane Publishing, 717-532-2237, is a gem. There are photos throughout the pages, and an appealing cartoon-like cover.

compare prices cialis is a great resource for teachers, and for students who are involved in the discovery of history. As one of her references, Kelly cites my article, “,” published both on Quilter’s Muse website, and in compare prices cialis (Jun/Jul. 2007). (A more comprehensive article with authentic Gunboat Quilt photos appeared in The Quilter magazine, initially.)

For more information, visit

Patricia Cummings

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Sunday, September 14th, 2008

How nice it is to hear music, when none is playing!

How good it is to see promise, in a child’s eyes.

How good it is to go at life, giving it your all and not holding back.

How fine it is to do your best, and to be rewarded with kindness, not jealousy.

How fun it is to dance under a moonlight sky, awed by the stars’ wonders.

How great it is to have a few close friends, who really understand.

How terrific it is to eat a piece of fresh apple pie, baked with care.

How grand to wake up, morning after morning, to face the challenges of each new day.

Be a blessing to others; cast off your infantile, me-centered universe.

Joy is there for the reaching, and in stretching out our arms to others, we re-create ourselves.

Patricia Cummings

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Friday, September 12th, 2008

Funny, how things can get away from us … like time. Today, as I was writing the date in a museum guest book, I asked innocently enough, what day it is. When one is self-employed, one does not always keep up with such things. The answer came back as, “September the 11th,” and along with it, a flood of memories. That pivotal date of confusion and fear, when our homeland was under attack, will never be erased from memory.

On 9-11-2008, all the immediate tears already have been shed. Some people, who were left widowed, have remarried. The injured have returned to work, in some cases, and the New York site looks as if there had never been buildings there at all.

Many children have to rely on photos to “remember” Daddy or Mommy. In that one day, the dreams and hopes of many individuals were forever dashed, but some lucky ones escaped with their lives and the terrifying thoughts that they might not see another day.

“Where Were You When The World Stopped Turning?” is a song that we do not hear often now, on the radio. Perhaps it should be played more often.

For many, the nightmare goes on, one begun by religious radicals whose God seems to think it is ok to kill and maim. The war is continued by self-proclaimed Christians who think it is their God-appointed duty to get the bad guys. The only trouble is this: when you are killing children and women, and men who are not of the same ilk as the terrorists, then why are you killing, exactly? There have been “mistakes” made, and innocent people have been wounded or slaughtered on all sides.

Are we fighting wars that cannot be won? How does one define a win, when it comes to death, destruction, and misery? In the end, what has been won? … More disabled veterans to fill up the inadequate military hospitals? More people to lie in a hero’s grave?

I fervently believe that we need to get past all of the stupid rhetoric that politicians throw out there, just to get elected. I don’t mean to sound like Pollyanna when I say that minding one’s own business would be a huge step toward world peace. That is what we are trying to achieve, is it not? I have heard “whirled peas” offered as an alternative. Perhaps we should all get out our blenders. The latter would be easier to achieve.

Driving along the easy back roads of Vermont today, adjacent to babbling brooks and covered bridges, with New England Asters adorning the roadsides, we found our own peace today. We were away from the phone, the computer, and the noise of littering teenagers, cluttering up our front yard and sidewalk with their candy wrappers and debris. Civilization is a good thing, in measured doses.

In 1899, Sam Walter Foss, originally from New Hampshire, wrote in which these recurrent lines are featured: “… let me live by the side of the road, And be a friend to man.” That sounds like an ideal endeavor, were it only possible!

In New York, the congestion of so many people huddled together for work and business made the area a prime target. We can’t crow too loudly about the absence of another attack. Whether we like to give credit or not to the Commander-in chief,” there has not been another hit on American soil since that horrendous day of darkening smoke, when pilots went to heaven to meet their allotted number of virgins, the gift for being villains and killing, en masse, in the name of “religion.”

God bless us and keep us safe from those misguided souls who hate all Americans. If it’s a race for heaven, let’s hope they reach their destination  first. Heaven can wait!

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Thursday, September 11th, 2008

Just as a quilt or piece of needlework is comprised of many separate stitches, a book is also made up of separate entities: words, sentences, paragraphs, chapters, and then all of the directional components such as table of contents, an index, and list of works cited. Making a quilt and writing a book are similar endeavors, and whether it is the last stitch one is putting in, or the last dot over an “i,” there is a sense of completion and joy when the work is all finished.

One reason for that is that it is downright fun to create, with words or needle, something that has not existed previously. It is a rhapsody when we create a whole, from parts. The compare prices cialis of both endeavors is the important part, and the fun is in the doing.

How many times have I heard someone say to me, “I could never do what you do! I wouldn’t have the patience!” I always feel sorry for the person because I wonder what they do with their time. Is the person stuck in some dronish job every day, just “working for the man,” giving time in exchange for money. Hey, money is not bad, but I’d rather have time. There will always be money and for those who are married to the idea of loving it, they may realize at the end of their mortal existence that one never has enough time and no amount of money will buy more time.

So, here I sit, writing serious, historical essays and books, and sometimes, some silly, not so serious blog entries. There is always a mix in life – “a time to laugh, and a time to cry.”

Now that my “serious” writing project of 355 pages and 340 photos is complete and finished, as of yesterday, as soon as I am able, I’d like to turn to a quilting project.

May all of your stitches be happy ones, and may you “be a stitch” who holds the lives of others together. The last stitch in a quilt always comes as a surprise, and the last word in anything written, has the same effect. We (Jim and I) have arrived at an end point in our latest work, with elation, and with finality. The folks we met along our path was the most fun of all!
Patricia Cummings

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Friday, September 5th, 2008

Ah, how the mind tricks us. I have half-remembered the short work, Waiting for Godot, and having read it in high school, believed it to have been written by Moliere. Apparently, Samuel Beckett created this gem of a non-work in which nothing much happens while two men are waiting for Godot.

Godot never shows up.

How often have I or others close to me been promised that someone would meet us at a certain time and it never happened, or else they appeared much later than expected, after having totally disrupted us in the meantime. Such was the case of a woman who promised to visit her dying father and revealed a specific date and time she’d arrive. As the old man waited, and worried, a phone call revealed that she had “changed her mind.” She showed up for the funeral.

The same woman promised to pick up her sister at an airport. Being a no-show and leaving her sister stranded, with a tired, hungry 18 month old, she only appeared after being called and reminded. She was too busy enjoying her pool.

With some people, it is just predictable that they will be late, or that they will never follow through on a promise. Personally, I believe it is important to live up to commitments, and not leave anyone standing around, twiddling their thumbs while “waiting for Godot.” The three words have entered our language and become a metaphor for lackadaisical, lazy, uncommitted people.

In Spanish, the word that means “tomorrow” can have the same connotation. Fluff something off until “tomorrow,” but “tomorrow never comes.”

There is another saying:  “In God’s own time.” None of us fully understands God’s time, as He is on His own schedule, an unannounced one. Scholars have argued about the seven days of creation. Was the world really created in only seven days, as we measure time today? Probably not. A “day” is a measure of the passage of time, but was it really 24 hours?

The best for which we can wish, is that we are not left “waiting for Godot,” and that others will not let us down, now, or when we are about to take our last breath. We can also improve quality of life for other people, as well as lessen their stress, if we only do our part in keeping commitments, and do so in a timely fashion. Three cheers for dependable people!

If “Waiting for Godot” were the basis for creating a small quilt, all the blocks in a time sequence would be the same, two men standing on a corner, doing nothing, and each block could be captioned, “He’s not here yet!!!”

Have any of you had a similar experience? If so, write to:

Patricia Cummings

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