Found a piece of fabric from a dress I made for my daughter when she was little, and spent half the morning trying to remember which Easter she wore it. Dale remembered the car we had, very helpful if I were dating a motor instead of a dress. I could picture the church steps and the hem, but not her age, and then the photograph I found showed sleeves I would have sworn I'd made differently. Funny what stays certain in your head until you look. I'm not cutting that scrap yet. It isn't big enough to be useful by itself, but I keep turning it over while thinking about the dress, including how much I complained about finishing it at the time.

We sang one of the old hymns at rehearsal and I could feel the low notes right through my chest, which pleased me enough that I sang the second verse too loud. The woman beside me grinned, so apparently I wasn't imagining the volume! I spend so much time leaning over the sewing machine that standing with my shoulders back and taking a proper breath feels almost unfamiliar. By the time we finished I was warm and a little thirsty, not worn out the way I am after an afternoon cutting fabric. Dale asked if rehearsal went well and I sang him the opening line in the car. He said that answered the question, and could he please hear the traffic report now.

My granddaughter picked a bright orange scrap for her quilt and I nearly told her it wouldn't go with the other colours. Thank goodness I kept my mouth shut long enough to see her lay it out, it looked cheerful as anything! She was so pleased with it, explaining where every little piece would go, and I felt proud in a way that had nothing to do with her sewing straight. Then she asked whether her quilt could hang beside mine when it was finished. Well. I had to fuss with the thread for a minute before I could answer normally. She thinks the crooked blocks and the ribbon quilts belong on the same wall, and right now I agree with her completely.