Of all the places to find........

Are you thinking what I am thinking....."Has anyone ever thought to create a fabric line PATTERNED after the design magnificence of Vegas?"....Mosaic floor in the Wynn.......

Funny how when we go to Vegas it is a feast for the eyes and CELEBRATION of architecture and color and fabulous shopping for.....

Clouds....

Do you look at this tattoo of my husbands and see the many free motion quilt designs you could emulate....You know how much I love spirals and feathers!

Pink pigs are next time I am told :).

Jewelry...

I am not making this up....in the waiting room of tattoo shop Studio 21....charm necklace and bracelet with a featherweight Singer, scissors and thread...I could have fallen over and of course, what did I say...."Sean and Mom, you are not going to believe this Godwink!"

FUN!

A type of selvage for this tattoo artist's ride...Kinda creative isn't it?  I love that it is a verb...

Livin....Celebratin...Quiltin...Smilin.....Hummin.....Lovin.....

Patchworkin......

Look at all of the wonky designs within the painting that could be quilt piecings! hmmmmmmm!

Is this really happening to me...I have a vulgar mouth at times so of course I look at Mom and smile huge and say, "No f.....ing way! GODWINK!!!!!!"

Amidst quiet stillness of a room without casino, within  simplicity of our room at the Trump is the beauty of a book on top....

 "The Poetry of Solitude": A Tribute To Edward Hopper

and the first picture to illustrate a poem by John Updike is

"Girl at Sewing Machine, 1921"

yep!  Featherweight Singer.......!!! 

(I am not making this up!)

The smaller, older Girl at a Sewing Machine

shows her pale profile obscured by her hair

at work beneath an orange wall while sky

in pure blue pillars stands in a window bay

She is alone and silent. The heroine

of Hotel Room, down to her slip, gazes

at a letter unfolded upon her naked knees

Her eyes and face are in shadow  The day

rumbles with invisible traffic outside

This room where a wall is yellow, where

 a bureau blocks our way with brown and luggage

stands in wait of its unpacking near

a green armchair sun-waried, Thirties plush

We have been here before.  The slanting light.

the woman alone and held amid the planes

of paint by some mysterious witness we're

invited to breathe beside.  The sewing girl,

the letter. Hopper is saying, I am Vermeer.

I hope that this Post has invoked an emotion, a moment of reverie....And as I finish typing the train outside our window is faint....Just another reminder of how much I miss Grandpa and how he worked his career with the railroad....Grief, sure can sneak up on a person when beginning this post, I was celebrating mosaics and now I.......have a little sting in my nose and a prayer to God of gratitude!

Love, Em