About Me

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Hi I'm Laura Hickman. Writer, sewist, baker, fairytalemaker. When I'm not writing a delicious fantasy with my husband Tracy Hickman, I'm up to my elbows creating with yarn, frosting, cloth, or paint. I love playing with my grandkids, outdoor photography & travel. Join me at http:// bakingoutsidethebox.com as I share my creations including my Baking Outside the Box mix method for all sorts of fabulous desserts. Invictus by William Ernest Henley, is my favorite poem. Especially the final stanza: It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll. I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Love on the Square

I've been considering lately the labors we perform solely in the name of love. With that in mind I have brought you the creations of my dear friend Jeri, who has been making a 'Stack and Whack' quilt --a singularly unromantic name for what are some amazing quilt block medallions she has put together -- some of which you will see, she did during the photo shoot in her sewing retreat. The second set of photos are valentines that Jeri found in an old box from her grandmother and they are dated from about 1939 - 1942 and belonged to Jeri's father.
















Amazingly, all these different medallions came from pieces of this fabric that were matched and layered in strips about this width.


Thanks Jeri, I appreciate you allowing me to invade your creative territory with my camera!


These brought to mind decorating shoe-boxes with doilies and red tissue paper to take to school and hoping to get that special cherry lollipop valentine!












And lastly, Mr. Shakespeare's Sonnet 116, which is quoted liberally in Jane Austen's 'Sense and Sensibility' :

Sonnet 116
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.