I finally got that chicken grit I've been waiting for. Actually, Alex found it when she was cleaning the porch and asked me where to put it. Now I can't find the pincushion I wanted to use it in.

But I was going to use it in something, so I sewed some of the bonus triangles from my weed whacker into a pinwheel and cut a square of green fabric and made a new little biscornu.



Isn't it cute? I put grit in the very center and then some extra scraps of batting around that to make it soft. And although chicken grit is really heavy in the bag, it didn't add much weight to my little pincushion. Another source suggested uncooked rice and since I've got several cups that my darling babies dumped into the bottom of a kitchen drawer, so I'll try that next.

The giddy descent into madness continued yesterday when I sewed four of the pastel string blocks together to see how they'd look and absolutely fell in love with how they felt and how sturdy they were. I've done the whole string piecing on a fabric foundation before, so it shouldn't have been a surprise.

I had been kind of reluctantly slogging through this project, but seeing those blocks together got me going and now I've only got a few left to piece.



And that's where I lost my mind. There's a five gallon bucket that I toss my threads and tiny scraps into and all of the edges I've trimmed from those blocks have it about half full. I've read over and over how some people save those little scraps and stuff pillowcases with them to make beds for animal shelters.

I've always thought that was overkill, but yesterday I decided it might be nice to have an actual bed for the barn cats who sleep on our porch. I could get rid of the pile of nasty blankets that came with the house. It'd be perfect if I had a ratty old pillowcase.

I kept piecing and letting my mind wander and now, somehow, I'm using those string blocks to make a bed for my daughter's favorite cat. The one that sometimes sleeps in the house.

I don't even like that cat. I don't truly believe for a moment that she's going to sleep on a bed instead of in my clean laundry. Or in my drawer of folded clothes.