Sometimes when my husband goes out of town, I indulge in some quiet, solitary relaxation. Not this time. While Mr. G jetted off to Madison for the Ironman (no, he wasn’t competing in this one, just making some business contacts and helping out), my five solo days went by in a blur.

For starters, I joined a choir. (Actually, we both did, but Mr. G hasn’t been yet.) The funny thing is, it’s a church choir, which is surprising those who know us, because we’re not very churchy. But Mr. G used to sing in college and wanted to get back into it, and his cousin has been trying to get him to audition to join him in this choir. And when he was accepted and decided to commit to it, I thought, why not me, too? We don’t have any other hobbies we do together, and although I have no voice training or experience beyond seventh-grade electives, I grew up in a musical family and my mother has sung in a choral group all my life. So I auditioned, and somehow they let me in as a second soprano. Thursday was the first rehearsal, and it’s hard work! They move fast; there’s a lot of sight-reading; and some of the music is pretty challenging. But I like a challenge. I went home and practiced (the dog barked at me) for the first Sunday service.

Friday night I took it easy and got some knitting done; Saturday was a farm work day for our CSA (we tore out old tomato plants, prepared a new greenhouse, and moved the chicken corral to a new section of the field. I also decided it was time for my puppy dog’s first shampoo. She was getting a little whiffy, not to mention itchy. Miss Lark does not like getting wet, but she took it pretty stoically. The Little Girl has the physique of Wendy Whelan (Lark is somewhat less accomplished in toe shoes, but then I’d like to see Wendy leap twice her height at a dead run to snag an over-the-shoulder frisbee pass in her teeth), so after a few minutes of comical prancing to express her joy that the ordeal was over, the poor uninsulated beastie was reduced to uncontrollable shivering:

Sunday morning it was off to sing at church, then quickly home for lunch and a trip out to exercise the dog and pick blackberries, then off to a fantastic end-of-chemo party for a young student at our school who’s been fighting leukemia, followed by dinner with my in-laws and a swing by my cousins’ to drop off a birthday present for Sam, who has somehow managed to grow to be eight years old when I wasn’t looking.

Today I paid the price for all that frolicking and woke up with a fever and a sore throat. But I did have this to show for my crafting efforts:

That’s the top row of a new quilt project, Little Boxes by Pauline Smith. I fell for this quilt as soon as I saw it:

This is just what I think a baby’s quilt ought to look like: brightly geometric, not pictorial but reminiscent of a brightly painted coastal village, with strong bold colors. I don’t know which baby it’s for yet, but I had to make it. The quilt said, “Behold my many triangles, ye mighty, and despair,” but I said, “Nah. I can figure that out.” I consulted with Mr. G’s mom, who showed me how to stagger the triangles so that the points will be properly secured in the seam allowance without getting nipped off.

I think it’s cute how they make little fox ears where they meet. And now that I know I don’t need to be frightened of them, this quilt top should come together fast.

But first I’ve got to get back to the knitting. There are birthdays afoot!