Slainte

Slainte!

As far as I know, I haven't a lick of Irish blood in me, but I believe I would love that beautiful island of green.

I do not celebrate St. Patrick's Day in any grand way, but I do enjoy cooking a hearty corned beef brisket complete with cabbage (I like mine creamed), parslied baby red potatoes and carrots.

And each year, I stitch some kind of small tuck or such to add to my collection.

This year I actually finished two.

This is "Luck Basket," a free design from Pinker n Punking Quilting & Stitching.

I stitched it on a scrap piece of mystery linen (although I am pretty certain it is 40 ct. "Raw" by Zweigart) and mounted it in this hanging clock case:

It's a bit difficult to see because of the curved outer case, but you get the idea.

I hope to stitch other little seasonal smalls and rotate them in this clock case. 

I haven't found a design yet for Easter, but I am looking.

The second design I finished is "ABC Shamrock Pin Holder" by Nan Lewis  (Threadwork Primitives).  (While Nan no longer blogs, she is on Instagram and has an Etsy shop.)

I stitched this over a year ago, but the finishing of the piece gave me fits and I set it aside more times than I can remember.  

I also struggled with photographing it (have you ever noticed greens are difficult to photograph?) and, despite numerous attempts, never did manage to capture the true colors (which are deeper and richer in person).

{Stitched on 40 ct "Wren" by Picture This Plus using Gentle Arts "Storm Clouds" floss.}

I'll end with one of my favorite poems by the Irish poet, William Butler Yeats.

When You Are Old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

 And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

*************

Slainte my friends.