Francy Pants, in the third person.

Once upon a time...a couple months ago...

...there lived a young midwestern wife who was whisked across the Atlantic Ocean into worlds unknown to her.  It was a land filled with stretchy pants, pointy shoes, cigarettes, and pigeons.  Her inner Dorothy Gale whispered, "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."   Inner Dorothy was right.  She was, in fact, in the Land of...Paris.

Paris was a city of:

 Towers made of metal...

Towers made of chocolate...

Angry men made of gold...

 

Men who thought hard for a really long time in a squatting position...

Angels with cool dance moves...

Dogs who peed without ceasing...

Dogs who ate dinner with you...

Plastic women wearing circular hats and dresses...

Trees in perfectly straight lines...

Old castles...

With tiny secret doors...

Fabulous dancers...

And ham and cheese sandwiches with Cokes for every meal (with a killer Shania Twain soundtrack)!

Needless to say, the young midwestern wife struggled to find her place in this new land.  There were moments of doubt...Would she be able to survive in a world so different from her own?  Surely it was a lost cause when she found herself announcing a celebration of her homeland, "America Day!".  There was McDonalds for lunch!  The Avengers 3-D movie in a theater!  M&Ms in her hands!  And a newfound crush on Captain America!  So what if she did spontaneously erupt in a proud rendition of "God Bless America" on several different occasions?

But wait, dear reader, don't lose faith in her yet.  Just when you think she has been defeated by The Unfamiliar...The Uncomfortable...The Unknown...

She goes and makes a new friend...a Parisian friend.  A professor at the University of Paris who teaches a class on 1930s American culture.  There were long discussions of Jimmy Stewart, old Hollywood, and The Great Depression.  And with a hearty "Sante, Paris!" (French for 'Cheers for Paris!'), she found herself comfortable, confident and content in the strange land.  On her last day there.

The young midwestern wife at last found her Francy Pants, and wore them proudly.  But the best part of her journey across the Atlantic was being there with...

Young Midwestern Husband

Sante!

Pouch, Pizazz, and PARIS!

At this month's St. Louis Modern Quilt Guild meeting...Pouch swap!  Here's how my second attempt at a zippered pouch turned out:

My secret pouch partner Juli Ann graciously received this pouch, mistakes and all.  What a great gal!  And Carol drew my name; here's what she whipped up for me:

Nice, huh?  A neat little coin purse.  Thanks again!

So, one of my favorite features of the Guild meetings is the freebie table.  People bring in fabrics/patterns/etc that they think they have no use for, and hungry scavengers like me get to paw through all the goods.  Confessions of a bargain hunter: Truth be told, that's where I want to run the very second I walk in to the meeting, but I try to play it off very casually.  I nonchalantly walk by the table, making a mental list of the items that I crave, so that when the meeting is over I can book it and snag the items on my wish list.  Do we have to wait till the end of the meeting to grab freebies?  No.  But I am trying my hardest to look cool here, folks.

Speaking of looking cool...

A couple of months ago, I snagged a couple of early 1980s quilting magazines from the freebie table.  You know how I love old stuff; I couldn't resist.  As I flipped through the mostly black and white pages of old quilts and patterns, I stopped short.  Glowing from the magazine in full color was some of the most dumbfounding quilt work I've ever seen....quilted clothing (above).  If you want to look especially cool, maybe try out one of these looks.  I am particularly fond of the yellow quilted sun robe.  Just so many things to love on these two pages!  I can't contain myself!

Exciting news on our home front: We recently found out that we get to go to Paris for 2 weeks!!  We have never been overseas, individually or together, so it will be a grand adventure for us both.  I have been attempting to learn a wee bit of French by watching youtube videos.  So far, I have mastered one sentence: "L'homme mange le poisson."  It means, "The man eats the fish."  I am really hoping for an opportunity to use that sentence.  Maybe if I'm lucky, Hubby will order some salmon at a restaurant.  I'll stand up, point to him, and exclaim, "L'homme mange le poisson!".  An eruption of applause will follow.  And I will be paraded down the avenue, held high in my chair by all my new Parisian friends.  And I will be wearing a ravishing quilted robe with a sun on it.  And perhaps a matching yellow beret.

Adieu.