August Twenty First

Fourscore and a hundred years ago a tiny turtle emerged at Millard Fillmore Hospital in Buffalo, New York.  The prognosis was for mediocrity from the get-go, and other than long life, at which this turtle seems to excel, she has little to recommend herself.

Can you tell from my party hat that it's my ___th birthday?  And here I sit without a cake in sight.

My legacy remains in a couple of hundred quilts neatly rolled up and stacked like cord wood.  Each one has a story that doesn't involve swimming long distances or eating vegetables and bugs.  So this is a note to my kids to take what you want, give the ones without the bo-jangles to the animal shelter for doggie beds, and the dumpster right outside my studio door gets the rest.  As you progress through my closets and drawers you'll find a bunch more, and over the next year or so they will occasionally FedEx their way home to me from various shows.  Sorry to give you this job, but hopefully you won't need to deal with it for another decade or two.  We'll see.  

Sure would like a piece of cake.