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Kiki and the Watermelon Festival


By Joanna Campbell Slan

Detweiler smiled at me as I handed him a tall glass of iced tea. “I think you should go.”

I turned from him to our kitchen window.  Summer in St. Louis can be oppressive, and today was no exception. Each morning, moisture condensed on our windows, thanks to the A/C inside and the moist heat outside.  Old washcloths worked well to sop up the liquid and clear the glass so that we could see outside.  The lawn rolled on and on, a thick green carpet, perfect for welcoming bare feet. The happy shrieks of our two older children brought a smile to my face. They loved running through the sprinkler, an activity totally new to our adopted son, but one that my teenaged daughter enjoyed every summer.

“It’s a long drive.” I felt my face scrunch into a frown. “Three and a half hours.”

“Good. That’ll give you two plenty of time to catch up.” Detweiler came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “Kiki, you two were friends for a dozen years. I know you miss your relationship with Mert. She’s offering you an olive branch. Take it.”

“Take it and drive all the way to Vincennes, Indiana?” I turned so I could look into my husband’s amazing green eyes. “That’s a long, long branch, isn’t it? Okay, she wants to be friends again. Or does she? Is it possible she needs a co-pilot, and I’m the only person available? Maybe she doesn’t really even want me to go along with her.”

Detweiler leaned in close and kissed me lightly on the lips. “If she didn’t want you to come along, she wouldn’t have invited you. Mert asked you to go with her to Indiana because she wants to spend time with you. Quit being such a cranky pants. Now tell me–what did she say you two would be doing?”

For a second, I opened my mouth to protest. He’d already decided I should go. I still had my doubts. Sure, Mert and I’d been best friends since that fateful day we’d met in the cleaning products aisle in Home Depot. But all that had changed when she blamed me for her brother’s involvement in a shoot-out. Unfortunately, the target for the bullets had been little old me. As much as Mert had loved me, she loved her brother more.

“What are your plans?” Detweiler prompted me. As usual, he smelled of Safeguard soap and light cologne. He wasn’t a guy to soak himself, but he always smelled good.

Resistance was futile. I released the tension in my body and enjoyed the comfort of my husband’s arms. “A watermelon festival. That’s what our plans are. Mert assured me that it’s a major big deal in Vincennes. In fact, the town used to be called The Watermelon Capital of the World.”

Detweiler threw his head back and laughed heartily. “Who knew?”

I agreed. “There you have it. If I decide to accompany my friend, we’ll be driving three and a half hours to gore ourselves on all the watermelon we can eat. Woop-de-do.”

Again Detweiler laughed, but this time the sound was richer. “Lighten up, babe. It’s summertime, and the melons are easy picking. I predict that you and Mert will have a blast.”

“Right.” I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. In my heart of hearts, I knew he was right. This was my chance to mend fences with Mert. I needed to grab it.

But a three and a half hour drive in a truck for the purpose of eating watermelon? That did not seem very compelling. No, not at all.

~To be continued~

In Part II, we’ll visit Vincennes, Indiana, vicariously. A heat wave is the least of the problems that the two women face. Somehow they get involved in a crime. (Or did you guess that might happen?)

Kiki Lowenstein and the Watermelon Festival


By Joanna Campbell Slan

Detweiler smiled at me as I handed him a tall glass of iced tea. “I think you should go.”

I turned from him to our kitchen window.  Summer in St. Louis can be oppressive, and today was no exception. Each morning, moisture condensed on our windows, thanks to the A/C inside and the moist heat outside.  Old washcloths worked well to sop up the liquid and clear the glass so that we could see outside.  The lawn rolled on and on, a thick green carpet, perfect for welcoming bare feet. The happy shrieks of our two older children brought a smile to my face. They loved running through the sprinkler, an activity totally new to our adopted son, but one that my teenaged daughter enjoyed every summer.

“It’s a long drive.” I felt my face scrunch into a frown. “Three and a half hours.”

“Good. That’ll give you two plenty of time to catch up.” Detweiler came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “Kiki, you two were friends for a dozen years. I know you miss your relationship with Mert. She’s offering you an olive branch. Take it.”

“Take it and drive all the way to Vincennes, Indiana?” I turned so I could look into my husband’s amazing green eyes. “That’s a long, long branch, isn’t it? Okay, she wants to be friends again. Or does she? Is it possible she needs a co-pilot, and I’m the only person available? Maybe she doesn’t really even want me to go along with her.”

Detweiler leaned in close and kissed me lightly on the lips. “If she didn’t want you to come along, she wouldn’t have invited you. Mert asked you to go with her to Indiana because she wants to spend time with you. Quit being such a cranky pants. Now tell me–what did she say you two would be doing?”

For a second, I opened my mouth to protest. He’d already decided I should go. I still had my doubts. Sure, Mert and I’d been best friends since that fateful day we’d met in the cleaning products aisle in Home Depot. But all that had changed when she blamed me for her brother’s involvement in a shoot-out. Unfortunately, the target for the bullets had been little old me. As much as Mert had loved me, she loved her brother more.

“What are your plans?” Detweiler prompted me. As usual, he smelled of Safeguard soap and light cologne. He wasn’t a guy to soak himself, but he always smelled good.

Resistance was futile. I released the tension in my body and enjoyed the comfort of my husband’s arms. “A watermelon festival. That’s what our plans are. Mert assured me that it’s a major big deal in Vincennes. In fact, the town used to be called The Watermelon Capital of the World.”

Detweiler threw his head back and laughed heartily. “Who knew?”

I agreed. “There you have it. If I decide to accompany my friend, we’ll be driving three and a half hours to gore ourselves on all the watermelon we can eat. Woop-de-do.”

Again Detweiler laughed, but this time the sound was richer. “Lighten up, babe. It’s summertime, and the melons are easy picking. I predict that you and Mert will have a blast.”

“Right.” I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. In my heart of hearts, I knew he was right. This was my chance to mend fences with Mert. I needed to grab it.

But a three and a half hour drive in a truck for the purpose of eating watermelon? That did not seem very compelling. No, not at all.

~To be continued~

In Part II, we’ll visit Vincennes, Indiana, vicariously. A heat wave is the least of the problems that the two women face. Somehow they get involved in a crime. (Or did you guess that might happen?)

Boxed Set: Happy Homicides 3 & 4


How I Became a Knotty Girl


After my surgery, I decided to take up miniature rug making. But I had a few problems, so I decided to email the “Queen of French Knots” herself,  Teresa Layman.

Check out her Etsy page here: Teresa Layman

And this is Teresa’s response to my many questions:

Woohoo —  another Knotty girl!

First, I would suggest that you tighten the fabric in the hoop. Taut fabric makes easier stitching when it comes to French knots.

Also, my favorite hoop size is a 5″ Susan Bates hoop. I like it, because it fits my hand really well and I can use my fingers on the underside to feel if the thread has made any “birds nests” and with the 5″ size, I can reach across the whole back, so wherever I am working, I can feel that.

That being said, on larger designs, sometimes I will start on a 5″ hoop, work the center (so I can reach it easily) and then switch to a 6 or 7″ hoop for the outsides of the design. I do this so none of the knots will get squashed by being caught in the hoop.

To answer your questions: Outlines first or last?

If by “outlines” you mean a separate color in a single line of knots, then I do it first. The reason being I can see to stitch on that line. That’s what I mean in my instructions by “stitch the details first” (fine lines and dots, etc.). If you mean outlining a section of a colored space and then filling in with the same color, I don’t outline; instead I fill in the color working up to the line. Does that make sense? When my stitching reaches that line, I place my stitches just up to that side of the line, not on the line. Since all those knots have height, width and depth which is larger than the line, when I put in the stitches on the other side of the line, those knots will meet in the middle of that line and the knots on each side will take up about half of the line width. I know that is all really picky and technical, but that is how I get the results I want.

bees and hive rug

My attempt at the “Bees and Hive” rug by Teresa Layman.

Next question: How do you get the dots to line up?

 
If you mean on a line, I am very careful to stitch exactly on the line. I place the knots on a line very close together (but not on top of each other), and if the knots push each other out of the way, that’s ok. You have to think of the finished surface like a big community of knots and they all hold each other up. If you can push them back into line by running your thumbnails along each side of them, that is what the rest of the knots will do when you stitch them in and your line will be held neatly in place as long as you stitched on the line in the first place.

Joanna, I hope you are soon fully recovered from your surgery, and I’m so glad my little knotwork could help you through that! — Teresa Layman

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