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HTC Incredible and Jelly Bean: How I almost “bricked” my phone, and what it took to recover it:
I feel I owe it to others who may have done likewise to set out a record of what I did, and how I fixed it. The notes that follow are VERY technical and arcane to the world of hacking one’s smartphone, and for most of my blog’s readership I’d suggest passing this one by, unless you are hip to this kind of stuff. If you want to read on from curiosity, well, good for you!
What this is NOT: This isn’t notes on how to successfully get Jelly Bean on your Dinc. It’s all about recovering from a phone that is trapped in a boot loop after attempting to get Jelly Bean, and is further incapable of loading and booting a nandroid recovery rom.
My phone is a Verizon ADR6300, ie, an original HTC Incredible, and pretty old as smartphones go. As soon as I obtained it, I rooted the device, and have from time to time done my own Android upgrades by cook-booking the process from information in the various forums.
It was running Cyanogenmod 7 and somebody’s stock rom of Gingerbread since last summer, and as I’d had good success a few days earlier updating my Toshiba Thrive tablet to Jelly Bean, I was looking to see if this was now possible for the “Dink”.
Notes on the phone, how it was rooted, etc, because I’m fairly certain that being non-specific about those details is what may have led to my problems:
ADR6300
Android v.2.3.7
Baseband 2.15.00.07.28
Kernel 2.6.37.6-cyanogenmod+jistone @folkvanger #6
CPU ARMv7 Processor rev2 (v7l)
Mod version: CyanogenMod-7.2.0-inc
Build: GWK74
The phone had been rooted using the techniques shown at unrevoked.com , but quite some time ago: more than two years, I think, and without any recent updates. THIS IS LIKELY WHY I RAN INTO TROUBLE.
Here’s the specifics on how my Dinc was set up as unrooted at the time of my near-bricking, using unrevoked-forever, with PB31IMG.zip, and S-OFF. The bootloader showed this:
HBOOT-0.79.0000
MICROP-0417
TOUCH PANEL-ATMEL224_16ab
RADIO-2.15-00.07.28
ClockworkMod Recovery v2.5.0.5
Setting out:
I read up on how to update the Dinc to Jelly Bean, made a nandroid backup of my current working installation, backed up my contacts, used TitaniumBackup for my apps, and downloaded a Jelly Bean rom, and the associated Gapps.
I booted the phone into ClockworkMod 2.5.0.5 (volume down + on to HBOOT, then select RECOVERY with vol up/down, then press ON). Once in the Clockwork menus, I used vol up/down to select wipe data/factory reset, committed to it, and executed it. Next, selected wipe cache partition, committed to it, and executed it. Next, went to the advanced menu, selected Wipe Dalvik Cache, committed to it, and executed it. Those three tasks done, navigated to the main ClockworkMod menu again (one press of on/off button), scrolled down to ‘Install Zip from sdcard’, and selected the CM-10 rom for installation. I used this one from http://goo.im/devs/tiny4579/inc/cm10 , cm-10-20130118-TINY-inc.zip . After that installation ran, I again chose ‘install zip from sdcard’, selected gapps-jb-20121011-signed.zip , and installed that.
Unfortunately, I didn’t closely note the messages generated by those two installs. Anyway, as I went to reboot the phone, it got as far as the white HTC Incredible screen, and got no further. It was hung up at that screen for longer than 30 minutes, and could not progress. In the next couple of hours, I tried a different Jelly Bean rom, with no better results. (the rom was this one: jellybean-inc-RC3.zip) .
At that point, I abandoned trying to make JB work.
Fortunately, I was still able to get into HBOOT and CWM, so I selected ‘backup and restore’ in CWM’s main menu, selected ‘restore’, pointed it at my nandroid backup of Gingerbread that I’d made that morning, and launched it. Alas, it reported a number of errors, and was unable to build a working android system in the phone. It got past the white HTC Incredible start up panel, but went dark beyond that, and wouldn’t boot. The best clue was an error resembling this one:
E: Can't mount /dev/block/mmcblk0p2 (File exists)
The next eight hours or so were spent in searching for a fix online. The most helpful post I found was this one: http://forum.cyanogenmod.org/topic/6433-solved-messed-up-partitions-on-internal-storage/
The thread concerned a guy who was getting pretty much the same errors I was experiencing on attempting the nandroid recovery. There were two partitions in the phone’s memory that were failing to mount. His errors (below) were almost identical to mine:
E: Can't mount /dev/block/mmcblk0p2 (File exists) E: Can't mount CACHE:recovery/log E: Can't mount /dev/block/mmcblk0p2 (File exists)
Alas, I didn’t precisely record my error messages at the time, but they were VERY close to his, and centered on being unable to mount the /data and /cache partitions of the phone’s memory. The thread with these clues was very long, but the key help came from this section (#7) Here’s what he wrote:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Here’s the solution.
The problem was that I managed to screw up the partitions on my internal storage card, so basically nothing would work properly. I could still get into recovery, though. That’s key.
Here’s what you’ll need:
- Working recovery, basic knowledge of adb & the shell
- Parted (download here)
- stock PB31IMG.zip
Note also that I had run unrevoked forever (so my phone was S-OFF) … I’m not sure if that’s required or not.
So, grab parted from the link above. Now you need to extract the individual binaries from the .zip (the 6 files in the sdparted folder within the zip), ideally to your android-sdk\tools directory. Now push all 6 files (adb push [file] /sbin/). Next, we need to make them useable, so go into the shell (adb shell). Change to your /sbin/ directory, and run: chmod 0755 <file> on each of the 6 files.
Now, we need to fix the partitions. This is assuming that the partitions are there, just the wrong format (which is what happened to me .. I accidentally made them FAT32 instead of ext). So, run the following: parted /dev/block/mmcblk0 mkfs ext2. It will ask if you want to continue, hit yes. When it asks for the partition number, enter 1. Next, when it asks for the format, enter ext2. Let it do its thing. Now, once it’s done, run parted again. This time, enter partition 2 (everything else is the same).
Once all that’s done, your recovery program should be able to mount both the /data and /cache partitions. If that’s true, you’re pretty much done! One thing I found was that I couldn’t directly install a new OS (I tried both Cyanogen and Ultimate). In both cases, it would look for stuff in the davik-cache that it couldn’t find, so something wasn’t installing correctly I think. So, if that happens, flash back to the stock PB31IMG.zip (put it in the root of your /sdcard/ and let hboot install it), and then root your phone anew. That’s what I ended up doing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now, there WERE differences between his situation and mine. Most of his problem seemed focused on the partitions having been somehow reset to the wrong filetypes. On my phone, the filetypes appeared to be ok, but I suspect that they had been resized somehow by the Jelly Bean installer rom. Nevertheless, the basic steps this guy had taken to recover his phone ARE WHAT WORKED for me.
If you’ve read this far, I’m guessing you have an almost dead Dinc, and are hoping for a precise guide of what to do next. Be warned! I’m only reconstructing the late hours of a very bad day from memory, so please take the following notes as an outline to guide you, but IT’S NOT A RECIPE you can completely trust. You’re going to need to read, and think, and proceed cautiously if this is going to work, maybe. If you don’t have command-line experience in linux, and a basic understanding of navigating through file structures and permissions, and using command line partitioning tools, well, go find someone who does, and ride shotgun as they try this out for you.
Here’s what I went and did:
- I installed android sdk tools to my Windows desktop system. Google was helpful in locating a download for them: http://developer.android.com/tools/sdk/tools-notes.html
- The main thing about step 1. is getting ADB working as a command you can access from the Windows Command box. I’d used ADB before, and there was a re-learning curve to get the hang of it again, but this guide was helpful getting started: http://droidlessons.com/how-to-install-adb-on-a-windows-7-pc/ The business about changing the path variable isn’t really necessary, because you can execute adb if you simply navigate to where you installed it. It’s less elegant, but I was in a hurry to fix my damned phone.
- Follow the guy’s link (http://www.sendspace.com/file/w6hi6x), and download the sdparted-recovery.zip file. It’s a command set of partitioning tools. Unzip and put those executable files into the same place where adb.exe is, so it’s easy to move and use them where needed when you get to that part.Ok, those first three steps all took place on your desktop system. It’s time to connect your phone to the desktop and test adb’s ability to work within the phone.:
- Connect the phone’s usb cable to the desktop system, and boot the phone with “vol down + on” to get to the HBOOT screen. Watch the messages there. After a few seconds you should see HBOOT USB PLUG. Then launch Recovery from the HBOOT menu. The phone is now tethered to the desktop.
- Test adb, by running cmd to open a command line box on the desktop. (Win+R keys together, then type cmd in the Run Window). Then navigate using the cd command to the path where you installed sdk tools, and the parted tools. (For me the path I used was c:\program files\android\android-sdk\platform-tools). The dir command will show you if adb.exe is in there. If so, try typing:
adb devices
If the desktop is connected to your phone, it will give you;
List of devices attached
HT00XX1234 …… recovery
…or something like that.
If you’ve unzipped the six sdparted files into the same directory as adb.exe, then you are ready to move those files into your phone using the command:
adb push <filename> /sbin/
Do this for each of the six files (e2fsck, mke2fs, parted, resize2fs, sdparted, tune2fs).
Next, make them useable by changing their permissions: Use:
adb shell
to start navigating the file structure within the phone. You will see:
~#_
Navigate using linux commands now, and enter the sbin directory by typing:
cd sbin
Use:
chmod 0755 <filename>
on each of the sdparted commands you pushed into that directory. Now the parted command will work when you go to run it on the phone within the adb shell environment.
This is a very good place to slow down and BE VERY CAREFUL! You are about to run commands that will alter the partioning of the phone’s internal memory. You might very well make things worse unintentionally if you get sloppy here. I cannot promise that what you are about to do won’t TOTALLY BRICK your phone. I got mine back again, but your milage may vary, and lead you down that highway to hell.
I knew at this point that the information I’d found and was working from didn’t precisely match what I had been seeing in my phone’s error messages, or in information I looked at within my phone. Mostly, the partition file names were a bit different, and as I’d said before, that guy was talking about have wrong filetypes specified in his structure, and that didn’t seem to be my exact problem.
At this point you need to be sure of the correct device block names of your /data and /cache partitions, and maybe your /sd-ext partition, too. You can find out by doing this:
cd /etc
cat fstab
This will print out the partition structure in your phone. The lines that matter are those referencing the suspected bad partitions. The suspect partitions are the ones you’ve been seeing in your error messages on failed nandroid recovery attempts. For me those were, I think:
/dev/block/mmcblk0p1 /data auto rw
/dev/block/mmcblk0p2 /cache auto rw
It’s possible that the /sd-ext partition needed the parted command, too, but my notes and memory are incomplete here and I’m not exactly sure what I changed. Too, I’m guessing that the structure of the memory in the phone was changed again when I succeeded in running nandroid recovery after these steps, so for your situation let the error messages you’ve been getting be your guide. Less is generally more, when it comes to tinkering with re-partitioning. BE THOUGHTFUL AND BE CAREFUL.
The main thing is, I wouldn’t re-partition anything that wasn’t reporting a mounting error or formatting error of some sort as you were trying to get nandroid to do its thing.
Take a deep breath, and run:
parted /dev/block/mmxblkx mkfs ext2
using the block identifier that you think needs fixing. Leave off the “p” part of it. It will ask if you want to continue, hit yes. Then it will ask for the partition number: For me, I entered: 1. Next it might ask for the format, and enter: ext2 . Just as the author of the thread did, I needed to repeat this sequence for the second partition on the same block, like so:
parted /dev/block/mmxblkx mkfs ext2
Do you want to continue? -Yes
It asked me what partion number, and I entered: 2 , and it asked for the format, and I again entered: ext2 .
Now, you type:
exit
and that takes you out of the adb shell.
- At this point, you are ready to re-attempt the nandroid recovery of your previous working android version. Make sure the backup files are on the sd card in the phone. I disconnected my phone from the desktop system, and rebooted into HBOOT, and then clockworkmod recovery in the usual way. Then followed the menu to “backup/restore” , “restore”, and chose the image of the system I’d saved that morning: -2013-01-27.55/ I pressed the button, confirmed my choice, and set it in motion.
And it worked!
I sincerely hope these notes will help someone out of a frustrating situation. At this point, I have notions of what I might try if I re-attempt to install Jelly Bean, but I’m a little gun-shy, and in no hurry to waste an entire day again with a broken phone. From what I’ve read, I do think the old ADR6300 can be made to run Jelly Bean, but it would be very wise to update ClockworkMod Recovery to something more recent first. That’s my best guess.
If anyone reading this has any insight as to why my partitons got screwed up from what I did with Jelly Bean, I’d be really glad to know. Please leave comments.
How Cats Lap Up Milk…
Just in case you were wondering:
A Whelk’s Chance in a Supernova…
Adelaide, Australia reached 113 degrees F. in the first week of this year, with higher temperatures expected elsewhere. The Australian interior anticipates temperatures widely topping 120 F. this summer. Forecasters and climatologists have added two new colors to the temperature mapping system in Australia.
It bears consideration that our planet is not a static system. The Sahara wasn’t always a desert. West Texas was once an inland sea. And climatic change doesn’t necessarily take thousands of years to progress.
Inconvenient truth. Al Gore couldn’t have chosen a better title, unless, perhaps, he’d borrowed a phrase from Douglas Adam’s ‘Life, the Universe, and Everything’. A snatch of dialoge :
“True? Of course it’s true.”
“… then we don’t stand a whelk’s chance in a supernova.”
“A what?” said Arthur sharply again. He had been following the conversation doggedly up to this point, and was keen not to lose the thread now.
“A whelk’s chance in a supernova,” repeated Ford without losing momentum. “The …”
“What’s a whelk got to do with a supernova?” said Arthur.
“It doesn’t,” said Ford levelly, “stand a chance in one.”
This passage and the chapter it’s from didn’t specifically refer to climate change, but rather concerned a galactic disaster born of tribal differences and impending war, but Adams, as so often in his quirky fiction, made the brilliant leap in linking the most extreme of environmental disasters, “a whelk’s chance in a supernova”, to the pernicious, wasteful distraction of tribal warfare.
My birth tribe has been American West-European Judeo-Christian Transplants with a big dose of New York regionalism.
My chosen tribe has become the tribe of listening, thinking, analytical, scientific, mystic/mythic-skeptic, who would prefer to not hurt a spider, because they are much harder to put back together than they are to take apart. This tribe transcends race and region, because listening and thinking, although not universal, is widespread. Pursued in a healthy manner, and to a logical outcome, listening and thinking will generally result in kindness, tolerance, and empathy.
If you aren’t spending all your time fretting about who’s god is the real god, and imagining that your birth-tribe is the best and only GOOD tribe, there actually IS time enough in the day to step back, and connect the dots on climate change, and maybe take a step or two back from ending up as a sizzling amuse bouche of escargot in clarified butter.
I’ll save you looking it up, as I had to do. A whelk is a snail…
The Dead-Blog Blog
So, from time to time the Postmaster at the Swiftpassage webs will get a robotic email from the WordPress system cheerfully informing me that qrrkcft@numnutz.lv, or some equally prosaic entity, has applied for citizenship as a “member” of this blog. More excitingly, they might have placed (or attempted to place) 173 or so new spamments, offering up their insights on what’s here to read, along with enticing offers for services, or goods. Most often the latter are pharmaceuticals with charmingly mispelled names, such as Ciagra or Vialis.
( Incidentally, and appropos of nothing at all, my father’s preferred hair grooming tonic, back in the “Mad Men” sixties was a fragrant liquid called “Vitalis”, which was fortified with a magic ingredient called V-7, which made his hair kind of stiff. Google tells me this hair-groom is , through the good graces of the Clairol company, still available at Wal*Mart and through Amazon. Wikipedia, however, seems not to have heard of it. Indeed, the disambiguation choices at Wikipedia for Vitalis are intent on sorting out a platoon of Middle Age monks and saints, most of whom lived in hermetic seclusion, probably because of poor hair grooming, due, perhaps, to a lack of stiffness?)
Because I cannot vouch for the safety of Ciagra should it be a pharmaceutical, although, I suppose it MIGHT be a simple transposition error for the plural of cigars in Latvian, (Well, noo, Google-translate tells me that “cigara” in Latvian means “weed”. Oh, wait, I wonder! Now, that’s a pharmaceutical I’d not have suspected…), nor can I report on the efficacy of Vialis, it seems prudent to remove these offers and links to commercial websites! However, I could imagine making an exception for “Vialis, With V-7”. Yes, I’d let that one pass.
Long story short, this is the kind of problem a web blog develops when IT SITS TOO LONG!
I have been remiss! Bless me WordPress, for I have sinned! It have been almost SIX MONTHS since my last confessions here, and we have both suffered for it. In this, the new year, the first since the expiration of the Mayan calendar, I shall make amends. I am determined to post something, A N Y T H I N G, at least monthly, to extirpate my past sins of omission, and to expiate the Mayan gods, who have so graciously allowed us this new year, at least until the next asteroid lines up on us.
I feel better already! Now, I’ve got to go run an errand; it seems I’m running low on hair gel…
Election Year Politics
The book I’m editing this week is about bullying in our schools and how to avoid it. The radio I’m listening to this week is NPR talk radio and it’s talking about politics. Suddenly I’m hit by the confluence of the two.
Politicians are bullying the public.
Here’s a definition of a bully, quoted from my book:
Bullying occurs when one or more individuals (bullies) impose their power (physical, social, and/or intellectual) over one or more individuals (victims/targets) with the intent to gain control over, to embarrass, or to inflict harm or discomfort. Over time, bullies repeatedly pick on victims (Olweus, 1993). Three primary elements distinguish teasing from bullying: (a) imbalance of power, (b) personal pain (physical, emotional, or social), and (c) persistence over time. In summary, bullies attempt to gain power or control over victims; bullies cause pain either physically, emotionally, or socially; and bullies persist in these attempts.
Now try substituting “political parties” for the word bully—and what do you have:
Bullying occurs when one or more politicial parties impose their power … over one or more individuals with the intend to gain control over, to embarras, or to inflict harm or discomfort.
This isn’t a perfect correlation, but I submit that’s mostly because they embarrass themselves more than they embarrass the average citizen. But the rest of it? It holds. For both political parties, I might add, but mostly for the Republican Party (because that’s the way I’m wired, though I’m trying to be kind of objective here).
Political parties definitely have more power than individual people, and they want to gain control over our votes, our money, our lives (“Vote for me!” “Send a donation!” “You’re not allowed to [fill in the blank].” (My mind fills in “be gay,” “have an abortion,” but you could also fill that in with words of your choice. I’m not trying to make this about Republicans and Democrats, but about our political process.)
But what about the “intent to harm or discomfort”? I think they definitely intend to do just that, under the guise of “knowing what’s right for us.” I’m NOT advocating anarchy, but at the same time, I think greed and fear of change are driving our political parties to say and do things that are not in our best interests. They need to go back to their roots and get their power FROM the people, not OVER the people.
Part of me says, “Those are just words, spun so that they confuse us.” (I admit to being easily confused, even going so far as to confuse myself.) But let’s look at the rest of the quote: “(Political parties) attempt to gain power or control over victims; bullies cause pain either physically, emotionally, or socially; and bullies persist in these attempts.”
Who could argue with that? That’s exactly what politicial parties do.
I don’t know what to do with this revelation that political parties are bullies. I suspect the answer is that we need to rise up as a group and do something about the bully, without becoming bullies ourselves (and therein lies the problem). But running away from a bully only makes him stronger.
There–do with it what you will, but this is what’s on my mind today.
‘Anything for Billy’ by Larry McMurtry, a review
Anything for Billy by Larry McMurtry
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
McMurtry’s books have never disappointed me. I picked up this and another, ‘Buffalo Girls’, at a flea market last month, without any sense of when they’d been written, and simply tucked into them one after the other. They were a well-chosen pair, in that both novels are concerned with converting the histories of rather unpalatable people into characters in a story worth reading, but with greater honesty than the dime novels of the early 20th century.
In ‘Anything for Billy’, McMurtry’s narrator, Ben Sippy, is, himself, a dime novelist, and arguably the true protagonist of the tale McMurtry has spun from the real history of William Bonney. Sippy’s voice and vision, his sense and durability, and the depth of his own experience provide the narrative grist that allows detail, clarity and perspective in the telling of events. “Billy Bone”, himself, proves too simple and erratic to make sense of his own being. Billy’s other trail companion, Joe Lovelady, alternatively, is too steady and phlegmatic to lend his voice. Sippy’s story, however, arcs out of an escape from genteel circumstances in Philadelphia, to land, finally, on the west coast of southern California, the two coasts of the American continent being the only “parentheses” broad enough to encompass McMurtry’s West.
If this book interests you, I’d strongly recommend reading this review by Jack Butler in the New York Times back in 1988.
Facebook Poke!
Rural Life in All Its Glory–Not!
This is a blog about what it’s like to live in rural Georgia. For a city girl, I might add. This is the first I’ve lived in a rural area, and there are parts of it that are thoroughly and awesomely beautiful and wonderful. And there are parts that are not. Today I’m concentrating on the not-so-thrilling parts because that’s the kind of mood I’m in. Now, if you grew up in a rural area, none of this is going to be all that difficult to deal with and you’ll consider the possibility that I’m a whiney citified sissy. Build a bridge and get over it. This is my blog and I’ll whine if I want to. (Alternatively, you could tell me that I’m here and might as well make the best of it—or, in other words, “Ann, build a bridge and get over it.” Words to live by.)
Distance. That’s the big thing. It’s so freaking far to anywhere. I grant you, it’s 25 or so miles to Wal-Mart. That is an extremely good thing, except when I need kitty litter right this minute. And 12 miles to the nearest grocery story (the “Baby Pig”) or 25 miles (the “Big Pig”) doesn’t sound so bad, until you consider it takes an hour or more to get a half-gallon of milk and a cup of sugar (and don’t even think the word organic). This requires that I must plan ahead and remember everything on my list. I can do these things, but I prefer to “wing it.” A doctor’s visit? Might as well take the whole day off. Fresh vegetables? Well, if you want “grown in China with unknown pesticides on them,” sure, they’re available. Otherwise, only in the freezer section of the Baby Pig. What it boils down to is choice—I have limited choices, and I don’t like any of them. I could drive an hour to find what I want—but at what cost? Sure the lettuce is organic and fresh at the CSA in Savannah, but it would take a regular commitment to take how many hours out of my life, how many gallons of gas? It’s a trade-off I’m not willing to make, but I still miss having the choice.
People. I miss the diversity of people. The people in my neighborhood are, by and large, gracious, friendly, intelligent people—I just want more of them. I find the crush of humanity (within limits) to be reassuring, comforting. Sirens in the night are not something to be feared, they’re something to be grateful for (that we have rescue personnel who make it their life’s business to rescue those of us unfortunate enough to need them). Yes, more people means more crime and more “bad” people—but it also means more energy, more of a sense of being alive. Kind of like living through the Titanic disaster (the actual event, not the movie)—a bonding with those you have something in common with. And in a city, you can always find people with whom you have things in common. If today I want to wear frog pajamas in public, I can Google “frog pajamas” and find a support group of like-minded people all ready to be my new, albeit temporary, friends. (Maybe not literally—I don’t own any frog pajamas—but I hope you get my drift. And if you don’t, well, I could find a group who does. If I were in a city, which I’m not.)
Bugs, spiders and snakes. Okay, I know there are bugs in cities—roaches and the like. But most of them don’t bite. I’m tired of bugs that bite, the smell of bug spray in the morning, itching all summer long, checking for ticks in my increasing number of nooks and crannies. I’m tired of looking out for spiders and snakes when I head outside to garden. I’m tired of paying an exterminator to come and poison all the critters than wander inside, and worrying about what those poisons do to me (but not worrying so much that I want to live with those same critters in my house). This does have a good side—the raccoon who has taken to visiting our back deck at about 6:30 every evening. I find he’s cute and adorable; Elliott sees a monster who chews nails, spits out roofing tiles, and is capable of creating a site of nuclear destruction in our attic. Balanced, we keep our distance and hope he keeps his.
And don’t even think about extolling the presumed wonderfulness of Spanish moss. This is what it might look like to you, all romantic and wafty breezes:
And this is what it looks like to me, all smothery and scary, killing the grass underneath when it falls. And where does it all come from, anyway?
Coffee bars and gyms. I miss going and sitting in a café where I don’t know anybody, just sipping my coffee and watching people, an anonymous woman of mystery (or so I like to pretend). I miss going to the gym to work out (and yeah, yeah, I know it’s gorgeous to run in my neighborhood). I just talked myself out of a triathlon because I have no place to train for a 1.5 mile swim, and I’m not young enough or stupid enough to think I can do that without training. Whine, whine, whine, I know. If these are the worst problems I can come up with, I’m pretty darn lucky. Which I am, and I know it. Privileged, one might even say.
Mostly trivial and superficial stuff, I accept that. But there’s that undefinable sense that some place is “home.” It’s been four years plus, and I haven’t found it here yet. I’m trying to make it home, but like a bulb forced to flower out of season, it’s a continual effort.
Whine, whine. See that half-constructed bridge over there? Rather than seeing it as a bridge to nowhere, maybe it’s a magical door to someplace called home. Maybe. I’m creeping my way towards it.
Quilting Room (such as it is)
Here are two photos of my quilting room. One wall is a pair of double doors to the outside; another wall is open to Elliott’s computer room. The remaining two walls (each with a door) are my quilting spaces.
Beneath the card table are my bins full of fabric. Organized? Not hardly. I periodically go through and try to sort by color, but invariably come across stripes that are both blue and green–so which pile do I put in in? And florals? I’m lost.
The bookshelf on top of the card table is closed in this photo (to keep the cats out), but nine times out of ten, I leave it open and soon find a cat in the basket.
Shelves above my machine are on my dream list, as is something to keep all the fabrics sorted and organized. I have been known to buy fabric that’s perfect for a quilt border only to find the same fabric already in my bin. A memory would also help.
Oh, and a cutting table. It’s the kitchen counter. If nothing else, it makes me clean the counter every so often really, really well.