Deja Pallooza

Okay.  Not 30 seconds after I sat down at my Bernina to work on my iBuddy tote bag, the machine stopped working.  Specifically, the needle stopped going up and down.  The machine hummed, the feed dogs fed - but nadda from the needle.  WHASSUP WITH THAT?  After a frantic phone call to the Bernina place that just did the brain transplant, cleaning and repair, I found out it was a "mechanical issue" and was not covered in my 6 month "all work, etc. " warranty.  Seriously.  SERIOUSLY?  I'll give you seriously - I'm seriously pissed off.  I need to get it fixed, but I'm shopping for a new repair place.

Back to the drawing board - back to my cherry pallooza tribute wall hanging.  It's all hand sewing, so I guess I can do that without a machine, right?  Rats. I was SO in the mood.

iNeed iPad Distraction

My cup runneth so far over I can't see daylight.  If you are a praying reader, please remember 3 dear souls (and their families) who are negotiating life passages as we   e-speak.  That's all I'm gonna say for now.

I need a project that will occupy and  ease my mind for a while.  Nothing is quite as capable of  soothing my spirit (and confusing my brain) as making a project that involves a zipper.  I was recently (and most magnificently) gifted with an iPad and a wireless keyboard.  I decided to take some trip-treat fabric from a friend's recent journey to Paris and fashion myself a stylish little tote bag for my newest, bestest iBuddy.  I'm not sure which handles to use (the pink ones are much pinker than they appear here) or how it will all sort out, but I'm home for a day and I have nothing to do until 8PM when Joe gets home and I whip up a simple carbonara for supper.  Wish me luck.  Pray for my peeps.  Thank you.

Ladies in Limbo

I have known for some time now that I am no longer the "target audience" for advertisers, movie makers, shoe,  purse, dress or other  fashionista types.   I have literally been there and bought that.  I am no longer that stupid. I don't live for trends, what is  "in season,"   what is not,  or what other people (or magazines)  think or dictate.   I have become what I used to hold in contempt - I am the woman in Glamour magazine with the black bar across my eyes - the GLAMOUR DON'T,   if you will.

I'm okay with that.  But there is a problem.  I am not dead yet.

This became more apparent than ever two nights ago as I found myself shopping for shoes.  Frankly, I'd rather have my colon irrigated than  go shoe shopping.  (At least I could drop a few pounds in the process and have something to show for the effort.)  Normally I just go online to Zappos and order my shoes, sending back whatever does not fit.  This time I needed something quick and was keen to find something to fit comfortably over a slightly dented left  foot. (Proof positive that vacuuming is hazardous to your health - especially if you drop the heavy new attachment on your foot.)

I went in to one of those DSW shoe superstores (first mistake) that claim to be thee source for great shoes.  I felt like I walked into a time warp - was it the late 70's?  Was disco back?  Are hooker shoes all that women wear to work now?  The first 4 or 5 rows were dismissed without a second look - I already ruined my feet in my 20's with those stupid high, spiked heels.   Granted, I weighed about 120 pounds. I also chain smoked, drank coke for breakfast, and lived on Doritos and peanut butter  toast.   (My early 20's were the  peak  of bad-decisions-all-around when it came to my health and my feet. )  I wanted something - dare I say it - comfortable?  I wanted real shoes, nice style,  well constructed and smart-looking.  The array of shoes said either "hooker" or "nursing home"  - there were no shoes in between the two extremes.  No shoes for the ladies in limbo.

Why is it that clothing and shoes for women in their VERY early 50's are either one extreme or the other?  What happened to classics?  What happened to tailored shirts, jackets with shape, beautiful woven fabrics?  I have shopped up and down the pay scale and cannot believe what passes for quality. If I am at Nordstroms  I should be able to expect some nice quality for the price, right?  Seam finishes?  Forget it.  Shape?  No way.   No tucks or darts.  Or style.  I am not ready for the Alfred Dunner separates for a long time, thank you, and I do wish there was an easier way out than going back to sewing for myself again because that means less time for quilting and sewing the things I enjoy.

I am about 90% ready to go there, though.  I  am ready to go back to my tracing wheels and dressmakers carbon and hem gauges and pins.  I still have a few patterns, too.  I think my Bernina might blow up if I start sewing anything but quilts on it but that is a chance I might have to take.  I have no idea what I'll do about shoes, though.  There is a limit to what I'm willing to make for myself, and I know they would probably turn out worse than some of the old fuddy duddy shoes available now. There was a little girl in the museum yesterday with the cutest shoes that lit up and sparkled when she walked.  I want a pair of THOSE.

Waiting for Randot

Remember the Samuel Beckett play, Waiting for Godot? This one rhymes, but his last name does not have the "t".  I spent almost all of last  Monday at Mass General Hospital in Boston while a friend was in surgery.  I have done a lot of time in hospitals as a patient, but not as the patient advocate/support buddy.  The ensuing days were full of commuting to Lowell to work, commuting to Boston to bedside-sit, and then back home late at night. It was a remarkable week, full of insights on the human condition and a reminder of the suffering going on all around us 24/7 and 365.  Overhearing conversations in waiting rooms and hospital cafeterias should be mandated about once a month for all of us - it puts so much into perspective and  allows us to realize not all of our problems are so terrible.  It also gives us the opportunity to enrich our own  souls by praying for the health and well-being of  those lives  briefly glimpsed and overlapped with our own.

Knowing I would have a lot of  time on my hands I packed up my little cathedral window table runner blocks to bring with me,  thinking it would be a good time to finish up the project. (This picture shows it when it was a  work in progress.)  I'm more pleased that it is finished than I am with how it actually looks.  It is one of those projects that looks pretty simple on the surface, but matching those exacting intersections and seam allowances is entirely another matter. It was very therapeutic to be in a stressful situation with some hand sewing.  I found it made me calmer and - in turn - a better patient advocate. I had a few moments when I wanted to go postal and  make like Shirley Maclaine in Terms of Endearment (GIVE MY DAUGHTER  THE SHOT !!!!!) but managed much more successful methods of requesting medication and attention for my friend.  After  a  couple of trips to the nurses desk, the nurse informed me I could just use the call button and request what I needed.  ( I already knew that, but I wasn't going to tell her.)  I just smiled and said it felt good to get up and walk around a little.  While I have enormous respect for the work nurses do, I also know that things happen faster when you request nicely and face to face.  I did not bust chops,  I wasn't a pain in anyone's ass, but I'm not allowing anyone to be a pain in mine (or my friend's) either, and the previous night we politely  waited two hours for a simple  sandwich that never did show up for my very, very hungry patient. I am a reasonable person, but that is the kind of thing that makes  me change gears and ramp it up.  Aside from the fact that I could make Shirley Maclaine look like a piker by comparison, it just isn't necessary to get ugly.    I think anything we do, sew, create, cook or tend to for another person should be done with compassion and love. Judging by what I have seen and heard over the past week,  we could all make an effort to make someone else's life or job easier.  In turn, ours will, too.

The Healing Power of Fabric Arts

A wonderful article about an artist to be featured in the next exhibit at the New England Quilt Museum.  Dr. Michele David has quite a story - and a marvelous talent.  You just want to grit your teeth at such an overachiever, but you gotta love her.  All that talent, brains and spirit in one woman - WOW!

A Healing Art by Sandra Lawson

Conversations with My Departed Quilting Mother

I need to make a confession.  You see, I was the recipient of my late mother's  Bernina 1090 sewing machine and every time I sit down to sew........she starts talking to me.  Most of the time she is pretty quiet,  but quick to yell when I'm sewing over pins or winding the bobbin too fast (and not paying attention).   Lately we have had some interesting conversations.  Here is a sampling of what happened recently when I was going to make up some potholders for my own kitchen:

ME:  Okay, today I think I'll work on....

MOM:  With that thread?  The color isn't quite right.

ME:   I know, but I'm not in the mood to re-thread the machine and wind a bobbin and it's just a couple of stupid potholders that Joe will spill sauce on and it will be stained and besides shutup, I don't care.

MOM:   You know Joannie, you had that same attitude when you were trying to cover that cigar box with contact paper for your 4-H project when you were in 6th grade.

ME:   Jeez, Mom,  I can't believe you remember that.  I hated that project.

MOM:   It showed. The end result was you  got a white ribbon and I think they gave that to you out of sympathy.

ME:   Thanks for reminding me, Mom, that humiliating memory HAD vanished long ago.

MOM:     Aren't you going to measure that fabric?
ME:    No,  Mom,  it's a potholder.  It will be potholder-sized appropriate.  I like doing these things, no rules, no seam allowance

MOM: That is good, because you still have not mastered a consistent ¼ inch seam.

ME:   I know, I know.  How did you do it?

MOM:  I sewed about ten thousand of them.  That’s how you do it.

ME:   Well, thanks, anything else?
MOM:   You get too tense when you sew, your shoulders start hunching up and your neck gets stiff.  You have to relax, get in to the rhythm of it. You also have a lead foot, you need to slow down.  That machine has a button to keep you sewing at ½ speed you know, why don’t you use it?

ME:   Because I don’t have a lot of time to sew and I feel like I want to get a lot done.

MOM:   That’s good.  Get a lot done.  It will look like crap, but you’ll get a lot done. Would it kill you to put on some lipstick?
ME:   Mom, I’m home, no one sees me all day.

MOM:  So what’s your excuse on work days?  I never see you with lipstick. I never would have left the house without it.

ME:   I know. (Trying to continue sewing)   I’m 52, Mom, I’m not going to start now.

MOM:   Well then at least bite your upper and lower lips a little, that will give you some color…..

ME:   Yes, Mom.  I remember you doing that a lot.  I thought it was because you were angry.

MOM:   Well, most of the time I was mad at one of you kids, but I did it to keep my lips pink when I didn’t have a lipstick handy.

ME:   That’s nice, Mom.

MOM:   What is the  stuff you are putting in that potholder?
ME:   Well, I usually use squares from an old,  cut up mattress pad because  they are soft and thick, but this is a new product that is very thin but has a super heat-resistant layer.

MOM:    That’s nice. I’d put that on top of a square of mattress pad if I were you.

ME:    I was thinking about that……I’m not sure if I trust it.

MOM:    Listen to your Mother….

ME :   Okay, Mom, you’re probably right.
MOM:   No “probably” about it.   I am also right about your hair – why don’t you get that short cut you had when you finished high school?  That was your best haircut, it looked so nice.

ME:   Mom, that was 1976 and every girl had that Dorothy Hammill skater  haircut. I’m not going to get a haircut that is 34 years old and only looks nice when you spin around.

MOM:   OH Jo, you are so rigid sometimes.  You are so like your stubborn Scott(ish) father.

ME:    Excuse me? You don’t think this is from your Irish blood?
MOM:    Don’t be ridiculous.  And watch the binding there, you aren’t going to have a nice mitered corner if you sew too close to the edge and….

ME:    Damnit.  I went to far.  These are going to look like they were done when I was having a martini…
MOM:    Or two.  I don’t know how you drink those things.
ME:    I don’t know how you drank vodka and Squirt. That stuff was sour and vile.

MOM:    Vodka and Squirt was a lovely drink, and if you had 6 kids and a sick husband you would be pretty damn happy to enjoy one at the end of the day.

ME:   Oh, yeah, true, I don’t blame you.  How does this potholder look?
MOM:    Well, not bad. Maybe a red ribbon from the 4H judges.  I don’t know why you are worried about it, you should be working on one of those unfinished quilts.
ME:    I know, I know.  I just wanted to sew a little something and get warmed up.
MOM:  That’s my girl.  Now relax, slow down, and remember to get up and stretch once in awhile.

And that is pretty much how it goes.  I love sewing on her machine (it will always be her machine.) On the days I sit down to sew and don’t hear her voice I never sew as well.  I miss her terribly, and sewing at that machine is the time I feel closest to her.

I will often wear one of her old necklaces to work, and frequently wear a silver thimble keep on a long chain. Inside is her sewing thimble.  I like “taking her to work” with me, especially when we open a new exhibit.  I always hear her quilt commentary in my head.  (She swears more now that no one else can hear her.) Whenever I see paisley fabric fat quarters I pick them up and  think, “I’ll put these away for her birthday…” and then remember that I can’t give them to her anymore.  The realization still makes me weepy.

Then I think about it. The power of love continues to astonish me. Not even death can diminish or  alter the love between a mother and child.  If anything,  the love  has grown  stronger, wiser and is more nourishing.   I certainly keep learning from her, and I know I'm a better quilter because of her.

Thanks Mom – I love you, and heck - I love  your Bernina,  but mostly because it keeps me close to you. A girl never stops needing her mother. I promise to work harder on that 1/4 inch seam thing, too.