HELP! I've got this thingie that has another thingie and I can't for the life of me figure out how this should fit on my Bernina 1090 and operate as a walking foot. Even the good people at @berninausa can't seem to fathom how this thing works. They said it fits the same way the new one does, but mine doesn't have a....um....."receptacle" for the machine to poke into. (Think male/female parts.) Here are a couple of pictures I shot with my iPod touch (my digi camera is MIA....)
[gallery link="file" columns="2"]
Anyone have a clue? ANYONE? It has a little arm that should go up and down if it were somehow connected to something, but it doesn't have the little "claw" at the end of it to hook on to your needle bar. It also has a long, l-shaped arm thingie that somehow hooks in to it and lets you use that to measure the distance between your quilting lines so you don't have to mark up your fabric. I really want to use a walking foot in my quilting SOMEDAY, but I have no idea how this thing works. I know my mom used it, but alas - that is one part of the enormous cargo of information that sailed when she did. I've tried using my MOMStar but that doesn't work either. Maybe I'll make a vodka and Squirt and see if I can channel her. (That reference was for my sisters. xxxx)
ANYONE?
Friday, September 23, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Magenta Vendetta
Color has always intimidated me. In my earliest youth I believed the power to unleash my vast artistic talents depended solely on getting the BIG BOX of Crayola Crayons when school started in the fall. Every year I wanted the big box - and every year I was let down. I can't blame my mom, she had 6 kids to buy schools supplies for and not much in the expendable resources department. Sure, I was blessed to start school wearing those beautiful dresses and outfits she slaved over, but all I really wanted that damn big box of crayons that had the crayon sharpener in the back. FOR REALS - a crayon sharpener! Oh, I knew I would be absolutely prolific if I had that weapon in my arsenal.
Magenta was the queen of the crayons. I loved that crayon color more than my own life. I always asked to borrow it from friends who had parents that loved them and did not abuse
them by sending them off to school in front of God and everybody with a measly 12 or 24 pack of crayons. M a g e n t a. Say it loud and it's almost like murmuring an enchantment. My brother Gary got the semi-big box one year and it had a magenta crayon...but he knew I loved it and never let me touch it. My opinion that brothers are turds was formed early.
To this day color still intimidates me. Up until a few years ago I wore only browns, blues, soft tones that just stayed in the back row and didn't clamor for attention. Quilting has helped change that in a big way. Now I look for clothing with a little POP of color and have a little somethin' funky behind them. It's hard to find them in clothing that is "suitable" for my age. I've long since lost the desire to show the world my "girls" - in fact, I'd donate them, I'm so tired of hauling them around. Ditto for pants that ride low on the hips or have great color but are ruined with a splatter of fake bleach or worse - rhinestones. Believe me, no one wants to see my ass bedazzled.
Fast forward to a blog surfing session about 3 weeks ago. I saw this done by a woman who did it for her nieces and I just loved it! I wish I could remember where I saw it so I could give her proper credit. My bad. Anyway, I thought I'd do it up and hang it in my sewing room as a reminder that color is now my friend. I went to the craft store to pick out a stretched canvas and headed over to look at the crayons. The whole GET THE BIG BOX thing came back to me so overwhelmingly I just grabbed it and threw it in the cart. HAH. I laughed all the way home, and squee'd as I fired up my hot glue gun and glued them on in a neat little row. Then I tipped the canvas on an angle, turned on my very hot blow dryer and this is the result:
Magenta was the queen of the crayons. I loved that crayon color more than my own life. I always asked to borrow it from friends who had parents that loved them and did not abuse
them by sending them off to school in front of God and everybody with a measly 12 or 24 pack of crayons. M a g e n t a. Say it loud and it's almost like murmuring an enchantment. My brother Gary got the semi-big box one year and it had a magenta crayon...but he knew I loved it and never let me touch it. My opinion that brothers are turds was formed early.To this day color still intimidates me. Up until a few years ago I wore only browns, blues, soft tones that just stayed in the back row and didn't clamor for attention. Quilting has helped change that in a big way. Now I look for clothing with a little POP of color and have a little somethin' funky behind them. It's hard to find them in clothing that is "suitable" for my age. I've long since lost the desire to show the world my "girls" - in fact, I'd donate them, I'm so tired of hauling them around. Ditto for pants that ride low on the hips or have great color but are ruined with a splatter of fake bleach or worse - rhinestones. Believe me, no one wants to see my ass bedazzled.
Fast forward to a blog surfing session about 3 weeks ago. I saw this done by a woman who did it for her nieces and I just loved it! I wish I could remember where I saw it so I could give her proper credit. My bad. Anyway, I thought I'd do it up and hang it in my sewing room as a reminder that color is now my friend. I went to the craft store to pick out a stretched canvas and headed over to look at the crayons. The whole GET THE BIG BOX thing came back to me so overwhelmingly I just grabbed it and threw it in the cart. HAH. I laughed all the way home, and squee'd as I fired up my hot glue gun and glued them on in a neat little row. Then I tipped the canvas on an angle, turned on my very hot blow dryer and this is the result:
Tah-dah! Isn't it a howl? You can guess which little crayon was spared the vindictive wrath of the hairdryer. Yes - I now have a magenta crayon. It will remain mine forever and be perfect forever. I'm ready to move on and grow up. I have vanquished my white 4-H ribbon and resolved my magenta vendetta. I'm even feeling more kindly toward my brothers, although they still give me attitude for not having a "real" job. Whatever.
Like Arthur's sword Excalibur, Luke's light sabre, and Harry's wand I too have my talisman of power and will wave it at the world and accomplish great things. I promise to use it for good and not evil. Thank you, Crayola Crayons - thank you for my magenta.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Autumn, 2001
Watching the coverage of the 10th anniversary of 9/11 has derailed me. I felt something coming on all week but today the whole thing crystallized for me. Everything in our lives changed that day, but what went on to happen in the next two months almost crushed me.
The September 11th attacks were surreal. I kept thinking we'd find it was just a few rogue idiots - wishful thinking, it turned out. When in the following days it became clear the scope and source of the attacks amounted to an act of war I was bewildered. This was something that happened to other generations (WW II, etc.). I did not think I would live to see something of that scope happen in my lifetime. Throw in the weeks of coverage and struggling to get a grip on it all, I needed to go away and regroup.
Luckily, I was booked to fly out of Boston to Jackson Hole just a few weeks later to spend a week with my sister and her twins in Yellowstone. It was an annual trip and I always loved going out there, but when I woke up the morning of my departure I had such a knot in my stomach I was almost physically sick. Flying out of the Boston airport was suddenly very scary. I had no idea how the security and processing methods had changed, or even if it was safe. Copycat hijackings were on my mind as Joe dropped me off at Logan Airport. We have not before or since had such a tender farewell.
Just after I returned from Yellowstone we got word (on October 23, 2001) that my 69-year-old mother had pancreatic cancer. I remember the date because it was my wedding anniversary and Joe had given me a necklace with a gold heart and a little ruby (my birthstone) in the crest. I made him take it back because when I looked at it all I could see was a broken, bleeding heart. My mother, diagnosed with cancer? She was the healthiest person I knew. Three weeks later she was dead.
Ten years later I feel it all very keenly. Calling 9/11 it a "life changing" event is an understatement of epic proportions. Watching the coverage this morning, I kept thinking, "10 years ago right now, everything was fine.....10 years ago right now, everything was fine." Then 8:45AM came, the time the first plane hit, and I felt like I had stepped over a line. Everything was no longer fine. Ten years later our country struggles with the far-reaching impacts of that day, including our current economic storm. I struggle to find the "new normal" but nothing seems stable. We live on the shifting sands of economic threats, challenges of aging and everyday unknowns. Maybe it's because I'm 10 years older and see things differently from the perspective of my fifties. Maybe it's because I lost my much-loved dad just 5 months ago and now I feel both their absences so intensely.
Maybe there is no "new normal" because there is no "normal". This could all just be a rite of passage into becoming a wise elder, but I don't feel grown up enough to be a wise elder. I remember with great nostalgia being able to effortlessly jump on a plane and fly home by myself to visit my mom and dad. Dad was usually watching golf, football or baseball. I'd be stretched out on the couch watching the game, reading or (usually) snoozing. I did not have to make a decision or be responsible for anything. Mom would bustle around and inevitably say, "Did you fly halfway across the country just to sleep?" and I would always smile and say, "Yes, Mom, I did."
I liked that era of my life, of America's life. I will never stop missing that "normal", nor stop wishing to find a new one for myself and for all of us.
The September 11th attacks were surreal. I kept thinking we'd find it was just a few rogue idiots - wishful thinking, it turned out. When in the following days it became clear the scope and source of the attacks amounted to an act of war I was bewildered. This was something that happened to other generations (WW II, etc.). I did not think I would live to see something of that scope happen in my lifetime. Throw in the weeks of coverage and struggling to get a grip on it all, I needed to go away and regroup.
Luckily, I was booked to fly out of Boston to Jackson Hole just a few weeks later to spend a week with my sister and her twins in Yellowstone. It was an annual trip and I always loved going out there, but when I woke up the morning of my departure I had such a knot in my stomach I was almost physically sick. Flying out of the Boston airport was suddenly very scary. I had no idea how the security and processing methods had changed, or even if it was safe. Copycat hijackings were on my mind as Joe dropped me off at Logan Airport. We have not before or since had such a tender farewell.
Just after I returned from Yellowstone we got word (on October 23, 2001) that my 69-year-old mother had pancreatic cancer. I remember the date because it was my wedding anniversary and Joe had given me a necklace with a gold heart and a little ruby (my birthstone) in the crest. I made him take it back because when I looked at it all I could see was a broken, bleeding heart. My mother, diagnosed with cancer? She was the healthiest person I knew. Three weeks later she was dead.
Ten years later I feel it all very keenly. Calling 9/11 it a "life changing" event is an understatement of epic proportions. Watching the coverage this morning, I kept thinking, "10 years ago right now, everything was fine.....10 years ago right now, everything was fine." Then 8:45AM came, the time the first plane hit, and I felt like I had stepped over a line. Everything was no longer fine. Ten years later our country struggles with the far-reaching impacts of that day, including our current economic storm. I struggle to find the "new normal" but nothing seems stable. We live on the shifting sands of economic threats, challenges of aging and everyday unknowns. Maybe it's because I'm 10 years older and see things differently from the perspective of my fifties. Maybe it's because I lost my much-loved dad just 5 months ago and now I feel both their absences so intensely.
Maybe there is no "new normal" because there is no "normal". This could all just be a rite of passage into becoming a wise elder, but I don't feel grown up enough to be a wise elder. I remember with great nostalgia being able to effortlessly jump on a plane and fly home by myself to visit my mom and dad. Dad was usually watching golf, football or baseball. I'd be stretched out on the couch watching the game, reading or (usually) snoozing. I did not have to make a decision or be responsible for anything. Mom would bustle around and inevitably say, "Did you fly halfway across the country just to sleep?" and I would always smile and say, "Yes, Mom, I did."
I liked that era of my life, of America's life. I will never stop missing that "normal", nor stop wishing to find a new one for myself and for all of us.
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