To Tree or Not to Tree - Update

This past January I reflected on not having put up a Christmas tree for the past 10 years,  ( To Tree or Not to Tree ) so I thought I should begin the holiday season with a happy update.

We have a tree!

It's a small one, but it's lovely and full and vintage and smells sooooo good!  It takes up gallons of water and sheds needles and tinsel every time I come near it so it's perfect. Wait - TINSEL?  Oh yes, I did the tinsel thing. I bought it as a joke - the packages were $1 - but when I finished trimming the tree in those lovely vintage 40's and 50's ornaments I thought, "What the hell - try a little!"  Well, a little became a little more and while it does not look like the tinsel fairy threw up on the tree, it is tinseled and it looks wonderful.   Normally I loathe the stuff but for some unknown reason this year it just seemed... right.

When I come downstairs in the morning and saunter into the family room with my coffee and my iPad,  I smell the tree's fragrance and I smile. I sip coffee and unlock the Angry Birds Seasons episode of the day and look at my tree and feel peaceful. Evenings are good, too, with the teeny blue tree lights that make the silver tinsel look blueish. It soothes me to see that icy blue in winter because it brings back a favorite childhood memory.

While driving home from a visit to Grandpa and Grandma Major, the sub-zero cold of a Nebraska night made for a spectacular, star filled sky. The clear, dark sky made the white snowy fields turn a kind of blueish tint.  It was like a fairyland, and to a young girl at Christmas it was magical. Everyone else would fall asleep, Dad would be driving at breakneck speed (it was legal then) and I would ask him to keep making the headlights change from dim to bright - and he could do it with no hands!  I though he was a genius - little did I know the button to toggle  the bright headlights was on the floor by the brake. I thought he was magic. The night landscape was enchanting. Such a simple thing, but I have remembered it - vividly - my entire life.

Many, many years later I was driving around Gloucester looking at Christmas lights, feeling homesick and miserable. Then I saw it - a big house with a massive front lawn lit entirely by....blue lights.  The snowy front lawn had that same blueish tint. I pulled over, got out of my car and snuck around the hedge and just stared at the whole scene. (It was very late, no one was up.)  I got a little weepy.  Happy weepy. I felt better.  I got back in my car and went home. *

I'm one of the fortunate few who aren't driven to distraction by the holiday shopping  and the stress of holiday cooking.  I love to cook - so does my husband - and we really have limited resources so gift buying is at a bare minimum.  It's very liberating to take such control over the holiday madness. It is a gift unto itself. Light those Advent candles and enjoy every ritual of the season.  I truly am, for the first time in many years.

*Happy Update #2 - I later met the owner of that house and he has since become one of my dearest friends. He still puts up the blue lights but now I enjoy them with a cocktail in my hand beside a roaring fire - he is also a kindred, pyromaniac soul.  Every year, every time - it's magical.

The Advent of Advent

Even thought I still have to cope with idiots who do not know the meaning of Advent - I like Advent.  It begins on Sunday and is a familiar ritual involving  lit candles and a winter cleaning of the soul. I find myself taking inventory of the past year, what went down (vs. what did not -  like my weight) and thinking about what I want to do with the time I have left. Face it, at my age I know I have less time ahead of me than I do behind me and I'm good with that.  I'm tired, for Pete's sake, but I still want to make sure I use that time wisely and well.

I'm also busy making Christmas gifts because 1) I like to, and 2) all funds are delegated to paying bills and utilities.  I have a place  in the family room all cleared out for a Christmas tree - we can pick up a small one for very little and I have a need to get back to trimming a real tree that smells good, sheds needles - the works.  I like the long observance of Advent and slower Christmas.   I've never been one for the  Black Friday or Cyber Monday sales frenzy even when I did have money to shop.  I just don't particularly like shopping.  It seems a waste of time to me and is often very frustrating.  I like simple things, good lines, fine fabric and appreciate a nice seam finish. Try finding that these days.

Maybe that is why I can spend hours embroidering wool felt and watching Christmas movies.  Every ornament is unique, every movie gets better with another viewing.  Right now I'm watching ELF on an endless loop.  There are more good one-liners in that movie than in almost any other Christmas movie.  This past Sunday was the Downtown Santa Parade and while Santa looked pretty authentic sitting on top of the fire department's ladder truck, I knew it wasn't the REAL Santa and it was all I could do to not yell out, "YOU SIT ON A THRONE OF LIES!"

Slow down and enjoy the season. Life outside of the usual frantic holiday circus is pretty sweet and makes for better memories.

 

Timely Seasonal Decking

This morning I was in the basement scouring through cobwebs and boxes for some Christmas tree lights for use at the store. We're setting up a little half-tree and planning the Christmas merchandising of ornaments. Now before you start whining about "Christmas aaaaallllreaaaadddyy?" I have one thing to say: shut up.  It's eight weeks away and frankly it's about time you all learned how retail works.

There is a certain amount of square footage in stores designated as "seasonal". There is nothing else to go in that spot (otherwise it would be already somewhere else in the store.) Consequently, some stores put out their seasonal merchandise pre-seasonally because otherwise it would be a big empty space where dust, dead bugs and live spiders collect.  Want to see that when you are shopping? Probably not. (It also makes the store look like it is going out of business when it is not.) Many stores have no space to store freight so as it comes in it goes right out on the shelves.  It doesn't make sense to wait and put out the winter coats on December first when the snow flies early in November - they go out in September when people are thinking and planning ahead.  Please note:  You are not at any point in your life forced to look at or purchase anything in the seasonal section so walk on by and get to whatever it is you need. ( BTW, if you shop to kill time, you need a life. )

Back to the tree lights.

While rummaging around in the basement I saw lots of lovely things I used to put up for Christmas.  I remembered my "To Tree or Not to Tree" dilemma and made a decision:  I'm going to start decking.  Not immediately - I have a home-grown pumpkin and gourds on my mantle and I like that.  We haven't had a hard frost or a warm fire yet, so I'm not completely off the reservation.  However, I am planning on spending some time in the basement this week, sorting it all out and planning what will go where.  I'm going to put it up and ENJOY looking at it all through November and December. I'm going to decorate the dining room, the family room, our bedroom and the kitchen.  I have all of these beautiful things that make me happy to look at - what purpose do they serve in boxes downstairs? Some of them have been down there in the dark so long I have forgotten about them. (Hey, new stuff!) Thanksgiving,  my favorite holiday, falls in the middle of it all and gives me a perfect opportunity to stop and inventory the past year and count the many blessings, people and gifts in my life.

Today is our 24th wedding anniversary but Joe is at a City Council meeting tonight so there won't be moonlight and roses and that is ok.  Tomorrow night we're planning to get Chinese food & crack open a very good bottle of champagne  and watch our wedding video.  We haven't watched it in about 20 years - at first it was old hat, but eventually we stopped watching because as we lost family members and other loved ones we just couldn't bear to look at them without weeping.

Too often I plod through the days and weeks and seasons and think about "next year, next time."  It feels like it's time now.  I may be dissolved in tears through much of the wedding video but we both want to look back and remember the day - and laugh at the bad 80's hair and shoulder pads.  I will probably get weepy unfolding the Christmas table runner Mom made but I want it out and on display - it is gorgeous.

It is time.

It's About Your Hair....

 

I know it's been a while but the slump continues. I've got a boatload of observations, rants and helpful advice for misguided youth but the fact of the matter is that no one really wants (or needs) to hear most of it. However, the "hair" thing is entirely different. I want to go over a few things about hair and as I'm still unemployed and getting more than a little manic about the whole thing, I'm going to indulge myself and throw down on hair.

I used to have long, thick, beautiful hair. When I would go in for a perm they would always use 2 kits because of all the H A I R. It was great. In 1987 I had ovarian cancer and my hormones shifted enough to leave me with very fine hair that was absolutely impossible to style. At this same time all the beauty shop stylists in the world had a huge secret conclave and decided to throw out all their curling irons and apparatus in favor of a round brush and a hair dryer. They could move more bodies through the chair that way, and I get that, but they also seem to really believe that every woman on the planet has hair that can be styled with merely a round brush, a hair dryer and the right "product." (Calling it "product" allows them to charge exorbitant prices.) I'm living proof it does not work. I still leave the salon looking like someone poured a bucket of water on the crown of my head - my hair is flat to my scalp. I've asked them to try different things - to no avail - and I'm running out of places to try so I'm thinking I'll just go to one of those drive-through $15 cut places because what the hell it doesn't make a difference anyway?

One of the most tremendously fabulous things about being unemployed is that I do NOT have to get up every day, wash & dry the hair, line up the products, curling irons (2 sizes) and bang out a presentable 'do. The release is intoxicating. I always knew doing the hair thing every day was a monumental pain in the ass but never realized just how big that pain (or that ass) was. Summer is the worst - it's already 90 degrees outside so who in their right mind wants to turn 10 minutes of hot, blasting air on your head? Then fire up the curling irons? Insane.

On days when I'm home I take a shower, comb my wet hair back and clip it in to place up and off my neck. It feels clean and tight to my scalp and OUT OF MY WAY and I absolutely LOVE IT. This is how most men have it, you know. They just bounce out of the shower, towel the head, give it a swipe with a comb and go. How did our gender get so blatantly ripped off? Don't' tell me a woman's hair is her crowning glory - my brain is my crowning glory thank you very much and my brain tells me this hair thing is way overrated and a monumental waste of time and money. I'm not completely without vanity - I did the complete "do" thing today because I have a board meeting tonight - but it has given me pause about how much time and money and TIME and wear and did I mention TIME and abuse we inflict on our hair and ourselves. Whassup with that? If we're not burning time styling it, we are busy removing it from legs, armpits, etc.

The proof of how deeply this is embedded in my subconscious became apparent to me in a dream last night. The Queen Mary II was in Gloucester harbor and a friend arranged for all of us to spend a week on board, just docked in port, but enjoying all the amenities of the beautiful ship. My husband Joe left the ship every morning to go to work at the store (he would do this in real life, BTW) while I had fun on the ship. The dream continued with me suddenly on land and meeting up with my friend John who was told me we were late and it was time to leave for the ship and a big black-tie gala dinner. Now, I do love me some black tie and remember thinking about how fun it sounded....and then I thought about staging the equipment to bang out the hair, etc., whether there was enough TIME to do a presentable job and I just thought, ".........nah. Too much work."

IN MY DREAM I THOUGHT THAT.

Even friends in my waking life are starting to notice my boycott. We had dinner at the yacht club the other night and I did the whole 9 yards with hair, etc. When we settled in on the patio for a drink, one of my closest buddies said, "Wow, you look fantastic! Really nice! See what happens when you make an effort?" I nearly dropped my drink. Conversation paused and I burst out laughing. Tom would never hurt a hair on a fly and I know he didn't mean it the way it sounded - but it was a gobstopper. He apologized profusely but I honestly knew what he was trying to say and wasn't offended. (FYI He's not off the hook- every time I see him I make a point of noting whether I did or didn't make an "effort" that day.)

[caption id="attachment_2729" align="alignleft" width="130"] Me, just after a haircut. Maybe a little longer hair - but basically spot on.[/caption]

Right now some stylist somewhere is reading this and saying, "Oh all you need is the right cut/product/technique." It has been 24 post-cancer years of trying and believe me, I've tried everything. (And why do stylists always think they know more about MY hair than I do? Have they spent 54 years with it?) Right now I'm sleeping in little sponge rollers to see if that works. I've spent months trying to grow it out so I have some length to play with, but it is tempting to go back to a short cut and just do the "Mo" look. It's what I end up looking like anyway. My husband knows not to comment negatively about my hair regardless of how I decided to deal with it that day. He is a smart man who knows he will live longer that way.

So think about it. Think about all the time and effort and expense. Maybe it's my advancing age (and advancing wisdom, BTW) but I'm taking a new look at the whole "hair" thing and see where it goes.

 

Multi-Tasking Sewing Notions

About three years ago I was at a quilt show in New Hampshire when I found this "new" kind of seam ripper.

The woman at the booth demonstrated how it worked and I thought it was pretty clever.  As I am chronically incapable of passing up a cool sewing thingie, I handed over about $5 (I think) and snapped it up.

Fast forward to yesterday when I was in one of those beauty supply shops looking for some super-serious ginormo hair clips.  (My plan to grow out my hair has had a head-on collision with summer heat.  If I don't get it off my neck I'm going to shave my head.).  I was debating the purchase of a good pair of scissors (see paragraph above) when I saw these:



You guessed it.  Exactly the same thing.  This 3-pack was about the same as I paid for one of them in New Hampshire.  Who knew?  Now you ALL do.

PS - So these are facial razors?  I have no idea how this kind of thing would be used, am I missing something here? Come to think of it, 98%  of the stuff in those beauty supply stores looks like they require entirely too much work, effort and maintenance. However, when they can be pressed in to service as a quilting notion......

I Meme'd

Now I feel better.

Rebooting My Life

Okay, I'm still messing around with the look of my blog. This indicates...well, you already know.

My life is rebooting.  I didn't push the button or anything, it's just rebooting. Mega heavy conference with my orthopedic/pain doc yesterday (AKA Dr. NomNom because he is HOT!) has left me with a fist full of new prescriptions and the realization that I am not ever going to be as carefree-mobile as I was ever again.  The surgical options were rejected by both of us, him because they are rarely successful and me because I'm DONE with surgery.  (If they gave out frequent surgery miles  I'd be traveling non-stop.)  It's simply degenerative.  There are no do-overs or rewinds or magic cures. Phrases like "managing the pain" and "experimenting with different drugs" are written - with ink - in my file.

So where do I go from here?  What do I do? I need a job.  I can't commute very far, it's physically impossible and consequently rules out a shot at the better paying and more interesting jobs.  I know what I want to do.  I want to do what I've wanted to do all my life. I want to sew. I want to make quilts. I want to make quilts, totes, bags, my funky necklaces (like these), custom quilts for babies, weddings, anniversaries, birthdays.  I want a room in my house where I can walk in every day and be happy that I am there and do what I love.  I have the room. I have the equipment. I have a good stash.  That part is done. I have my husband's shop to sell in, as well as being ready (and able) to set up and market an on-line shop. I even have all the wholesale paperwork and permits because we have them through Joe's store.

I have no idea how to do the rest.

Venture capital would be necessary - the bills still need to be paid while all of this is being sorted out.  I can't see mailing Verizon a nice wall hanging and saying, "Here, this is for July, August and September, I'm trying to get my business up and running, m'kay?"  Frankly no bank around here is going to invest in a home business making "those blanket things" as the Illuminati tend to call quilts.

I'm not getting any younger. In fact, in about 3 weeks I'll be getting another year older. If not now, when do I do this?  I've had it in the back of my mind for ages and ages.  I always thought, "Someday I'll be able to do what I really love."  I have fewer days in front of me than I do behind me. This is probably my last chance to do this. I'm terrified. I'm not sure how to make this happen but I want to close my eyes and jump. No regrets.  I never want to look back at this time and think, "I should have done it then."

So what do I do?  How do I make this happen?   Anyone?  Esty and Twitter peeps who have done this - how did you get started?

Getting "IT"

It's never a good sign when I'm playing around with the look of my blog. It is an indicator of  one of two things: brain freeze ( I got nuthin')  or time-out (when I'm stressed, heat stressed, anxiety stressed, etc. and anything I put on the internet would be of the shock and awe variety, and not the "good" shock and awe, either. ) So there you go.  I'm playing with the look of my blog.  (Okay, I'm in time-out.)

In the meantime I have an amazing labor of love to occupy my hands.  A very good friend has one of the wall hangings made by my mother. We used to sell them in our store here in Gloucester and then mail a check back to her where she would cash it in and buy more quilting fabric.  (Mom kicked ass that way.)     Linn  has had this beauty hanging in her home for many years and recently asked me to take it home and give it a wash - she was nervous about doing it herself.  Okey dokey.  Washed. Line dried in the approaching scorching heat.  When I took it down I noticed that the sleeve on the back of the hanging had some places where the threads had just let go.  Age happens.  I found a spool of black thread and a sharp needle and I'm redoing the entire sleeve.  It is a miracle that I'm able to do it without clutching it to my chest, crying, and refusing to let it go.  (Eleven years later I think I'm finally making progress with my  grief.)  I'm actually enjoying the process, loving the chance to work on something my mom made, and grateful for the fact that Linn GETS IT.

There are not a lot of people out there who "get it" when it comes to quilts or, for that matter, anything hand crafted.  Paintings in galleries are found "worthy" but quilts, knit socks, hats or scarves are just KRAFTY with a K and not "worthy" of being looked at as serious creative expressions that require time and talent.  It has been an uphill battle for years.  To show my serious intent I was going to start a quilt guild here in Gloucester and call it "Quilt Bitches" and we'd all get Harley-Davidson tattoos (but the motorcycle would have a quilted seat.)  Cool, right? 'Cept I'd never get a tattoo.

A quilter's quest for street cred is apparently a life-long venture.  This is made more difficult by The Learning Channel's newest program, Craft Wars, hosted by..... TORI SPELLING.  Seriously, TLC?  I personally believe the only time she's had a hot glue gun in her hand was when she was replacing some hair extensions that had fallen out. A Twitter peep of mine remarked that  while she did watch the debut show,  she found "Tori's  clown-like makeup distracting."  TLC needs to learn (oohh, how ironic...) that credibility is an important part of attracting an intelligent and respectful audience who - when given intelligent content from creditable sources - have a way of going out and spending money with the show's sponsors to recreate those ideas in their own home.  It's a concept.

Time to get back to sewing the sleeve on this wall hanging.  Linn was skittish about  washing it herself because she wanted to make sure it was done carefully and properly because she loves this thing as much as I do.  She respects the time, effort, labor and creativity that went in to producing it. She gets it.

The Quest for Unscented Anything

A few weeks ago we celebrated Joe's milestone birthday with an outdoor party.  I really enjoy using my nice linens and vintage pitchers and containers for vases and candles.  I think it makes the party more personal when you celebrate it with things that are special to you. The problem came when I went in search of candles for the centerpieces. I love me some fire on the table and usually have a formidable stash of candles but alas, I had apparently (and literally)  burned through my supply. No probs, I thought, I'll just pick up some more.

NOT.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to find unscented candles?  I'm talking about pillar candles here, not a wimpy tea light or formal tapers (I always have those) - I wanted a nice, sturdy candle that would burn for hours. (Hey, my friends are 1) thirsty and 2) big talkers.) We have long, luxurious "dinner in Italy" style meals.  It's the BEST.  Anyway, I burned a lot of time and gasoline in my quest and came up with butkus.  I was more than annoyed - I was ticked off.  Really folks, do you want to smell "woodsy pine" or "cinnamon apple" when you are eating dinner?  No.  Why is everything SCENTED?  Why do people buy home deodorizers that run continuously and make their houses smell like a powder room?  Why not save the money and spend a little time finding the source of what is making your house smell so bad that you need to install a 24/7 deodorizer?  Jimmy Hoffa's body has to be somewhere, right?

Admittedly, my pale Irish skin is oversensitive to scented lotions and products. So is my pale Irish nose. I am on a quest to locate a lifetime supply of Dove unscented deodorant. I loved it and can no longer find it among the 24 varieties they now offer.  Really, Dove?  I used to love your unscented body wash and you had to mess with that, too.  You used to be the industry standard for not-crapping-up-products-with-cloying-fragrance.  If I try a new a shampoo or hairspray and I love the results  it still goes right into the trash if the scent is cloying and overpowering.  I smell it ALL DAY LONG. 

Back to the candles.  I solved my dilemma at the grocery store.  No, they did not carry unscented candles.  They did carry Yahrzeit candles and I could not believe I didn't think of it sooner. ( I spent 4 years as a nanny for a Jewish family where I learned about the tradition of burning that candle on the anniversary of the death of a loved one.  Always loved the idea.) I bought six of them and took them home to put in the arrangements.

The finished product was lovely - I grouped them on the smaller table the next morning and we had a lovely, private brunch. (We were house sitting.) Of course we honored the intent of the Yahrzeit candle.  We lit six candles - three for Joe's mother, father, and his only brother who have gone before us.  We lit two for my parents, also gone before us. We lit the final one for the pregnancy we had that didn't make it all the way to the finish line.  While we wanted all of those souls to be present it was simply not possible. We  took comfort in the fact that we were able to remember them with such deep love and light - and so privately,  just between the two of us.

It was a wonderful evening and the candles burned blissfully unscented long into the night. We shared memories, gave speeches, talked about the people we love and gave thanks for the people in our lives, living or not-so-living.  Joe had me in tears when he talked about the "luckiest day in his life, July 4, 1987."  (The day we met.)  How wonderful is that? I love happy endings.

Life in First Class

We have already established how I feel about weddings on holiday weekends so you can imagine my chagrin when I was invited to one such event held this past Memorial Day weekend. When the invitation arrived I felt confidently "off the hook" as the wedding was in Nashville. Case closed, right?

Wrong.  The bride's doting uncles wanted me along for the ride - and the fun - and proposed an all expense paid trip to "Nash-Vegas" for the wedding.  First-class airfare, hotel and EVERYTHING.  How can you say no to THAT?  I sure as hell could not  so I decadently packed a whole suitcase (not having to share space with Joe!) and learned the ways of First Class air travel.  It was like a dream.

The first stop was priority check in where I checked my big honkin' suitcase.... with no fee.  Walked down to the boarding area carrying my only my ticket and a big purse. Boarded first.  Sat in the first row (all 4 segments).  Was treated with courtesy and offered my choice of beverages and nibbles. (Sidebar - I don't drink on airplanes. Bummer.) (Sidebar II - I can't pee on airplanes. Seriously. TMI, I know. )

As a  25 year veteran of flying steerage I found the entire experience A-MAY-ZING. The worst, most hated part of taking a trip became positively pleasant. It made me think back to the long ago days when EVERYONE could check a bag - nay, 2 - without a charge.  When seats and spacing between rows was reasonable. When you could climb in and out of your coach seat without the use of WD-40, a crowbar and a colon compactor.

[caption id="attachment_2601" align="alignleft" width="300"] First Class Hat - Purchased in Nashville![/caption]

I am sure  my next trip will be absolutely miserable by comparison. I resent that. I don't expect the First Class experience with what I can afford but there were  aspects of this trip that were once commonplace to those of us who routinely do the walk-of-shame past the First Class passengers on our way back to the goat pens.

I don't fly much anymore because flying has become such an ORDEAL.  I never fly to New York anymore, I take the train. I'll take a train anywhere, even if it costs more and takes longer.  It's worth it. It is worth it in civility, personal space and fees.  It is especially worth it since you don't have to deal with nimrod TSA agents with a power complex.

The wedding?  The service was lovely and the bride stunningly beautiful. (She spent 2 summers here and I was the pseudo-Aunt).  The soloist sang Schubert's "Ave Maria" which usually reduces me to tears but since she totally American Idol'd it I was left more annoyed than moved. ( Luckily I managed to restrain myself and not stand up and beat a tempo on my leg and yell, "knock off the Mariah Carey shit, girl.")  When Laura came up the aisle on the arm of her Dad I flashed back to my own dear Dad taking that walk with me......and I burst into tears.  Bark-like-a-seal tears. Whatever.   Oh yes, do let me report that  Nashville had RECORD HIGH TEMPS the entire weekend and the reception was not air-conditioned.  Jeebus.  We survived, it was wonderful fun and we all had a fabulous time.  Nashville is a blast - I highly recommend a visit but do it in October or November.....

The Tao of Ed and Quilter Manure

[caption id="attachment_2571" align="alignleft" width="266"] Ed[/caption]

This is Ed.  He is the new sock monkey I purchased at a serendipitous stop at a church rummage sale.

On Saturday I drove up to Lowell, Massachusetts,  to visit my career alma mater the The New England Quilt Museum.  It was with mixed emotions - I miss the place terribly but the looong commute, the price of gas and the combined toll it took on my body and pocketbook made the decision for me.  As I pulled off  I-93 and began the storybook-beautiful drive down Rte. 133 I remembered Saturday mornings were prime-time for yard sales all along the route but I could never stop and poke around (as I would be late for work) so for five long years I resisted the temptation.

HAH.

That was all behind me as I cruised along and spied a lovely church lawn cluttered with tables and merchandise and  people swarming about.  The first table I walked up to was managed by a quilter who was selling off her book collection and had some fantastic books all selling for a mere $5 a pop.  I love it when karma happens.  I managed to restrict myself to an armful and wandered to the next table where I found ED.  Ed had to come home with me. I've wanted a sock monkey doll fah-evah (local Gloucester dialect) and he was adorable.  I didn't name him, he just told me his name when I tucked him in to the passenger seat among my new/old books.  It happens that way with me, I swear.

Ed and I continued on to the museum for a wonderful reunion with co-workers and quilts. I was completely blown away by the Fenway Park Centennial show - Rosemary Baun is a tremendously talented quilter. Even if you're not a die-hard Red Sox fan (and I'm not)  it was well worth a visit.  The imagination and creativity were rockin'!  The quilts up in the permanent collection room(s) were breathtaking.  It was all good.  What made it better was the special program presented by Shelly Zegart who created and produced the DVD documentary Why Quilts Matter - History, Art and Politics .  I've been a big fan and supporter of this important and alternately hysterically funny and sobering work for ages and it pleased me no end to see a room full of people  become enlightened and engaged too. Bonus - I finally got to meet Shelly and she is a peach, as was her husband, sister and brother-in-law. (Apparently they have a family requirement to be bright, intelligent and maintain a rippin' sense of humor.) I'm sure their website was inundated with people wanting to watch segments online and learn more about the program.  Guild reps in attendance perked right up when, after seeing segment samples, they realized the programing value inherent in the production. A win-win and bang for the buck. What's not to love?

On the drive home Ed and I talked about the responsibility quilters have to support each other in their work.  It applies to supporting any of the arts - it doesn't just fall out of the sky, people. The expression, "Money is like manure -  if you leave it in a pile it rots, you have to spread it around to do any good" has been attributed to many people but it doesn't lessen the truth or importance of the statement. We all want the quilting culture  and industry to thrive.  Ed says that while few of us have Medici money to be patrons we can buy a ticket or a book, throw a few bucks into a membership (even if it is far away and we can't visit often), support research and programing and - GET  A LOAD OF THIS - benefit ourselves from what we have fertilized.  Sometimes this means paying a few dollars more for a book or a pattern than we would if we could find it for on, say, Amazon.  To be truthful, Amazon doesn't need my money and doesn't support my community. Besides, after they tack on inflated shipping and "handling" fees the difference really. isn't. that. much.   I'd rather buy it directly from the quilter, the author, the designer - you get my drift.  The quilting industry is a THREE AND A HALF BILLION DOLLAR A YEAR BUSINESS.  That is not a typo.  Ladies and gentlemen of quilt nation that is a LOT of manure.  Look at where you spread it very carefully.  Pay attention to where leave it.  Spread it in worthy places but most important of all: SPREAD IT.  I guarantee by doing so not only the scholarship, books, patterns, fabric and RESPECT for your most beloved art will bloom and grow and thrive, but YOU will bloom and grow and thrive as a  quilter, quilt artist, historian, academic.....

Mother's Day 101 Redux

It's that time again.

I said it once and it bears repeating.   As a reminder, "Mothers Day 101" - check it out.

Why Quilts Matter DVD Give-Away

 

EDIT:  Carla Langendoen of Cora Quilts was the DVD winner. Hope to see you blog your thoughts about the series, Cora!

 

When working at the New England Quilt Museum I was fortunate enough to get a peek at a DVD called Why Quilts Matter: History, Art and Politics from Shelly Zegart and the Kentucky Quilt Project, Inc.  I loved it.  I talked to the TV while I watched it. I wrote a blog entry about it and was later asked to write a guest blog for their website.  Before any of that happened I purchased two copies of the DVD so I could own one and donate the other to my local library. I feel that strongly about it, and  continue to encourage others to do the same. (BTW, there is no monetary compensation involved here)

A few weeks ago I was contacted by the Why Quilts Matter people (who are kickass fun, BTW) and asked to view one section of the documentary and write some study-group type questions for a new Continuing the Conversation guide to the series. I was delighted to do so, and was sent a copy of the DVD as a "thank you" gift.  Since I already have a copy I decided to give away the gift copy.  I really don't like the whole blog "give-away" thing, mostly because I never win and  really think some of you guys are all up in your head when you require people to jump through hoops and do 94 things in order to qualify.  There, I said it.  THIS will be a very simple, straightforward give-away.

To enter:   Send me a fat quarter of Liberty of London fabric.

HAH! See what I did there?  Okay, seriously, go check out their website - you are on your honor. Then, leave a comment with your fantasy quilting or sewing notion.  For example: my fantasy sewing notion is a bobbin that works with a spool of thread. You throw a spool on top of the machine, snap a spool in the bobbin case and you sew like a maniac for days - no stopping to reload the )(#&*()@#&$ bobbin.  What is your fantasy notion? Maybe some genius out there will create it and we'll all be happy.

In about a week I'll holler downstairs (to my husband), "Pick a number between 1 and ----" and that will be the winner. (I'll have to do it a couple of times because he is deaf as a haddock and I have to repeat everything about three times.) Sigh.

Okay, let's have it - what are your brilliant ideas?  PS - the DVD is great for individuals or guilds or groups - lots of topics and good information. (But you knew that from going to their website, right?)

Using the "Good" Scissors

My mother had a nice pair of Gingher scissors that were to be used ONLY on fabric.  She did a lot of garment construction - clothes for her kids -  but later she became a quilter.  As children we were roundly and soundly clobbered if we took the "good" scissors and used them to cut up paper or magazines or newspapers.

Fast forward to about six months ago when I saw a much smaller pair of Ginghers that called my name. I could not resist the siren song of having a really, really good pair of scissors so I took the plunge.  They came in a lovely little box which I kept open on my cutting table so I could admire them then and relish the pride of ownership.  It was enough for me to just have them. I was content to keep them,  save them for something "good."

Fast forward again to about two weeks ago when I crashed and burned on a baby quilt for my niece. I've been doing this long enough to know that when things go south you need to just. walk. away. and come back later when the fog clears.  I decided to take a bag of leftover quilt scraps and try my hand a paper piecing hexagons. (Note:  do not start paper piecing hexagons - EXTREMELY addictive.)  I went to grab a scissors to trim up the hexies when, for some unexplainable reason, I busted out the Ginghers.

You know where this is going.  I could not believe the difference.  Like a hot knife through cold butter, this thing sliced and clipped like a laser.  I was  thrilled with the results, the ease of cutting, the razor crisp edges. Like dawn breaking over Marblehead (local joke) I realized it was STEWPID to keep things "for good."  What if I get hit buy a bus tomorrow?  What was I waiting for?  WHY DO WOMEN DO THIS?  Because honestly I know I am not the only one. Every woman on the planet has something put away "for good" and most of those things will never see use or the light of day. Why do we do this?  So we have something to look forward to?  Is the "looking forward to" part better than the actual joy of using it or wearing it or whatever the hell it is we're trying to capture?  I don't know, but I don't think so. I'm not getting any younger and I'm tired of waiting.  Not only am I going to use these Ginghers, but I'm gonna bust out some cash and pick up one of the new Gingher Seam Rippers.  You heard me. Retractable blade, beeuches.  Who says quilters are old ladies with afghans in their laps?  I'm armed and dangerous.  I run with scissors. ( Really, really GOOD ones. )

1-800-RATIONALIZE

With the multi-whammy of additional, unexpected income taxes due, an expensive major appliance "shitting the bed" (Joe's favorite saying and I've just picked it up because....it's so.... accurate), finding out the source of my knee problems is a torn meniscus and the upcoming one year anniversary of the loss of my Dad all rolling up on me.........well, I kind of had a meltdown. "Kind of" in the sense that I didn't actually throw anything (hey, I've grown. Besides, I don't wear high heels anymore and I'm out of spackle) but everything else cut loose in a peri-menopausal-chronic-pain-grieving-hormonal rage of tears, angst and depression.  My dark Irish side can throw down with the best of 'em.

So what to do?  I needed to drive.  Serious "get out of Dodge" driving. That isn't possible here because it's too congested and populated. No wide open spaces and long reaches of road and open sky.  This therapy always worked for me when I lived in Nebraska but in Massachusetts - well, it's not happening.  I still wanted to make a road trip and maybe do a little retail therapy ( a logical response to a cash-strapped crisis, right?) and pick up some Kaffe Fassett fabric I've been coveting for, oh, years.  Seriously coveting.

[caption id="attachment_2521" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="I did not buy ALL of these....just some...."][/caption]

Normally I would call my sister Pat before embarkation. Pat is the queen of rationalization.  You can call her and ask her about anything  and she will give you really good reasons to 1) do it or 2) buy it.  What I came up with would pale in comparison but I think it was pretty respectable in a dark, depressive kind of way.

Mother's Day is approaching.  I was not blessed with motherhood and my mother has been gone many years but I'm still pissed off.  She was 69. Pancreatic cancer.  (Insert "f" word here....)  Those of us with infertility and failed adoption issues have always found MD to be a trauma-inducing "holiday" that personally guts me like a fish.  When life gives you lemons, make lemonade - right?  I started thinking about all the MD presents I've never received, all the cards and flowers and - well, that adds up to some serious cash, right? So, feeling sorry for myself, I felt free to go ahead and spend a little of what my husband and/or kids would have spent.  Bingo - rationalized.

I had a lovely time at Portsmouth Fabric getting overwhelmed by bolts and bolts of amazingly beautiful fabric.  That alone made me feel better. Quilters will understand how that works.  I even had some laughs with the staff as a siren kept sounding in the distance and we couldn't figure out what it was until some guy stuck his head inside the door and said, "I think that is the siren from Seabrook!"  (Local nuclear power plant. I am not kidding.)  I stood there and thought about where I was and if there was indeed a core meltdown I'd be dead pretty fast.  Then I kept shopping.  What better place to be?  My husband and family all know I love them - we never separate without saying so - and I'm pretty much right with my Lord.... so I kept shopping and discussing (with the shop ladies) where the nearest bar with the best food was just in case it really was the "end of time" or something. I figured I'd fare pretty well at my judgement if my Mom saw me with a vodka tonic in my hand - she'd claim me in a minute just to have a sip or two. Or three.

Then I drove back home and listened to another podcast from Pray As You Go.  You have got to love the Jebbies, they come up with some really good stuff.  Anyway, I did a lot of thinking, a lot of sorting out and a whole lot of mental housecleaning. When I got home I made a new sign for my sewing room and put a copy of it in my bathroom.



It's out there.  It's all around me.  I have a feeling it would save me a lot of the time I spend worrying - AKA threading beads on a string with no knot at the end. I'm going to find joy every day.  Wish me luck. I need some joy.

PS - here is a great start.  I never watch these things but for some reason I did this one. WOW.

Caine's Arcade

Do-Over

We leave Sunday for a trip to Florida to stay with our friend John. This is a "do-over" trip.   Last year Joe and I made our first ever trip to Florida (we live on the ocean here.....why bother, right?) and about 3 days in to our inaugural experience we got a phone call letting us know my Dad had passed away. John felt terrible and as a special act-of-love-I'm-so-sorry gift he promised us a "do over"  trip this year.

I'm not sure how I feel about going. The specter of last year's trip is kind of lurking out there... but the actual anniversary (thankfully) is a few weeks off.  Don't get me wrong -  I'm thrilled to get out of Dodge, pleased for Joe (who REEEALLLYY needs a break) and I'm even OK with ironing a pile of linen shirts to pack.  I've always found ironing to be very relaxing and therapeutic. What's the problem, then?   I just feel kind of sideways inside.

Physically, I'm ready to go. I splurged on a haircut and matching (we don't call it "coloring") and even managed to get my esthetician  to melt a metric ton of wax and do my eyebrows.  I look positively GIRLY.  Luckily, John is an expert at relaxing and entertaining.  I'll have a really good bloody Mary in my hand within moments of our arrival.  That should help with the mental part, right?

I'm sure it will all come together and be a great week.  Right? Right.

My Night at the Opera (House)

The Boston Opera House is a magnificent theater built in 1925 and recently renovated and restored to the tune of $50 million dollars. Friend-Joe is a huge fan of theater and as Husband-Joe is not, Friend-Joe is my perfect companion for a night of musical magic. Perfect because he not only pays for everything (woo hoo!) but he has impeccable taste (dinner at Blu before, dessert after) and all I have to do is take the train in to Boston and meet him there. I don't even have to drive home - he does!   Bonus - I was on a crowded Green Line train and since he arrived at the restaurant before I did he ordered my favorite martini and had it delivered just as I sat down.  My mother was right. Every woman needs 2 husbands - a straight one for sex, and a gay one for everything else.

The Opera House was filled to capacity (or at least it was after the first late-seating interval which brought in about 75 more people) for a production of Les Miserables. I was completely dismayed to learn you could (and were encouraged) to buy drinks at the lobby bar and take them in to the theater. Seriously?  You can't watch the first act without a drink in your hand?  Worse yet I kept hearing plastic cups fall to the floor as people finished their drinks.  I realize theaters are in desperate financial straits and the revenues from liquor must be a boon, but It felt like being in a crappy movie theater.

Late arrivals kept pouring in well into the first act. I'm amazed that so many people  would spend that much money on a ticket and be 20 minutes late for the show. Whatever. The first act was wonderful. At intermission, up came the lights and the following thing happened:

If you click on the fuzzy (sorry) picture, you can see everyone obsessively punching open their phones and checking their messages and email.  Whoa. I had my iPod touch in my purse (podcasts for the train ride) and snapped a quick picture of the ocean of obsession/compulsion surrounding me.  It made me very, very sad.

Then things got worse.  Everyone returned for the 2nd act (with their beverages properly replenished) and the 12-ish year old girl sitting next to me started leaning her head on (I'm guessing) her grandmother's shoulder and complained she did not feel well.  The grandmother (who was humming along off-key with the music) did not appear to care. Bitch had that "I've waited a year for this night and NOTHING is going to budge me" look on her face. (You'll agree with the use of the "B" word - keep reading).  I tried to concentrate on the show but when the girl started sipping water...and then spitting it up on the floor.....and heaving and spitting..... I wanted to be sucked into a black hole.  I knew if one whiff of that hit my nostrils I would be joining her pronto.  The grandmother?  She just kept patting the little girl on the back and humming (serious pitch problems) along with the show.  I was flabbergasted.  I was PISSED. Not only was she a pain in the ass with her humming, but  I could not believe she wasn't going to turf that poor child out of there pronto.  Then the poor girl started dry-heaving again in earnest and I must have jumped into Friend-Joe's lap because he whispered, "Do you want to go stand in back?" and I said, "Yes!" and we were out of our seats and up the aisle in a nanosecond.  We watched the last 10 minutes of the show from there and applauded the curtain calls as a sea of douchbags -  er - people stormed the exits like there was a raging fire. Show some courtesy, people, applaud the effort and appreciate the talent - it's a LIVE PERFORMANCE for pete's sake.  Then (and only then) the B-word grandmother comes sauntering up the aisle with her still-heaving, softly crying young charge and she looked at us,  shrugged her shoulders and said, "Accidents happen!" like it was nothing at all.  I was torn between whether I should call  Child Protective Services or  just bitch slap the woman right there. What a terrible thing to do to a child.

Walking back to Blu for dessert Friend-Joe and I talked about the decline of our civilization. The Boston Opera House was absolutely stunning - elegant, opulent, dripping in class. The audience was largely the complete opposite.  I am deeply disturbed by such a culture shift.  I found the movie-theater concessions and people bolting from their seats disturbing.  I've had to abandon movie theaters because I can't deal with all the talking, the flashing smart phones, texting, feet up on the seats -  and the trashy floors.  Now I have to abandon live theater?  I feel like I'm turning in to what I used to call an "Old Fart" but now I understand why older people want to stay home and be left alone.  I'm right there. RIGHT there. Honest.

Just Following Procedure

For the n-teenth time I recently found myself with an IV in my hand, a blood pressure cuff on my arm, an oxygen monitor on my finger, and my bare ass in the air awaiting yet another "procedure."  I got to thinking about a few things (good drugs can do that), my long medical history, how healthcare delivery has changed, and just when did surgery become  merely a "procedure"?

I always thought a procedure was a series of things you did in a certain order to accomplish something.  (To make a cake you must assemble the ingredients, follow the recipe, bake the thing, and at the end of all that effort you have a cake.  FYI - If you do any of that out-of-order you will NOT get a cake.)  There are procedures flight attendants follow for take-off, there is a procedure for building a house, and there is a procedure for doing your income taxes.

I believe the insurance companies got together and decided if they stop calling it "surgery" and start calling it a "procedure" it wouldn't sound like a big deal and they could kick people out of the hospital on the same day - or if it involved amputation, maybe the next day. Better yet - don't even go to a hospital at all! Let's do it all in the doctor's office -  it's just a "procedure" after all!  For anything involving anesthesia....we'll invent a surgical suite thingy where doctors can see patients in one room and go across the hall to the surgical suite for the "procedures." Bonus - let's not call it "anesthesia"  anymore (because you'd need an anesthetist for THAT) - let's call it "sedation".

See how they did that?  Who says health insurance needs reforming?

I would like some reform.  A  little.  An effort? I don't deal with any kind of anesthesia well, although I have been told I am a whole lot of fun when I am coming out of it. This time around  I was waking up in the "surgical suite" when I heard someone knocking on the door.  My response?  "Penny? Penny? Penny? PENNYPENNYPENNYPENNY?"  I thought it was hysterical.  No one else did. Apparently they felt the fact that I was laughing like a hyena meant that I was well enough to be put in a car and driven home.  This is Joe's least favorite part of "procedures" - the nausea fueled race to get back to Gloucester before I throw up in the car. (Sorry, graphic content.) It's awesome. It keeps our romance alive, baby.

I have come to believe we will soon see mobile procedure trucks coming to our

[caption id="attachment_2476" align="alignright" width="268" caption="We Were Trained For This in Our Youth!"][/caption]

homes (like those dog groomers) where they  fix you up in the truck right there in the driveway.  After you are finished you can get your mail and walk up the sidewalk right back in to your house (with the entire neighborhood seeing your bare ass sticking out of a procedure gown.  (They won't be called "hospital gowns"  because.... there won't be any hospitals.)

In addition to the Big Bang Theory, we watch a lot of House Hunters (hey, it's good comic relief). There are a LOT of people out there who think they can't buy a house if the color of the rooms isn't to their liking. ( I am not making that up. )  Can you imagine what that show will be like in the year 2019 when people have to look for a house that can accommodate a growing family and all of their "procedures"?  "I like the space, but I just can't see myself getting a pap smear /  knee replacement / appendix removed in a room that needs so much updating - and the wall color (eyeroll) ewww!"

The Lent Thing - Baltimore Style

I was reading back through an old post about Lent when it dawned on me I needed to pull the trigger on this year's Lenten resolutions.  As I explained here  there are 3 things that need to happen: I need to 1) stop doing something, 2) start doing something and 3) something that is kept private. (i.e. I can't give up potato chips and make that the "private" thing because it would become apparent very quickly as I'd be in the police notes pretty fast.)

So why after all these years do I still cling to making Lenten resolutions? For those not familiar with the  Baltimore Catechism, I invite you to look over the following:

[caption id="attachment_2424" align="alignleft" width="193" caption="My Youth Started Here"][/caption]

This is the "beginner" version of the Baltimore Catechism.  Anyone who went through similar formation can still do the rapid-fire answers to questions like, "WHO MADE YOU?" and "WHY DID GOD MAKE YOU?"

After that you graduated to an expanded version, the St. Joseph's Baltimore Catechism.  That contained  more of the same on an expanded basis.  More to memorize.  More to stand up and parrot back to Here-Comes-Sister-Celestine-Riding-On-A-Jellybean.  (Our idea of really giving the nuns a hard time.)

There is something to be said for using rote memorization to train the memory but when I look back at these images I don't feel so much proud of having a well-trained mind as horror at what kind of ideas we were trained with.

[caption id="attachment_2442" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="FYI  Gay People Want to Marry The Person of Their Choice, Too"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_2450" align="aligncenter" width="499" caption="GIRLS: REMEMBER YOUR PLACE!"][/caption]

I have a dear friend who is my sherpa guide to hedonistic consumption.  I like to tell him he is "an occasion of sin" because he tempts me towards all kinds of impurities like expensive linens and splurging on gourmet cheeses and wines. My knee-jerk reaction toward what I perceive as excess was based on the following:

[caption id="attachment_2432" align="aligncenter" width="584" caption="Priorities, Beeuches!"][/caption]

Yeah, television is definitely an occasion of sin. "Bonanza" was pretty scandalous. Ed Sullivan?  Don't get me started.  Pure filth.

John would be considered a "BAD COMPANION!"



He's actually a pretty good companion. (We rarely sneak a cigarette.) He's taught me a lot about myself, including that we all deserve to have and enjoy nice things without beating ourselves up about it.

I'm all for a spring housecleaning of the soul but this year feels different. I've been sorting receipts for taxes and am appalled at the number of office visits, doctor visits, etc. that have piled up over the past year, and continue into this year.  My health has really sucked for the past 18 months (BTW, I'd be happy to give up lumbar steroid spinals for Lent) and I never did buy in to that "all pain and suffering can be offered up...will strengthen your faith" BS. So what to do for Lent when I already feel quite full-up with the existing penances in my life? I think I'll flip things and make this Lent a time for feeding my soul instead purging all my "impurities" (like my lust for potato chips).  I'm going to find things that nourish my heart, help me cope with my aches and strengthen my beliefs and values. I'm going to replenish my tool chest of life and faith skills.  While that approach is not in sync with the Baltimore Catechism I believe if I can do that for 40 days I'll come out on the other end as a stronger, better, faith-filled person - and that is what I believe to be the purpose of Lent.

Robot Vomit on Wedding Invitations

You heard me.

"Enlightening" young engaged couples is apparently my lot in life. This happens because 1) my husband owns a stationery and gift shop and 2) I am hyper-vigilant about  the incredible lapse in civility, judgement, maturity, taste, and corresponding oceans of BS made manifest in twenty-first century weddings.

Today's case in point:  QR codes on wedding invitations.  For the uninitiated, QR (Quick Response) codes are a digitally generated, barf-like patches that look like this:

When viewed on a smart phone or android device (with the proper software installed) the device will "beep" and go to a website with more information about the product, project or whatever is being advertised.   Appropriate for some applications involving commerce, but weddings (as commerce related as they have become) are not an appropriate application.

Seriously, people are putting QR codes on their wedding invitations to "help" their guests learn ever so much more about THEIR SPECIAL DAY (TSD). While the average wedding guest already has to endure continuous updates on TSD, it seems to me that the first step is  a review of the invited guests and the whole procedure in general.

Having finished that, let's look at the reality of QR codes.  Any digital innovation is "state of the art" for approximately 15 minutes. Do you really want your wedding invitation to bear the visual equivalent of a leisure suit or Members Only jacket? Aside from looking just plain fugly, the entire concept is in keeping with the dumbing-down of civilized society.  "What do you mean, I have to actually READ something?" Why do I foresee a future when people will receive a wedding e-vite with a QR code or link to 1)RSVP, 2)select a gift from the bridal registry, 3) attend via SKYPE and 4) fart, scratch and go back to watching their movie without breaking a sweat or giving any actual thought to people involved?  Good heavens people, get your heads out of your digital asses already.

Labors of Love - Quilts from the Heart

The Why Quilts Matter post went live today - here is the link!    

February is the month for giving and receiving expressions of love.  Mothers, fathers, friends and dear ones all given love tokens in a variety of shapes, sizes, colors, mediums, and all-important flavors of chocolate.I have always considered quilts to be among the greatest expression of love but only recently have I fully appreciated the depth and scope of their significance. Quilts I made over the past 20 years have been displayed in homes, been unfolded, used, refolded, comforted babies, warmed bodies and family pets, all the time witnessing and absorbing the history of their lives, the growth of their children, the pack-up-and-moves to new cities.
Baby quilts are always a satisfying labor of love. I have a nephew who was so desperately attached to the shredded remnants of his baby quilt and a receiving blanket that he loved to bits (literally) and squeezed them into a ball of shreds. He tucked it up inside his pillowcase (so no one would know) and held on to it well in to his early teens. Mom was insistent the baby quilts she made for her  grandchildren be used and washed, and was keenly pleased to see how long her grandson held on to the quilt she made just for him.
My favorite baby quilt was one made by my mother when Joe and I were newly married and confidently planning a family.  Fate intervened and no babies ever came. The quilt was always in our bedroom, draped over a quilt holder for about 20 years.  When my god-daughter had her first child I decided it was time to let go of that quilt and find it a home with Mom's new great-grandson.  The emotions surrounding the giving and receiving of that quilt cannot be expressed in words.  For me it defined a four-generation gift of love in so many ways, with both a melancholy ache and tears of joy.

Quilts are visual and tactile manifestations of love.  Who hasn't been sick and wrapped up in a quilt and felt just a little bit better, or at least comforted? When missing my Mom overwhelms me I grab a quilt she made and roll myself up, inhale the fabric and trace my finger over her carefully hand quilted stitches, taking to her and feeling a bit of her presence in my needy soul. So many pioneer brides crossed the frontier with a signature quilt packed among her belongings, a physical reminder of home and loved ones she might never see again.  How cherished those quilts must have been even as they were pressed into service warming bodies or blocking sod house drafts and windows with non existent-glass.

[caption id="attachment_2354" align="aligncenter" width="467" caption="A heart Mom made for me, on my design wall."][/caption]

In the late 70’s, when my Grandma Major (Dad’s mother) was in the nursing home, my mother made her a lap quilt out of scraps of our old dresses and pantsuits. We still have the precious keepsake and it was covering Dad the night he left us. While Mom was waiting for him on the other side, a quilt she originally made for his mother was keeping him warm.

The Family Quilt

At both of their funerals the double wedding ring anniversary quilt made by their three daughters covered their caskets with beauty and love.

I invite you to look back over the years and inventory the quilts you have seen, given, been given or were just privileged to see in a show or exhibit. Every one of those quilts matter - every one that you or I or anyone has ever made, regardless of shape, size, color or intricacy.  No such labor of love should be judged anything but the most wonderful gift from the heart. It blesses both the giver and the recipient with the greatest gift of all -- a colorful, tactile and enduring expression of love.  When the flowers have faded and the chocolate a memory, the quilt endures as a lasting and constant assurance of true love. Happy Valentines Day – to you and to all you love.

NOTE:
I was asked to write a guest blog for Why Quilts Matter and the above entry  was the result.  Why Quilts Matter is a scholarly, entertaining and visually stunning DVD. A copy should be in the home of anyone who loves art, color, and beautiful quilts. I do not in any way benefit monetarily from this - I just believe in it, and as one who loves art, color and beautiful quilts I bought two copies and donated one to my local library. Do the same. RESPECT and support for quilting begins with each of us.

Back to the Dorm - 30 Years Later

I am at Bennington College in Vermont helping with a week-long conference on the arts.  There are 140 plus people here, all taking a week-long workshop in their chosen field. I am in the office being the go-to person. 
(Note:  I have never been here in my life and I have no idea what I am doing. I just write things down in my notebook, nod my head sympathetically and then find someone who DOES know what the hell they are doing.) 
It is fantastic being around all of these artists.  The faculty for this year's conference is stellar. The  opening ceremonies last night featured 5 slides by each faculty person and it was WOWZA.  After listening to each instructor present their work I thought, "Ooohh Ohhhh I want to do that." Then the next instructor would present and I'd think, "OH WAAAYY, I want to do THAT!" Every one of them had charisma, every one of them would be great to have as a teacher.  What's not to love? 

The dorm. 
Not so much the dorm itself but the fact that if I need to pee at 3AM I have to get up and put on a robe, go out in hall and shuffle to the loo.  Problem #2 - there is only ONE toilet and ONE shower  that about 6 people must share. That wasn't a problem 30 years ago because my dorm back then had a HUGE ROOM with 10 showers, 10 sinks and 10 toilets. Yay - no waiting! (And FYI  I didn't have to sometimes pee at 3AM when I was 19......)  This is just weird.  These dorms aren't that old - maybe built in the 80's - but they are not up to snuff for a 53 year old woman with a cell phone, iPad, iPod, curling iron, hairdryer, coffee maker (hey, I'm not stupid) all looking for an outlet. I'm in a TWIN ROOM, by myself (TYJ) and I'm splayed out like a bomb exploded. How the hell did I do this at 19? Granted, we had none of the phone or digital gadgets, but geez, really?  
My husband and I live in a 4 bedroom home with 3 1/2 bathrooms and I claimed the master bath for my own years ago.  (Joe is content to shuffle down the hall.)  This is bad training for dorm life. Very bad training.  This is going to be a big character building week for me, "roughing it" like this. 

I brought along some sashiko and a hexagon project I've wanted to start for ages. I'm paper piecing hexagons with fabric from the late 1800's.   I've got vodka and tonic water chilling on the windowsill (again - not stupid) so I plan to have a few evenings to myself to sit, sew, and listen to podcasts or watch quilt lectures downloaded from the IQSC in Lincoln, Nebraska.  
What's not to love! 

To Tree or Not to Tree

Along with the  Feast of the Epiphany comes the time to take down the Christmas decorations, dispose of the tree, and ....wait.

We didn't have a tree.

To be honest we haven't decorated a tree in 10 years. I can remember exactly how long because Mom died mid-November, 2001 and that Christmas kind of came....and went.  I've always loved having a Christmas tree - a REAL tree - as the centerpiece of the house during the season. I have lots of vintage ornaments from the 40's and 50's that are either from Joe's childhood or those I've collected and found.  LOVE them. So why the 10 year drought on Christmas trees?

I have thought about it at great length and cannot come up with a reasonable answer.  We are both tied up at the store most nights through December so  it seems silly to come home exhausted at 9PM, plug in the tree, be awake for another half hour and then unplug the tree, crawl upstairs and fall into bed. This year I wasn't working 2 jobs and was actually home to enjoy the tree in broad daylight....but I still didn't do it.

I'm a little honked about that because thee best time of the year is the week between Christmas and New Year's.  There is a stillness that settles over everything. Joe is home by 5:15PM (heavens!) and we can have meals that are 1) hot and 2) at a normal hour. We settle in with whatever we are reading, watch a movie - just like the normal people do.  It's the best. It's also the time we used to just soak up the tree and the lights and gently mellow in to the whole holiday atmosphere.

That's it.  I think the reason I'm feeling such post-holiday "meh" is because I didn't have that week of peace and simplicity and have not had it in 10 years.  I'm ready to have it back. Earlier today I even thought about buying a tree and setting it up and dragging the ornament box upstairs from the basement. Hell, I'd do it if there was a tree left to be bought. (I even eyeballed the ones out in back  to see if one of those could be surreptitiously cut down and dragged in to the house. What the hell, the election is over and the police won't go out there to stop the mobs of underage teenage drinkers with bonfires, are they gonna mess with a menopausal woman on a quest?) Hmmm. It's a thought.

PS - Don't tell me about fake trees, how "good" they look and how you can't tell the difference.  They don't and I can.  I want the real thing, the fragrance, the dropping needles, the whole ball of wax. This year, this December - I'm going to have it.