Ninety for 90

My Aunt Addie is turning 90 in April. To celebrate this milestone, her kids arranged for each of the 90 days preceding her birthday to be marked with a unique gesture of love from one of her kin. I am one of the privileged members of my extended family to be invited to do so - and I say privileged because 1) I adore her and 2) there are waaayyy more than 90 people in my family to choose from. We are a proper and prolific Irish clan.

Aunt Addie has always been on short my list of people who I want to be when I grow up. My earliest memories of her involve big family gatherings in Madison, Nebraska, and how she and my Aunt Helen were in the center of it all, coordinating the feeding, caring and oversight and sleeping arrangements of a ton of hungry cousins.

In addition to raising large families, they were both nurses. I remember how competently and efficiently they managed the day when their mother (my Grandma McGill) had a stroke. I was in my early teens and pretty honked about not being able to play the cool organ Aunt Addie had in her house because they were trying to keep things quiet for Grandma. (Sorry, Grandma.) Once, my younger brother Steve was with her in a restaurant and they ordered coffee. When the waitress poured and Aunt Addie took a sip, the war-horse nurse in her came out when she said, "Oh, I could VOID coffee warmer than this." I think Steve spit his out when she said that, but it was such typical stuff from her. Aunt Addie kicks ass. A few years ago she went to see my Dad in the hospital. He was whining about wanting to go home. Once approved, she put him in her car and took him back to his assisted living facility, got out her walker and made the long trip to his room with him, got him settled and adjusted his catheter, grabbed her walker and made the long trek back to her car. (She later told one of my siblings that she wished his room was closer to the entrance.)

Aunt Addie was widowed early, but she pushed right on and maintained. She was the first one in the car for a trip to the casino, and still is - she loves to gamble. She makes it to family events, keeps track of who was who and does it all with astonishing humor and good grace. One of the best parts of going home to see my family is a trip to Madison to see her. I could sit at her kitchen table and listen to her for hours. She radiates wisdom, humor and good times.

My most precious memory of her is when Mom was in the hospital /hospice with pancreatic cancer. They cousins brought her out to Lexington so she could see her sister one more time and I was sitting in Mom's room when Addie arrived. Mom was pretty narc'd up at that point, but when Addie came in she raised her arms and thickly murmured, "Oh AAahhhdiiiee." Addie sat on the bed and held her little sister and talked to her, touched her face and the love was so unabashed and naked I had to look away. I've never witnessed such strength in my life. I weep now as I am writing this, remembering her grace, how she didn't lose it, she didn't cry, she just poured out such love and kindness and goodness. I'm sure she cried a river of tears later, but those last moments they had together were spectacularly beautiful. We should all be so lucky.

Back to the matter at hand - what am I going to do for my "Ninety for 90"? I thought about doing several different things, but many have already been done. She's had cakes, pies, flowers, phone calls. Chicago White Sox memorabilia, gift cards, lunches and dinner out - all kinds of great stuff. Since the economy is sour, one person minted her a trillion-dollar bill . She took it to the Senior Citizens lunch and presented it to pay for her meal. (They didn't have enough change.) Oh, and did I mention she is hand writing proper thank you notes to each of us for her gifts? She is grace personified. Wish her a happy birthday!

 

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.

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

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.

My Quilted Consolation

A few days ago while guiding a cruise ship land tour I was in the process of crossing the street when I caught my front toe on the edge of a curb and went flying. As luck would have it my head missed an angled granite flower box by about a half an inch (I'd be getting coloring books for Christmas for the rest of my life if I had connected with that thing) but still managed to land on my right hand, arm and shoulder. One of the other guides came to my rescue (thank you LINN!) and  as luck would have it, one of the passengers in my group was a nurse.   We bagged it with ice & I finished the tour, mostly through gritted teeth. I went home, repacked the ice, took a fistful of ibuprofen, crawled into bed and slept until about 9PM when my husband woke me to eat something and repack the ice.  Since I had a physical scheduled the next day I was able to get x-rays to make sure nothing serious was broken or fractured.

I'm sporting a ghoulish bruise that extends from the palm of my right hand to almost halfway down my arm - eeewww.  I have it wrapped for support and camouflage. I can type for about an hour and that is IT.  Fingers, wrist, elbow just ACHE.  I carry around one of those little blue picnic bricks of ice like an accessory clutch purse, but covered by a zip lock bag so it doesn't sweat or drip. It's a look.

I can't dry my hair or put on makeup without looking clown-like.   When I forget the injury and try to pick up an empty  coffee cup or plate I drop it and thunk the edge on my granite counter tops. ( I now have a matched set of chipped Dansk Bistro dinner plates.) I can't begin to hold a needle or  sew, and frankly I'm starting to spiral up in my head about if or how much nerve damage is going to be part of the prize package that comes with me being such a klutz.



I am bitchy, crabby and sore, so you can imagine my happiness when my treasure arrived in the mail. Not long ago I decided to gift myself with one of  Dave Grunenwald's  QuiltBoxes.  He donated one to the Lowell Quilt Festival last year and when it arrived it stayed on my desk for an embarrassingly long time before I was forced to give it up to the committee.  These boxes are made by a talented, master craftsman who appreciates the art of quilting and surgically duplicates the perfect points and curves in a natural and beautiful medium. He is truly an artist.

I wanted to come up with something that would serve as a  bit of a commemorative piece. My mother, the quilter, has been gone ten years next month. My dear dad,  the hobby woodworker, has only been gone for six months.  I needed something that was a bit of both of them and a bit of me. Hence, the beautifully handcrafted wooden box with a quilt block design.  But which design? Dave makes it nearly impossible to choose - you want all of them.  After months of indecision I chose the mariner's compass block as an homage to my life by the sea in Gloucester, Massachusetts.  So all 3 of us are here in this one magnificent treasure. I'm not sure what I will put inside it yet - the bottom of the box is lined in black velvet so it must be something special. I had him add a little knob to it because my well-known OCD "issue" with hand lotion would gum up this little beauty in a NY minute.

I feel better just looking at it, touching the top, marveling at the silky smooth finish. It smells like wood and a bit of varnish, kind of like my dad's hardware store.  Within my limited means I try to support artists and craftspeople like Dave so that we continue to have beautiful, hand-made things in this world. Do the same - you will not be disappointed, I promise.

PS - It has taken me over 3 hours to put together this post. See how we suffer for our "art"? :)

PPSS -  I took the liberty of using Dave's photo as I can't begin to take a picture or wrestle the cords into the slots with this stupid damn hand all messed up.  Note to all you lurking grammar police and spell check Nazi's  -  I'm doing the best I can so take it elsewhere, m'kay?  A better use of your time would be to go to Dave's website and check these out. Seriously, you know you want one......

I Think I .....Can't

It has been three weeks since the loss of my Dad and while the initial numbness is easing, the hard parts are not.

When in the thick of a crisis  I tend to say to myself,  "If I can just get through X, I'll be fine."  X being a tough day, a week, an event.   I have a way of breaking things up in to manageable mental bits so I don't go completely postal and/or collapse.   "If I can get on the plane and get home to my family, I'll be OK.  If I can get through the wake and visitation, I'll be fine.  That's the hard part.  No, wait. If  I can get through the funeral....the burial....the exhausting plane trip back to Gloucester....." .  I just keep making those little goals because the big one is too much to comprehend or manage. Like the little train, I keep chugging along with "I think I can... I think I can..."  but seriously,  right now, I think I can't.

I forgot about the next part.

The aftermath, the physical exhaustion, the mental grief.  Yesterday was a good example.  I am working on a grant for the local library and spent most of the day on my 7-year-old computer (AKA the *#&$^%  boat anchor) trying to wrestle down documents and cope with incompatibilities in software.  I thought I would take a break and sync up my iPad and iPod touch so I can have some commute-worthy books to listen to on the road.

As I watched one device sync I noticed a lot of songs I didn't recall buying.  HYMNS, for heaven's sake.  "King of the Road" by Roger Miller!  Then it dawned on me - I downloaded those on wi-fi at the hospital so Dad could listen to some familiar music.  Dad  loved him some Roger Miller.  I don't even know if he could hear them, but I played them for him.

Then I got an email from my brother with a copy of the death certificate. (I'm going to release the (Sicilian) hounds -  my husband -  on American Airlines for being so heartless.)  When another brother requested the family address book, I (as the keeper of the family minutia,  ephemera, and other stuff) popped open my spreadsheet and saw the list  of addresses and phone numbers.... including the ones for Dad.  Hard to look at that. I  deleted those  before I sent it along, but when I popped open the browser to get back to my email I saw the bookmark for his Caring Bridge website where we kept far-flung relatives aware of his status.  Another thing to delete.  A thousand little things that appear and sting and compound the loss. Even hearing the TV  commercial about "setting up financial arrangements before a loved one goes in to a nursing home" sent me on a brief ,  "I wonder if  Gary got the billing sorted out before Dad moves to.....oh."   A thousand little things.

Mothers Day is thankfully past, but made even  more difficult this year by falling on my Dad's birthday.  Really, world?  Seriously?  Not enough stress for one day?  Then a sister wisely pointed out that we gave them both the gift they have surely wanted for almost ten years - we gave them back each other.  (Can I get a "thank God for sisters" from the choir?)

It helped.  But it is the thousand little things that  rain like  fine, thin shards of glass and fall  without warning  on your head and your heart.  I know it will let up,  I know it will get better.  I went through this when we lost Mom, but I really did forget (or blocked out) this part, and I can't break it up into manageable bits because that is not how it works.  I push through each day. I crave sleep.  I turn on my sound machine app to a quiet rainstorm to drown out the noise of traffic and motorcycles.  I want it to be quiet. I want peace. I want to stop crying at unexpected moments and inappropriate places. I want the roller coaster ride to level off.

I do not want to do this part but I do not  have a choice. Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted.   Maybe someday, but I'm not feeling it now. I'm just sayin'.

The Family Quilt

My dining room looks like an entire  luggage cart exploded, and not in the good way.

In  a futile attempt to sort for laundering, there are  piles of clothes everywhere.  Combining swimsuits,  linen shirts, wool socks, cotton tank tops, wool sweaters,  sandal socks and long-sleeved heavy wovens into compatible loads presents a unique laundry challenge.  I also have all kinds of keepsake treasures, sympathy cards, a guest book, a tie that belonged to Dad, and over in the corner laid over a chair -  the family quilt.  It did not start out being called that, but has become that as a result of life (and death) just....  happening.

The double wedding ring quilt was originally a gift to my parents on their 45th wedding anniversary in 1995.   My sister Pat pieced the top and she mailed it to me for the hand quilting.  I had it spread out on my dining room table for what seemed like an eternity (I was new to quilting at the time) and when I finished my part  I mailed it to my sister Peg who did the binding. (Note to Peg  - We still all believe you farmed it out to someone else to do the beautiful, turned edge binding.  I'm just sayin'....) We gave it to them on their anniversary and they had it on their bed for many years.

In 2001 we lost Mom to pancreatic cancer.  Shell shocked and grieving, we at least had the presence of mind to know her casket should be draped with a quilt - but which one?  She had made so many beautiful quilts.  We decided on this one and it looked just beautiful.  Our plan was to cut the quilt in to 3 pieces (for each of the 3 daughters who made it) and call it good.  Thankfully, as we stood there with a scissors in hand we realized that if we cut up that quilt we would have the unholy wrath of our mother upon our heads for all eternity.  So we left it with Dad. He put it back on his bed and for the next almost-10 years he kept it as a keepsake of her.

Those ten years were a tremendous gift.  Mom always said, "When you call home, if a man answers - hang up."  Mom wanted to be the first on any scoop.  Consequently,  Dad always played back-up to Mom so those first visits home post-Mom were a little strange.  We actually had long,  terrific  conversations.  I learned so much about him, his youth, his life, just everything - and it was wonderful.  Bonus - we had some seriously great laughs. I always took a hand sewing project home with me, I think he liked watching me sew and it removed the necessity of feeling like I always had to have something to say.  I have great memories of watching football and baseball games with Dad, chatting, silent, commenting, silent, sewing, silent....... redefining "quality time" in a way I hope you are all lucky enough to realize in your lifetimes.

In the past few years his health plummeted, the Parkinsons ramped up and was joined by dementia and a host of other issues.  He moved from assisted living to nursing home to skilled nursing care.  His death is a most conflicted mess of emotions - I cry for both grief at losing him and relief that his suffering was finally and  mercifully at an end.

Out came the family quilt, placed lovingly on his casket.  It looked so right. The other half of that wedding-ring couple was reunited  and things just seemed to be back in balance.  As a family we have decided that the quilt will be placed on all of our caskets (or urns placed on top of it) when we leave this earth.  I like the eternity of the linking circles in the quilt, the connection with our parents that it represents, and the fact that it is a physical, touchable reminder of the power of  love  - the love of our family, and especially the love of the two people who gave us life.

Sidebar:  When  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.  This was so long ago that most of the squares were polyester double knit (eeessh).   We still have the precious keepsake and it was covering Dad when he left us. The hospice worker on the final  night vigil had with her a Methodist hymnal.   While baptized a Catholic when he married my mother, he was born and raised as a Methodist.

How is that for interlocking bands coming into full-circle perfection?

The View from a Pew

I need someone to please tell me who is in charge.  We are running out of grownups in my family and I am sitting closer and closer to the front pew in church.

When making a graham cracker crust last week  I instinctively reached for the phone to call my mom and ask her about baking temps.  She has been gone for 9 years but she is still my go-to person.  I had no idea how much information was stored in her head until we lost her.   She was the central pivot in our family, keeping everyone rotating in orbits, tracking the whereabouts, births, deaths, marriages, arrivals and departures of the vast tribe that is our extended family.  When that ship sailed, so did a mountain of information.

We lost another grownup this weekend - My Uncle Ed.  The McGill side of my

[caption id="attachment_1616" align="alignright" width="193" caption="St. Leonards - the McGill "Mother Church" "][/caption]

family has/had a nice tradition at funerals.  We line up in semi-birth order, the cousins are together, the grandchildren of the deceased are together, the siblings, etc.  We then march into church with the immediate family sitting up front, then the grandkids, cousins, etc.  all in order.  I have noticed that as the years pass, I have moved closer and closer to the front pew. The people in church are mostly younger than I am - and sitting behind me.

When I am  in  Iowa or  Wisconsin with one of my sisters, we chatter endlessly on those long drives across the plains to Nebraska.   When we get stumped on some bit of family history or knowledge we hit the invisible OnStar button on the dashboard and say, "OnStar, could you ask Mom (enter question here.)"   Mom was our OnStar.  Our "MomStar" if you will.   A vast repository of  wide-ranging resources, trivia, experience and wisdom.

As I lose more and more of those grown-ups from my childhood  it makes me feel a little wobbly about who is in charge - who are the grownups now?  Me - an OnStar?   It is not an option.  We are destined to  step up, take the place of our elders  and pass along  those same things.  We are  the role models, supporters, informers, and safe-harbors of their life's  journey.

We are the grownups now.  We have the view from the front pew.

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.

What Makes a Woobie?

Everyone needs a woobie. Your woobie can be a doll, a toy,  or even a special old sweatshirt, but more often than not your woobie is a quilt. One of the great things about being a quilter is being plugged in to groups who specialize in woobies.  Check these out:

• Project Linus -  the ultimate in security blankets


• Quilts of Valor - no better way to say thank you to returning wounded veterans.  It's not about politics - it's about people.


• Operation Pillowcase - for the troops overseas, a little comfort all their own.  Many local groups with similar names operate the same way - Google one up near you.


• End of life quilts, hospice quilts, quilts for babies in neonatal units - there are groups everywhere creating gifts of loving comfort. You need not make an entire quilt - you can make a quilt top and send it to a volunteer who does longarm quilting, or vice versa.  There are entire systems in place to make it happen.

My woobie for over the past decade has been one of my Mom's quilts - one she called "Green Propellers." I found the pattern and sent it to her, bought her the book in fact (HINT HINT HINT Mom) and she did it up in cream and greens.  Really beautiful, but she always thought it looked like airplane propellers, hence the name.  When at last she gave each of her 6 children the Christmas gift of selecting one of her quilts, I dove for the Green Propellers.   (I wanted the  "Blues in the Night" quilt but that one was not on the offering list. Seriously. More on that later. )

After we lost Mom to cancer I  spent a LOT of time under that woobie, wrapping up in her love, in something she touched and handled,   hoping to absorb some bit of her into my soul and ease the grief.   As the years have passed   I still climb under that quilt when I am  missing her, or when  I'm sick, feeling stressed out, or just need a protective barrier to shut out the world for a while.     Tracing my finger along the seams, the squares and the lines of  her hand quilting is a zen-like experience that enriches my spirit and channels her love.  (Love never dies, you know, it simply changes and takes on the most amazing forms.)  Woobie quilts have that crinkly, wrinkly softness that soothes your body and soul.  They can cushion  you against whatever the world can throw at you.  Pull someone you love beneath that woobie with you and the whole world will look even better after a bit.

Not all quilts are woobies, but each quilt has woobie potential. I try to remember that when I am working on a quilt,  that everything I cut, sew, touch, fold and stitch should be done so with tenderness.   I would love to think that at least some of my quilts will find their way into their recipient's heart and become their woobie someday.

See?  That's what I mean about different kinds of love taking on the most amazing forms....