It's About Time - Getting Satisfaction

I did a lot of thinking after I posted that last entry.  Mostly about how much I self-edited, removing things I felt deeply but was fearful of putting out there in the world because depression is - and seemingly always will be - a taboo subject.  There are some great tweets about that attitude -

I figured out why I am so vibrantly aware of things these days - I'm running out of time.  I have more of my life behind me than I do ahead of me and while I'm good with that (honest!) I've got this whole stupid list of things to do "later", when I get the money, when I will be able to enjoy it, when I have the time (as if!) or some other BS rationalization.  It's time to do it now.  Money will always be a prohibitive factor, but the lovely silks I've been collecting for years are going to get CUT UP and made into a wonderful wall piece.  The beautiful Moda French General hexagons I painstakingly pieced and hand sewn are no longer in the "when I think of what I want to do with them" pile because I cut and bound them and they now look wonderful on various coffee tables in my family room.  My treasured damask and vintage linens are being used on my dining room and kitchen tables and YES I SAID THAT are getting food spilled on them and thrown in the washer and used again and again and I love it. 

I recently made 2 table runners as gifts for the newlywed children of friends. I did the registry gift thing for their bridal showers, but this time I felt like I wanted them to have something more meaningful - well, meaningful to me anyway. Both brides are mature, free spirited women who know themselves well.
I heartily regret machine quilting these runners with variegated thread - while it seemed inspired and dashing at the time, every sin you make with variegated thread screams. I backstitch to anchor starting and stopping points and damn if every time I did it the color of the thread would change just enough to look like a schmeariblik. Once I was on a pale yellow stretch of fabric when the thread turned a dark violet and MAN was that way too much contrast - it looked like I took a Sharpie pen and drew lines, for Pete's sake. This is not to say that I haven't done just that - I have a large and colorful collection of narrow Sharpie pens just for a similar  purpose. I touch up those areas when a bit of white thread pops up out of nowhere, a rogue bobbin thread that doesn't exactly match needs come camouflage - that kind of thing.

I now spend evenings embroidering wool felt ornaments that I consign to a nearby quilt museum. I love those things - each one a little creation that will go live in house of someone I'll never meet.  I used to keep track of where my Mother's quilted runners and wall hangings went when we sold them in my husband's shop. She loved hearing about the ones that went to London or Italy or Germany or Pennsylvania. Now I understand why.  Putting pretty little bits of yourself out there in the universe is a very satisfying use of time. I want my time now to be filled with more of that, whether it is making something or reading something or any one of a myriad of other things that are satisfying.  Time is much more my friend now than ever before, and all because I've been learning to use more of it to satisfy myself.

Peaches and Perseids

Such melancholy days these are.

Two of our closest friends married off their sons within 24 hours of each other. I made 2 table runners as wedding gifts, and machine quilted  them as I hope they will be used well and tossed in the washing machine. (I'll probably never use variegated thread again in my life, though, but that is another post.) The weddings took place this past weekend and I officially became "the old lady who cries at weddings".  I've seen those boys go from diapers to tuxedos and shared the adolescent angst (and behavior) with their parents, so it's easy to see how I get weepy when I see them walk them down the aisle or have that "mother and son" dance.  The harder moment for me is when the father of the bride gives his daughter to her future husband.  I flash back to the moment my dear Dad let go of my hand and placed it into Joe's, and my heart just aches.  Life is precious and fleeting.

This from a blog post a few years ago:

I didn't know it at the time, but the last time my parents came to Gloucester for a visit was during the Perseid meteor shower of about 1998.  We had friends who were members of a local beach club so we were able to troop down to the beach with a hibachi, wine, dessert and sand chairs to make a perfect evening in a perfect setting even more....perfect.  We had a marvelous supper, topped off by Mom's peach pie made from peaches picked in our own backyard.  Dad was the official peach peeler (he's a hound dog for peach pie) and Mom could whip up a pie so effortlessly it was all done in a blink.  I can still remember the setting in vivid detail, but I can't conjure up the taste of Mom's peach pie.  It's been too long and while my own peach pies are pretty good (from good DNA) they aren't hers.  They aren't from peaches in our own backyard, they weren't peeled with love by my Dad, and ..... well, you get the idea. We watched the sun set and the stars come out, the moon rose perfectly between the twin lighthouses of Thatcher Island, and the meteor shower began.  It was an experience we all talked about for years to come. 

We had to prop up those peach trees with lumber because the branches were so heavily laden with fruit they would otherwise break. The trees have since died off, and while we planted two others only one took root.  A few days ago Joe walked in to the house with three little peaches from our 'new' tree.  First fruits. Upon realizing it wouldn't be enough to make a pie or a cobbler or a crisp, I flashed to my memory of Mom and Dad in the kitchen, Dad peeling peaches and Mom working magic with pastry. Perseids and peaches will forever be twined together in my heart. 

Who knew such a powerful and priceless memory was being made that night? I have always "felt" things so deeply - my mother even said I was her most moody child. Sometimes I'm barely convinced I have any skin at all. Like so many others who have struggled with depression I was shocked and anguished by the death of Robin Williams. He was such a brilliant and talented man, but even all his resources were not enough. Mindful that building resilience is important, I've been trying to live more vigilantly and find things to rejoice in, to celebrate and savor. I'm trying to block off the voice in my head that constantly admonishes, "You should be doing -----" when I just want to sit and sew or embroider or read for an hour. (I have found it to be wonderfully enriching to put a stopper in that damn voice once in awhile.) Added bonus - I had the presence of mind to save one of those peaches to eat when I sit on the back porch and look for Perseids tonight.  Life is good. 

True or False with the Birthday Girl

Today is the big day - I knew I'd get a royal baby for my birthday, but damn - I wanted a GIRL.  Even knowing I wouldn't live to see her take the throne, I would have been content with knowing a female was finally in the line of succession.  (This is the kind of stuff English major's obsess over.)

I am now 55,  which seems very strange because mentally I feel about 42 or 43.... but enough about that, let's get to the list.  Since "with age comes wisdom," I am going to take another opportunity to clarify some of the OTHER conventional wisdom that is out there, and some of it about weddings because I so loathe what they have become and wish to straighten out as many people as I might.  

1. You are as young as you feel. 
False.  I think I'm 42, and I FEEL like I'm 93 and have spent the past 4 years in a cement mixer filled with broken glass and blunt instruments.

2. Outdoor summer weddings are wonderful. 
False.  I have a distinguished history of giving solid wedding advice and I bat a thousand when I say that outdoor summer weddings are anathema. Witness the vast number of white plastic chairs blistering in the summer heat at the shore hotels near my home.  Who in their right mind would make their guests go out and fry their asses in a humid, miserable sweat while the self-involved couple declares eternal love in badly written vows that drone on forever? Dear Bride and Groom:  I hope your presents suck.

3. Never go to bed angry.
False.  If you know and trust yourself, do whatever you like. Me? I know and trust myself, and I know that if we hadn't gone to bed good and angry a few times there would have been body bags at the curb the next morning.  Sometimes you need to retreat to neutral corners to calm down, cool off, and think about the problem. Harsh words said in anger are highly unlikely to be forgotten.

4.  Keep it simple. 
True. Simple is cleaner, clearer, less expensive and all around better.  St. Elizabeth Ann Seton once said, "Dress simply. It makes a pretty woman prettier and an ugly woman less noticeable."  Guest lists should ALWAYS be simplified. One bride complained (on the internet in front of God and everybody) that a full one-third of her wedding guests didn't send gifts. Earth to clueless bride: this indicates you invited a boatload of people who are 1) not friends, and 2) would have gladly stayed home.

5. You get what you pay for. 
Pretty much true. If I had a time machine I'd go back and buy really good shoes instead of the $9.95 Kmart sandals with high heels. It is probably the reason why I have a shoe wardrobe about about 5 pairs of shoes, all flats. I ruined my feet.
Same for clothes, furniture, the whole drill.  Quality and durability are never found bargain basement prices.

6. Measure twice, cut once. 
True. In construction and in quilting, truer words were never spoken. Ask anyone who has ever made a quilt to tell you about how they learned that lesson. Have some alcohol on hand because it gets pretty grim.

7. Slow and steady wins the race.
Pretty much always true.  I actually have a setting on my Bernina that caps me at 1/2 speed. I use it from time to time and it has always proven to be a wise move. It keeps me from screaming along when sewing long seams that need a consistent seam allowance of 1/4 inch.  That was not a typo - 1/4 inch.

8.  No pain, no gain. 
Pants on fire false. God made salty, buttered popcorn so we could gain and gain painlessly.

9. You look better with a tan.
True. Most people do.  However, there will come a point in time when your skin will sag and wrinkle and dehydrate and you will look a full 30 years older than you are. Case in point - I moved out here when I was 26 and took one look at the tan-every-summer matriarchs and bought a damn hat.  Never regretted it.  Spray-on tans if you must,  but the real thing will kill you with cancer and/or ugly.

10. A true friend will be with you for the good and bad times and love you through both. 
True beyond belief.  I think about that every year on my birthday and again on New Year's Eve.  I am ridiculously blessed with a great group of friends, and a smaller, inner circle made up of those who I know would run to help me in a crisis, keep any secret, call me on my BS, and constantly surprise me with their generosity.

So while the list of things I want for my birthday is long and boring (kitchen floor, storm doors on the front and back door, carpet torn out of the bedroom, paint for about 4 rooms) I really already have the gifts of a kick ass family,  priceless friends and a husband I adore. Bonus - my Mom once told me, "He looks at you like he made you from clay." Every time I tell him I love him, he shakes his head and says, "I love you more."
How can you ask for more than that?  Happy birthday to me.

Step Away from Those Machines!

I am in a strange universe these days, a little narc'd up and not quite sure of what is safe to do. Escalating spinal pain (building-the-pyramids-long-story) has kept me from my sewing machine, my computer (except now) and anything else that requires a reasonably sound mind and sober judgement. Pain meds are a godsend, but lousy for productivity.  A delayed procedure (hey, even doctors go on vacation) finally took place two days ago so I'm hobbling around trying to stay out of trouble.  Case in point - yesterday I was sitting at my computer trying to read email and send some work-related info when I started telling my computer to copy and paste. Oh I was doing it with my mouse, but speaking it out loud as if that was the way it actually got done. When I realized what I was doing I just shut down the computer and walked away.  To my sewing room. Thankfully, when I realized that picking up a razor-sharp rotary cutter and/or sewing anything together would have equally bad results, I went further down the hall to my bedroom and just listened to books on tape. Whew.
 Today I decided I would just tidy up my sewing room, a low-impact activity that seems safe, right?  But here's the thing about drugs -  when taking them, you do not have an accurate reading on how you are feeling or functioning. (Or if you are functioning accurately!) Frankly, I shouldn't even be writing this blog right now, I might say something incredibly stupid like "opiates are a gift" when in fact...... they are a godsend. Mr. Mackey would disagree - I keep hearing his voice in my head when my timer beeps to remind me of the next dose. I'm doing well and was told this post-procedure pain will resolve itself within seven days. Seriously?  Seriously.  Thank heavens I have the best husband/sherpa/humorist on the planet, and Mr. Mackey to guide me:

The Morning After

It was about 2AM before I finally fell asleep last night, too keyed up over the day's events and wrung out with worry about a loved one a mere 3 miles from where the bomber was found. Still cannot wrap my head around the phenomenon of seeing law enforcement and Special Forces from all over Massachusetts descending on the area. The whole of greater Boston was shut down, even Gloucester was so quiet my husband closed the store and came home early.  "Shelter in place" was added to the local vocabulary.   It felt like a Bruckheimer movie nightmare.

So today I'm chillaxing. Take THAT, fearmongers!  There is no better place to dissolve stress than my sewing room. I have this lovely, big  photograph hanging over my ironing board so I have something wonderful to look at while I press quarter inch seams and iron the (occasional) blouse.  This is a detail shot:  

The Village

There is a whole world in this photograph, all kinds of little people cleaning and scrubbing and working and moving giant buttons and zippers.  It is endlessly entertaining to me and I'm almost at the point of giving the people names and writing a little story about their world.

So it's back to the drawing board with the William Morris hexagon project as the adhesive, wash-out stabilizer I marked the side quilting borders with was, I learned, not so wash-out.  The Sulky label said "spritz with water and it dissolves."  I completed one side and decided I better try out the removal before proceeding further.  I spritzed half of it and the whole thing turned to slimy glue.  I scraped off what I could and let it be, hoping it would dry and be fine. It dried - hard as a rock.  I took it downstairs to the kitchen and soaked just the border in a pot of water and let it sit there a while.  After I gently hand scrubbed the rest of it out I put it outside on the clothesline to dry in the sun.  I think it will be ok, actually, but "dissolves" should be taken off their label.  I'm not crazy about throwing it in the washing machine to let that do the work either - the piece will be fine but having that much glue in my washer and/or water lines doesn't give me a warm fuzzy feeling.  Maybe I'll soak the whole thing in a pot and toss that water on the weeds out back.

This is the first thing I've ever made that is entirely machine quilted. I love the stippling process, very zen, but wanted a more constructed look for the border quilting. I think it will finish up fine. I'm happy to take an afternoon and pop on a CD or book on tape and just let the world turn without me for a while.

Oh, and in case you are wondering, we already know the bomber can't get a fair trial in Boston so we're thinking of sending him to New York. 

Dueling Saints

Today is the Feast of St. Joseph so my husband Joe  is celebrating his feast day. Since he had Sicilian parents and their heritage included a tremendous devotion to St. Joseph,  the observance involved emptying the furniture out of a main room,  constructing a huge altar with 3 tiers, draping it with the colors for that year (kind of like a prom theme) and then loading it up with all kinds of lamps, candles, flowers, statuary, etc. Once the novena began the house would fill up nightly with Italian ladies who would sit in the rented folding chairs before the altar, pray the rosary and singing feast day songs at the top of their lungs, all in a  pre-WWII Sicilian dialect. At the end of the hour they moved to the kitchen and had coffee and pastries and chatted. It was a thing of beauty.

[caption id="attachment_2908" align="alignleft" width="225"] Small but Sincere![/caption]

The feast itself was a consummate tribute to Sicilian culture and cuisine.  Maria's version of Pasta di San Giuseppe was a marvel of cauliflower, fava  beans, chick peas, and other ingredients that made a chunky, creamy white sauce served over  homemade pasta.  It was not for the faint of heart - you either loved it or hated it. (I loved it.) The rest of the dishes were largely seafood based (it being Lent and living in a fishing community) and side dishes included battered artichoke hearts and stuffed, sun-dried tomatoes - long before those became "popular" here in the U.S.  It was no wonder my Irish heritage was largely ignored as St. Patrick's Day got lost in the shuffle.  As the years passed, and Maria did likewise, the festivities moved to other houses.  St. Patrick's got back on the map, but not in ways I ever anticipated.

I love my Irish heritage and I'm a bit of a purist.  My grandma, Margaret Carroll McGill,  was born and raised in County Kerry and she told me I never had to wear green on St. Patrick's day because I had true Irish blood. (Somehow I got it in my head that my blood turned green on St. Patrick's Day and I always wanted to prick my finger to see it bleed - and see if it was green.)  My mother never made corned beef and cabbage because 1) she probably didn't like it and 2) it really isn't an Irish dish.  Irish bacon and colcannon are more proper, and I"m not a big fan of any variation of colcannon I've ever made.   My observance of St. Patrick's Day centers around using my Belleek china or having a pint of Guinness (no proper Irishman would be caught dead drinking green beer).  My husband? The Sicilian prince?  Loves corned beef and cabbage. When I say "loves" corned beef & cabbage, I mean "would marry it". He has a serious problem.  This really happened:

Joe:  I went to the store and picked up some groceries.

Me: Good, we were getting low.  What did you get?

Joe: Well, I bought a nice slab of corned beef!

Me: Really?  (Jokingly) Just one?

Joe:  Well, actually I bought two and thought I would freeze one....

Me:  Seriously?  Two?

Joe: Well (pointing to the refrigerator) .... there might be three in there.

Me: THREE?  There MIGHT be three?  Are you serious?

Joe: Well, we never have leftovers to make corned beef hash and I know you like that.

Oh yes, I'm sure he bought it for me.  He does that a lot. He will come home with a ham and say, "Look what I got you!" (Ham = oxygen to him.) In Sicilian culture, food is love. He shows his love for me by bringing home food he loves. Whatever. He cooks it (I refuse to) and enjoys it with as much relish as he does his feast day pasta.  March is his favorite month.

These days our altar is small but very sincere. We used to have a little silver tray to hold the mass cards of people we had lost, but as years passed we graduated to a lovely crystal bowl. After this round, I think we need to find a bigger bowl.  In twenty-five years we have collected a lot of those little cards. It is with great love and many tears we go through and review  them, but we always try to remember how lucky we were - and still are - to have loved so many wonderful souls. We pray for them, for families and friends, and this year for the new Pope Francis on whom the future of the church hangs in precarious balance. He will need all the help he can get.  I have set aside many of the beliefs taught to me in my youth, but I have hope in him. Besides, who better than the spirit of St. Francis of Assisi to guide us going forward?

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!

 

Just Keep Snowing...Just Keep Snowing

We are just starting out on the most recent "snowpocalypse" to be forecast with the typical accompanying hysteria and panic shopping.  This one is different, however, because the Weather Channel saw fit to give it a name - NEMO.  This makes it easier to track on Twitter & other social media - I get that - but NEMO?  Seriously?

I'm sitting here writing this fresh out of the shower and with wet hair. After listening to

[caption id="attachment_2848" align="alignright" width="219"] Note Use of Local Dialect[/caption]

sustained winds HOWL for the past hour I thought it would be prudent to scrub down, shampoo and dry my hair while we still had power.  I'm not one for panic shopping (bread, milk and eggs are de rigueur out here) because we keep a pretty well stocked pantry and I've never had a craving for French toast during a blizzard.  If it weren't for the nagging fear of losing power I'd be happy as a lark.  I love a good blizzard as long as I'm safe, warm and have access to charging devices like my iPad.

Not sure how this storm will shake out but all signs point to "very bad" and I worry about people who are not safe or warm. Let's all worry about them instead of preempting TV shows to announce another inch of snow has fallen and that everything closed is still closed.

Historic Paper Piecing - Design Wall Monday

I've got a pretty broad range of fabrics in my stash and what I make reflects that spectrum.  I have an equal opportunity (and era) stash.  However, I do love hand sewing and since I love paper piecing hexagons I thought I'd give it a whirl with some different shapes and historic fabrics.

Oy vey.

I wasn't prepared for all those ANGLES.  I can stitch hexagons in my sleep but the octagons and coffins (my word) were a new ball game. To make matters worse, I PAID FOR THE SCRAPS so I couldn't ditch the project.  No, I am not insane - they are the gleanings from late 1800's - early 1900's quilts that have been rescued and conserved by loving professionals. In some cases, entire portions of the quilt had to be removed and the surrounding fabric was lovingly harvested and sold for around $8 a bag.  To a good home, you might say.

I bought a bag of the scraps just to touch them, to study up close and personal how those fabrics were made, the stunning colors and intricate designs.  They just breathed life.  I didn't know what I would do with them until I hit on the idea of paper piecing a little something to go on my end table. (Okay, probably under glass, I spill a lot of coffee.) I felt compelled to gently hand wash them, let them air dry and used the survivors in this bit of piecing. I like the idea of giving those very old fabrics a very new life.  The gold connecting squares and the border fabric are not old, just reproduction fabrics in the same color family.  Even though from now on I will probably stick to hexagons, I really like this little bit of a thing and can't wait to see it finished.

I Did It. My Way.

We've already established that reading pattern directions is my kryptonite. Even when I was making dresses and blouses for Home Ec I needed help translating arrows and darts. The fact that my mother was a pretty accomplished "sewist" didn't help matters because she was left-handed and (to me) did everything upside down and backwards.

[gallery ids="2825,2826,2816"]

I wanted a purse made from my treasured stash of Japanese fabrics.  I knew how I wanted it to look, and I knew I had all the hardware and fabric and fusible fleece to do it.  I even had the right size hexagons to paper piece the top part so I dove right in and then spent an inordinate amount of time ripping it apart.  Ironically - I understand purse construction SO much better that now I might actually be able to tackle reading a pattern!

When I made this I tended to put pieces together and then say, "Hmm, I should have put those snaps in before I joined the 2 pieces together."  I honestly think I made a purse upside down and backwards.  While I don't think Mom would be proud,  it is finished.  I might need to remake one of the snap-in inserts, I got so caught up in stippling that the finished insert might be too heavy for the purse.  I was always so afraid to stipple but I'm finding it can be very Zen-like.  (It's also quite a workout for your upper arms, let me tell you!)  I have no explanation for my obsession with pockets other than to admit I have a fantasy of presiding over a completely organized purse. I bought a special zipper for the topmost closure - just in case those pockets get overstuffed and unseemly, I can zip the whole thing shut and no one will know.

I'd say it came out about 85% like what I wanted, and I might up that percentage after using it for a while. Think I'll move into it and give it a test drive next week.  But YAY, I finally (after years of waiting) did it!

I Think I'm Turning Japanese

I really think so.

(Okay, it's an old song by the group The Vapors, but for me it's for realsies.)

I've had a love affair with all things Japanese since I visited there back in 2004. We were there because Joe had been made president of the local Rotary chapter that year and one of his "duties" was to attend the world conference. Duty? Hell yeah! The club picked up his tab so our only expense (besides meals and incidentals) was my plane ticket and a big boost to our hotel allowance. (I've got a "good hotel" thing and I'm willing to pay for it, dammit.)

The trip was epic - Rotary gave all attendees a beautiful tote bag filled with rail passes, bus passes and all kinds of maps and information.  We traveled all over by ourselves, got lost a few times, ate all kinds of food we had NO idea about but loved every bite.  The temples in Nara were breathtaking.  Our suitcases came back jammed with elegant, diminutive Japanese sake flasks, kitchen utensils, and FABRIC.

I've hoarded the fabric, doling it out in bits and pieces for worthy things. I added to the stash when I worked at The New England Quilt Museum. I was fortunate enough to enjoy an employee discount on the uber-gorgeous Japanese taupes and imports - resistance was futile. My Japanese stash occupies its own very select storage box.

[caption id="attachment_2816" align="alignright" width="300"] Oh SNAP-in pocket with dragonfly snap closure & an exterior pocket[/caption]

Just after Christmas I started looking at my very tired purse and decided it was TIME to bust out some really good fabric and treat myself for a change.  Since reading bag patterns is my kryptonite I decided to just take what I know and sew. It hasn't been pretty.  I've added at least 3 new variations on old swear phrases to my vocabulary. I'm not finished yet but I kind of like where it is going, even though the finished height was supposed to be the width and the finished width...well, you get it.  I started paper piecing the hexagons just after Christmas - I love hand sewing and I love how Japanese fabrics go together.  I'm working on making

[caption id="attachment_2799" align="alignright" width="300"] Bag interior with oh SNAPS![/caption]

different snap-in attachments that can vary  with # of pockets and depth. Sometimes I like to tote my iPad places and it will fit very comfortably in the finished purse.  I still need to finish a few things, cover a thin slice of foam core with fabric so it has a nice, flat bottom, and make the straps.  I'm enjoying this enormously, even thought it has meant a lot of re-doing and re-engineering things as I go along.  Why not?  There is no deadline and it's just for me.  For ME.

PS - Happy New Year - I can't believe it's been so long! I noticed that the powers-that-be are sticking ads on my blog posts. GAAUGH.  I am not responsible for their appearance or their content. Turn your nose up disdainfully at them.

PPSS - I feel like a drug dealer but....want to (beautifully) burn a few hours of your life? Love trees? Love all things Japanese?  Click here.  You're welcome.

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 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.....

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. )