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.

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.