In Defense of Quilting as Excitement, Part 1

There was a time in my life when I considered that riding a stationary bike was straight from "Boredom: The Ultimate Guide". A girlish figure required running, biking, swimming, and weight training, not to mention meticulous scheduling efforts to get in jazzercise, tennis, and golf. And the pay-off? Are you kidding? Abs of iron and buns of steel speak for themselves, especially in the double-takes at poolside.

The Young Mother Years took up where the Stair Master left off. There was no time nor need for racquetball when the laundry room was in the basement and the playground equipment a veritable Iron Man course. The term "double-tasking" sounded like a day at the beach. Have you ever seen a mother walk from room to room with empty hands? It's a waste of energy to forgo the opportunity to put something away where ever you pass. My method of coping was to wait it out. Fortunately my husband and I had agreed to stop procreating at two children, the point at which we had run out of parents.

Finally my first goal was met - all day/every day school for both kids. After about a week at home alone, I started to consider my next move. I'm still not clear on this point, but somehow I fit in a second career, and I have a vague recollection of enjoying it immensely. Let's see, I went back to school, created a partnership, and opened a business. I had an office then, so the kids could say, "My mom has an office," which made me a little bit easier to explain at school. The "my-mom-keeps-a really-clean-house" boast had been challenged on the playground. But, as things happen, we closed our business and moved on. It was then I decided to teach myself to quilt.

Big mistake.

I am not the woman I once was. The size of my behind no longer concerns me, but I'm obsessed with the size of my between. Today, equipment-shopping means taking a good, hard look at the hand braces in the drug store instead of the ankle weights in the sporting goods store. My joy was even more complete the day I bought one of those lighted 6x magnifying glasses to hang around my neck. New horizons opened for me in the world of appliqué! Hubba, the wet blanket, insisted I show him the box in which my dear toy was packaged, using an intervention approach to break through my denial.

"Look at the models on the box! They have white hair, and they are sitting down, sorting stamps."

“Your point being...?” I certainly wasn't going to be quilting on, say, a stationary bike.

And so went my descent into the bowels of an obsession. The sirens began to call:
Rotary blades, 10 for $29!
Come see the new batiks!
Have you tried triangles-on-a-roll?
I know how to get pencil marks out of muslin..."

What's more, I have been to Paducah, and dream of Houston and Lancaster. I paid a fortune for a small old sewing machine my mother couldn't get rid of fast enough when she was my age. And, the only thing that still fits me from firmer days is my thimble.

One day on the way to the quilt shop, I was stopped at the light when a young, nubile lovely jogged past, her headphones on and large dog leashed. I turned to my daughter and said, "Man, does that ever look like a boring way to spend time."

"Mother, you quilt.”

“You know, you guys haven't been very good at making your points lately. What's yours?”

“Let me explain. Don't be shocked, but there are many people who would consider quilting as a boring way to spend time."

When will the world stop stereotyping quilters? Threadies with wild lint in your veins: UNITE! We need more of a WOW factor. Stay tuned. My quilting adventures themselves have provided the perfect answer.


Copyright © 5/14/2005 Kari E.O. Burns