I'm not one to beat around the bush. My motto: Get to the point and state what's on your mind. Well, that's what I say in my head. In real life, I'm a little less casual about being antisocial-blunt. Most of the time.
I didn't start quilting until the offspring were older. I tried sewing garments when the kids were itty-bitty, but it was too much to expect them to keep away from sharp objects. I didn't have a set-up where I could shut the door on my creating and attend to my mothering. The fabric I had purchased in 1980 for a quilt was left untouched. I didn't know a thing about quilting then, but the desire to learn had been brewing. Funny thing about those fabrics -- I bought all solids. Bright ones.
My time away from the machine was spent on other forms of needlecraft. I had learned to knit as a nine-year-old Girl Scout, and after many adolescent years of split stitches and uneven tension, I let that simmer until I picked it up again in college. In my typical overeager fashion, the first thing I made was a sweater in a reindeer-and-snowflake motif. It wasn't the greatest on the reverse side, but it looked pretty decent when worn right-side out. During the surge of births at the twenty-something stage-of-life, I designed and knit all sorts of babywear and afghans. As I recall, I flinched as I read a thank-you-for-the-blanket from one uninformed recipient. I could usually gauge who would appreciate a handmade gift as well as I could gauge my stitch size, and didn't squander my productions on the unappreciative.
Counted cross stitch was making the rounds in the '80's. That appealed to my sense of detail and order. I never made any big counted cross stitch pieces, but dabbled in plenty of fingertip towels and bell pulls. I taught myself Klostersom, a Norwegian needlepoint, and Blackwork. My neighbor and friend Esther Miller is a master rug hooker, and she taught me how to hook. The desire to be a really good hooker is on a low boil, just beneath the surface. I have been trying to resist both that and Hardanger stitchery, a heavy Norwegian lace fabric technique made from stitching and cutting cloth. I haven't time for more passion in my life, and I feel the potential with both of those.
I did some weaving, too. Loved it. Of course. Thankfully that comes with the need for a large loom, which effectively quelled my desire to get crazy about it. Spinning, however... I have done crewel, needlepoint, embroidery, candlewicking, crocheting, trapunto, and the list goes on. I taught knitting in the public school and in my home, and inadvertently launched interest for some of these passtimes in friends who were curious about what I was doing.
When I started quilting, I found it much easier to put on the blinders when other needlecraft would pass my way. By my third quilt, I was getting pretty good. In fact, I was really good! I was certain this was obvious to others. Outwardly, I was perfunctory about it, but inside I was ecstatic that I could perform so well as a novice.
I joined the Northeast Iowa Quilt Guild. I have mentioned this group before, and they are truly amazing. They are incorporated as a non-profit, and their mission statement reads:
“The guild will be non-profit with the purpose of encouraging and promoting high standards in the practice and knowledge of quilting, conducting educational programs and providing for the interchange of information.”
In truth, they step beyond the confines of that mission statement. They welcome new quilters with eagerness and warmth, and openly applaud the work of each member. The process of critiquing and instruction is intoxicating for the newbie. I was soaking-in their expertise and rookie-reveling in their praise.
I was thirsty. I wanted more. For some unknown reason, I wasn't getting this praise and interest at home from the fam. I found that confusing.
T-man had a little friend who spent quite a bit of time at our house. Blake Livingood; we called him Blakey. He was like having another child, but one who was very polite, obedient, and respectful of his parents. “Tad, why don't you call Blakey and see if he can come over?” Those were cherished times. He and T are friends for life, surviving the natural separation in middle and high school, when Tad went out for basketball and Blake went out for wrestling. I miss little Blakey like I miss my own little children. Offspring adulthood has its own rewards, but my memory sparkles with the gems of their childhoods.
One day, while I was quilting, Blakey observed what I was doing and actually asked me some questions about how to make a quilt. Have I emphasized firmly enough how much I loved that kid? Not only did he ask, he listened while I answered, touched the quilt, and before he and Tad ran off to play in the woods, he told me he thought it was a very nice quilt. This happened on more than one occasion. It may have only been twice, but Blake became my favorite child. He appreciated the skill my own family had taken for granted. He was my link to the cooing of the Northeast Iowa Quilt Guild that I needed at home. Eventually, I had a favor to ask of him.
“Blakey?”
“Yeah?”
“When you come over, would you always ask me about my quilting, please?”
Bashful and charming smile, a bit askance, yet attentive and abiding. “Yeah. Okay.”
“And, since you can see that I'm the best quiltmaker in the world, would you please mention that after I show you want I'm working on?”
Laugh. Oops! Aborted laugh. He could see how needy I was. “Uh-huh. Okay.”
“Thank you, Blakey.”
“It's okay, Kari.”
Sometimes you have to ask for what you need. It's as simple as knowing the right person to ask.
From then on, the door would slam and the boys would run through the house. Maybe they'd stop in the kitchen for a drink, or rush downstairs for Leggos or the computer. My Golden Boy never forgot.
“Hi, Blakey!”
“Hi, Kari! You're the best quiltmaker in the world!”
Thanks, Blakey. I love you, too!”
Now I'm a better judge of my own skills, and I don't look as far afield for acceptance of my designs -- I know if I like them or not. I'm not so hungry for praise, but am grateful for those who understand what I'm doing. There is one comment I still love to hear, even though it's rare these days. Blake, as an adult, remembers to ask me about my quilting, and he always remembers to say, “Kari, you are the best quiltmaker in the world!”
Copyright © July 2005 Kari E.O. Burns
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