It is a well-known fact that quilters like to spend time on Greyhound buses. Age is not an indicator here – really young lint-chicks like bus trips as much as the more seasoned rider. It's not the funky bus songs that draw us, either. It's the opportunity to spend a day with other quilters, work on hand projects, and stop at predetermined quilt shops for fabric. Multiply the enthusiasm by fifty, and that's a lot of lint to inhale in one small, enclosed space.
We've tackled this subject before, in “In Defense of Quilting as Excitement, Part 2: Paducah or Bust”. As you recall, that incident just about brought Hubba to his knees: he didn't consider the thought of me on a Greyhound very sexy. Brother. Stereotyper.
The Piecemakers, a quilt guild headquartered in Spring Grove, Minnesota, owned the day on July 11, 2005. We were in the thick of Midwestern quilting culture; on a bus, for the entire day, and cutting loose. Oh, bay-bee.
We began to gather at about 7:30. That's a.m. In the morning. No problem. Early birds were reminded to make a pit stop and have along a few snacks, a bottle of water, etc. because we weren't stopping again until lunchtime. Yee-haw! Quilt shops, here we come! We left Spring Grove with the first-to-board at 8:00 a.m. Sharp. Barb Solum was our hostess and planner for the day. I have always loved Barb – now, sit down, Barb, and let's get this bus moving!
We stopped at the next burg, Caledonia, Minnesota, and picked up a few more threadies in the parking lot of the Kwik Trip. They were identifiable by the pool of drool around them, which reflected the sun, low in the eastern sky. I think I heard someone admonish the bus driver to just open the door and slow down – they could run alongside and jump on. Yee-haw! Quilt shops, here we come!
One last boarding stop was made in Hokah, Minnesota. We only picked up two threadheads there, and rest assured that had we failed to stop for them, we could have expected national headlines. Hurricane Dennis would have looked like an interloper. Door opens, in b-o-u-n-c-e the last two, and it's Yee-haw! Quilt shops, here we come!
I brought along my cathedral window quilt project. I always bring it. Goal date for completion of my cathedral window quilt? May, 2038, but I'm thinking of moving that back a few months. Some quilters were knitting, some were embroidering, and several were reviewing patterns and discussing the fabric choices they had in their mind's eyes. Some were periodically breathing into paper bags.
We were headed for Sun Prairie, Wisconsin, home to (count 'em) three quilt shops. AND we were making one more thread stop in Waunakee, Wisconsin, before heading home. Could you please hand me that paper bag?
Our first stop was Diana's, the tea room and confectionery in Sun Prairie that Barb had lined up for lunch. Oh, yeah. They had cake. Nothing like getting a good cake buzz on before fabric shopping. As we waited to disembark at Diana's, Barb got on the loud speaker and gave us the proximity of the three shops in Sun Prairie. You could have heard a pin drop.
As soon as we were done with lunch, several of us hoofed it to Itchin' to Stitch, only a few blocks from Diana's. There is nothing like the sight of fifty or so quilters of all ages, sizes, attire, and desire as they swoop in on their prey. I'd never been to Itchin' to Stitch before, but I'd heard about it. Let's put it this way -- the Itchin' to Stitch people had seen our kind before. Someone met us at the door with a whistle.
Bl-weeeet!
“Ten-hut! Here are the rules! We don't sell fat quarters here. If you want a fat quarter, find a buddy a split a half yard yourselves. Line up to cut your yardage here, and then form a second line to pay over there. The bathroom is at the back of the store. If someone's in it, you have to wait to use it. Batiks are on your left, and the books are near the front window. Okay, people. Shop! Fall out!”
Bl-weeeet!
I found the bathroom rule particularly troubling. Not the rule, but the occurrence that required them to make the rule. I can't allow my mind to dwell on it for long.
When we were done there, the next stop was JJ Stitches, a few more blocks away than most of the group wanted to walk. Not me! Bus? What bus? I was too jerked up on cake and airborne lint to sit on a bus. I grabbed my buddy Maxine and we simulatneouly walked off some of our energy and beat a path to JJ's. Bus? Too slow.
JJ Stitches has a whole room devoted to 20's and 30's repros, and one reserved for penny rug inspirations. I actually needed to come up for air, so after a quick tour of the store, I ducked out to an antique shop as an aperitif. Of course, quilt trip radar led me to a little Featherweight, deep in the bowels of the basement of the shop. There was only the machine, the cord, and the foot control. No case, no instructions, not even a ratty old spool of thread. Nothing. $350. Hubba?? Did I get a deal on mine in Paducah, or what?
Then it hit me. Paducah. A bus. Hubba. Something seemed odd. Hubba... Hubba? I reviewed the conversation we had in the wee hours of this very day.
I had totally forgotten to tell him about the bus trip. That's the consequence of our life's pace these days, and details get sorta smudgy. Details like, I'll be gone for thirteen and a half hours. I'll be in another state, with strangers, spending down the cash flow.
I had fallen awake at about four o'clock that morning, and remembered I was going on a bus trip with the Piecemakers. Strangely, Hubba had come to at about the same time. Noticing he was awake, I said, “Hey. I just remembered I have this bus trip to Sun Prairie today. I forgot to tell you.”
“Oh. Okay. I'll figure out something for lunch. When do you think you'll be back?”
“Don't remember. But it'll be after supper, because I know they talked about stopping someplace to eat on the way back.”
“'Uhkay. When are you leaving?”
“Seven. Can you give me a ride to the Curves parking lot so I don't have to leave my car there all day? Mary Beth, Darlene, and I are riding up to Spring Grove together to catch the bus.”
“Sure. Now let me sleep for a couple more hours.”
“Thanks. Love you, Hubba.”
“Love you, too, Sweetie.”
That's what is was! Hubba's reaction! He didn't say a thing. Not a single wisecrack. I said the word “bus”, and everything. Zip. Not one eye-rolling – make that, not one instance of eye-rolling. If he had rolled just one eye, I would have devoted an entire post to the topic.
He was calm and accepting. He acted like this was normal. I found his lack of response disquieting..
The thought of this stayed with me throughout the next two shops. Prairie Quiltworks, another shop in downtown Sun Prairie, is a quilt shop on one side, and a yarn shop on the other. Quilting Passion, meet Knitting Passion.
Knitting Passion: “She's mine!”
Quilting Passion: “No, she isn't! She's mine!”
Knitting Passion: “Ha! Did you see her buy those patterns for felting purses? I've won her back! Bwa-ha-ha-haw!”
Quilting Passion: “Nooooo! I'm mel-ting...mel-ting...”
Beading Passion: “I'm waiting in the quilt shop in Waunakee. You guys are toast.”
The Hubba thoughts even broke through a mind occupied with fiber-blather. Something just seemed unsettling to me. It was like adjusting to the offspring being grown and gone. Or dealing with the loss when the Yorkies were adopted out, and then passed on. But Hubba? Hubba, are you changing, too?
We boarded the coach for the next leg of our journey. The din inside was party-atmosphere bright. Bags of fabric and books with patterns and techniques were flying back and forth. Someone thought to pass the hat to tip our bus driver, which was timely since the mood was high and over-tipping was more likely. And there I was, forlornly looking out the window as the cars and time passed by, both too quickly. Hubba, where are you?
Our last shop of the day was Mill House Quilts in Waunakee, Wisconsin. As promised, Beading Passion got a lick in on Knitting Passion, siding with Quilting Passion to win the day. Incorporating beads into functional quilts has me chomping.
Troubled as I was, I decided to live in the present. I sat with a new friend, Helen Williams, and had a great time getting to know her. Somehow she's managed to get through life up to this point without me, and we plotted how to get together again in the future. Her quilt guild is called The Mabel Q.T. They meet in the basement of the telephone office in Mabel, Minnesota, the first Monday of every month for Q.T., or Quilt Therapy. Sounds reasonable to me. I think I'll join 'em. Therapy...
It worked. Once my mind was relaxed, I had a better handle on what was happening at home. Hubba is becoming a quilt husband. How boring. I suppose now he's going to sit and uh-huh as I “drone on and on about quilting”. Sigh. That's what he used to say, back in the good old days. I expect he'll meet my quilt students at the door and say, “You kids have a good time today. I know how much quilting means to you.” This goes beyond being a good sport about it, like he once was. He's teetering on the edge, but with any luck he hasn't gone over it yet.
Don't worry. I'll have a talk with him and do what I can to break through his denial. It's not too late. The condition still young enough for effective intervention. I won't let him become a quilt husband. Not my Hubba.
Reversing the quilt-husband stereotype? Yee-haw! Tattoo parlor, here we come!
Copyright © July 2005 Kari E.O. Burns
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