I stopped counting at thirty. I don't think I've gotten up to a hundred yet, but sometimes I say “about a hundred”. That's because “a hundred” represents “a lot”. I say “a lot” when a quilter asks me, and I say “about a hundred” when a non-quilter tries to pin me down.
You see, I truly don't remember how many quilts I have made. I simply can't. It's like trying to remember the names of all seven of Snow White's dwarfs, without the aid of a memory association technique. Every now and then another one will streak through my head, and I think to myself, “Okay, so I won't forget that one again.” Well...
You'd think of all people, I would have been writing this stuff down. I was always going to, but then I'd be itching to get to the next quilt and never get the job done. The reason I can't remember most of them is because they don't live with me, but have been carefully placed in loving homes. My specialty is making quilts for specific people, then giving them to those people. After all, in my mind the quilt is perfect for that person.
I experimented with writing things down when I was working on Neil and Judith's quilt. I was using a journal and longhand then, and my hand simply got tired. I didn't know how to use the word processing program on my computer, and for some reason I didn't see myself dragging out the Smith Corona – too lofty-Hemingway for little old Midwestern me. Have I told you how I pigeon-hole life events according to my preconceived notions? Yeah, I thought I had.
The other snag was the emphasis it put on my UFOs. Before I knew that everybody who quilts has UFOs, I just figured I was disorganized and unable to see projects through to fruition. I have since reframed the issue under the belief that the sign of a true quilter is having as many designs waiting for attention as there are completed quilts who-knows-where out there. I'm taking it one step further. The sign of a passionate quilter is not remembering how many UFOs are tucked away, let alone how many quilts have been completed and distributed.
Here are the quilts I've told you about or mentioned so far: 1.) “First Try”, 2.) “Pinwheels and Cartwheels: Two Lives Together”, 3.) “Neil's Garden, Zinnias for Judith”, 4.) “She Reposes Among Roses, His Music Surrounds Her”, 5.) Tad's little comforter quilt I made him for Christmas, 6.) Jim's Log Cabin quilt, which I call “Uncle Jim's Cabin”, 7.) Leslie's quilt, and I can't remember what I named it, 8.) Chelseys' quilt, “Hello Drama Queen”, 9.) Lynn's graduation quilt “Roots and Wings”, 10.) “Dorotha's Bounty”, which I made for the Thimbleberries challenge, 11.) the never-to-be-completed “James Burns, Esquire, Saturday Morning”, 12.) Kathy's nosegay and grandmother's flower garden quilt, another name that has escaped me, 13.) “Quilt Soup” (Did I tell you about Quilt Soup? I don't remember.), 14.)Tad's Civil War Revolving Star quilt (made with the aid of the Square in a Square Ruler®), 15.) Tad's Christmas quilt/comforter.
Sheesh. That's the best my rememberer will let me do. Upon review, I noticed I named Tad's little Christmas comforter twice, but I didn't fix it so you will know firsthand what I'm battling here. I have at least fifteen more out there that I know about, and today's post is a pledge that I will do my best to write about each of them, as they emerge from the misty gloom of my middle-aged mind and into the beam of the Ott Lite.
Let me start with two recollections that have been stirred up and brought forth, while I can still say, “I won't forget those again.” They come to mind because T-man is studying in Ireland for a few months, and they both (the quilts) live there. They are in the same family, but not in the same household.
The first of these quilts was made when our Irish daughter, Clare Hunt, made a return visit to the United States to visit us in Iowa. We first met Clare when she was twenty-one years old and a counselor with the Ulster Project. For several years, a group of middle-school-aged kids from Northern Ireland would spend a month of their summers in selected communities in the United States. Half of the students were Catholic, and the other half, Protestant. The Catholic kids would stay in the homes of American Catholic kids their ages, and the Protestants did likewise. They were then able to see how effortlessly and happily Catholics and Protestants live together in other parts of the world. We hoped the wheels would start turning for them.
The Dot was the right age to participate in the Ulster Project the summer after her eighth grade year, but she was out for softball, and we didn't think its sporadic schedule would make her a very good hostess. Reluctantly, we made the decision to sit it out.
We got a call one day from the director of the program in Decorah. She said she understood our decision not to host a student, but wondered if we would be interested in having the female counselor. The program had one male and one female counselor from Northern Ireland, and one each from here in Decorah. We jumped at the chance to host this young woman, and the bonus was that The Dot got to participate in all the Ulster Program activities that she could squeeze in. Lucky us; we were assigned Clare.
All these young people hail from one community in Northern Ireland, County Londondeery, called Limavady. Clare had been a student in the program herself as an early teen, and her group lived in a community in Tennesee. I asked her if the Ulster Project had any effect on the attitudes of her peers, as they were now the ages of the combatants. She said it definitely did have an impact on their ability and desire to relate to one another, and that things were slowly changing for the positive as a result. In fact, her own brother was in a mixed marriage -- a term that is quickly fading into the history books here in the U.S. We hope for the same in Northern Ireland.
We all fell in love with each other that summer, and extending our family by another person was fine all around. Although Clare missed her “mum”, for which there is never a replacement, she happily gained a little sister. Morgan's dream, being the oldest and only female, was to have an older sister. Clare, being the youngest and only female in her family, found having a younger sister to her liking, as well. “Clare, my Irish sister” and “Clare, our Irish daughter” remain a staple in our vocabularies, even for T-man. He was enraptured with her.
The day the Ulster Project ended, The Dot started her Ireland Trip slush fund. She got a job in the catering department at Luther College, and started socking away her paycheck. Whenever there was a gift-giving occasion, she asked us to forgo anything we'd spend on a gift, and just turn over the cash. She did it. By the time she started her junior year of high school, The Dot had sent herself to Ireland and back. It is our understanding that she was happily adopted over there, so the family grew.
When Clare contacted us that she was coming to her American home during the summer of 1998, there was only one way to prepare.
“Hey, Bobo,” which was T-man's baby-talk name for her, “I need to make Clare a quilt. Do you want to see the fabric I'm going to use?”
“Sure. Looks good. Bye.”
It's always been difficult getting those kids into my zone when it comes to lint. She probably had a mountain to climb, or a hip-hop workshop in La Crosse, or play practice. Quilts. Zzzzzz.
Who needed her, anyway? I had a really wild seer-sucker looking hank of fabric in hot pink, olive green, and a rich golden-yellow plaid. I paired it with a softer butter yellow floral that had some tiny hot-pink flowers, and added a chambray blue solid. I wanted to make Clare a bouquet of Wild Irish Roses. I used these fabrics, and some other odds and ends, to fashion a medallion center of Rose of Sharon flowers that were gathered together into a bouquet, and tied with a bow.
With all that hand appliqué, I had to be quick about piecing the rest of the quilt, so I did a rail fence. I just wanted to get the fabric cut apart and put back together again before her plane landed. She would be here long enough for me to quilt it up.
Of course, our Irish daughter wasn't so blasé when she found out someone was making a quilt for her. She reacted just as I would expect any caring, loving, child of mine would (hint, hint to the other two scalawags). I hadn't sandwiched it when she saw it, so I asked her if she wanted to go with me to pick out the backing fabric. I was thrilled when she honored the crazy blend of her Wild Irish Rose quilt, and chose a chambray-backgrounded fabric splashed with HUGE, bold yellow sunflowers! I laughed out loud, delighted that she could outdo my own feral instincts, revealing a true Irishwoman of spark and pluck.
I called Clare's quilt “Wild 'I's – Ireland to Iowa”, and got it quilted and bound before her return trip. But I had something else in mind by then. We had been encouraging Clare to make it clear to her parents that they were welcome to visit us, since we all shared a daughter or two. Clare has an aunt and uncle living in Canada, and we aren't that far from Canada. After all, it's practically in the neighborhood! I just needed to send a proper invitation.
That winter, I took a class from Candace Arp, a quilt teacher of some renown in our region. She had developed a very clever way to make a nosegay block, using simple bias-square triangles instead of having to set in all those seams, La Moyne Star-fashion. I hadn't tried any of the '20's and '30's reproduction fabrics yet, so I decided to make my nosegays using those. Darlene, down at the quilt shop, had some of that lovely Depression-era yellow, and I used that as my background fabric. I had taken an English paper piecing class and learned to make Grandmother's Flower Garden blocks, so I added some of those, appliqué-style, to the alternating squares.
Since Iowa is dubbed “The Tall Corn State”, I always include a patch of corn fabric to quilts that are going to live outside of Iowa, so that the quilt will remember its roots. On the back of this quilt, in place of a label, I made an envelope out of corn fabric and lined in muslin. Upon unsnapping the flap, the envelope opens to reveal the name of the quilt: The Invitation. I wrote out an invitation to Clare's parents to come visit us whenever they had the chance, and to always feel as though they had a home in America.
Two quilts live in Ireland. I forget about the quilts every now and then, but we never forget about Clare. We hope her parents will remember that The Invitation is good for a lifetime, and that someday the road will rise up to meet us, and we will all put our feet under the same table and toast our lives intertwined.
Writing this has jogged free a few more quilts from my memory. I'm not up to “a hundred” yet, but I'm well past fifty. I really must write about these quilts. If I say that enough, maybe a little more of them will spill over onto the pages here. One sure thing, it will be hard not to write about my current projects. Let's see. Am I starting with number 50? 51? 52...?
Copyright © September 2005 Kari E.O. Burns
One Quilt Story, and I'm Gone
Hello, Fellow Lintheads! Where on the range are you today? We're heading west this morning, to visit our sister in Clear Lake, Iowa. That's where the Surf Ballroom is located, the last venue of Buddy Holly, The Big Bopper, and Ritchie Valens. Google it, or rent The Buddy Holly Story or La Bamba.
While working to get today's post up, I noticed some weird cyber-stuff happening, making my word processing program as slow as molasses in January. I rebooted, which didn't do the trick, so now I'm running another virus scan. The whole process means I won't get today's installment posted before we leave.
I don't want to mention any names, but someone, not from my generation who is inhabiting our domicile, is uber-surfing as she job-hunts and researches potential employment opportunities. I find her work fascinating, if not exhaustive. She is one focused babe, and when she gets on a roll, she gets on a roll, baby. "Tenacious" covers it fairly well. She discusses the process as she is making her strides, and it's fun to be a part of it. We happily trade off a little slowness on the computer to have her with us. Besides, it sharpens my self-taught computer skills as I try to figure out the remedy.
So, if any of you want to add some comments about your latest projects and curiosities, this is your chance to pop in and do some writing. Part of what I want to encourage is your own writing about your quilting adventures. In fact, today's post deals with that very subject. My new post is named, "Blissful Oblivion", so look for it,probably on Sunday.
I do want to add one quilting story from this week. Pat, my very close and dear friend, was here working on the quilt for the Hauge Church on Tuesday. As we were nearing the completion of assembling the embroidered blocks, I said, "Ooooo, this is getting exciting!!" I thought Pat would fall off her chair laughing. Make that, Pat fell off her chair laughing. This is exciting?? Let's have a round of Geritol to celebrate!
On Thursday, Pat was back over here for the evening class I taught on hand piecing quilt blocks. No lie, as she was approaching completion of one quarter of her pieced block, she said, (with great passion, I might add), "Oh, I'm about done! This is so exciting!!"
Ding, ding! I won that round. Or did I? Maybe I'm just dragging poor Pat down with me.
See you later!
Love,
Kari
While working to get today's post up, I noticed some weird cyber-stuff happening, making my word processing program as slow as molasses in January. I rebooted, which didn't do the trick, so now I'm running another virus scan. The whole process means I won't get today's installment posted before we leave.
I don't want to mention any names, but someone, not from my generation who is inhabiting our domicile, is uber-surfing as she job-hunts and researches potential employment opportunities. I find her work fascinating, if not exhaustive. She is one focused babe, and when she gets on a roll, she gets on a roll, baby. "Tenacious" covers it fairly well. She discusses the process as she is making her strides, and it's fun to be a part of it. We happily trade off a little slowness on the computer to have her with us. Besides, it sharpens my self-taught computer skills as I try to figure out the remedy.
So, if any of you want to add some comments about your latest projects and curiosities, this is your chance to pop in and do some writing. Part of what I want to encourage is your own writing about your quilting adventures. In fact, today's post deals with that very subject. My new post is named, "Blissful Oblivion", so look for it,probably on Sunday.
I do want to add one quilting story from this week. Pat, my very close and dear friend, was here working on the quilt for the Hauge Church on Tuesday. As we were nearing the completion of assembling the embroidered blocks, I said, "Ooooo, this is getting exciting!!" I thought Pat would fall off her chair laughing. Make that, Pat fell off her chair laughing. This is exciting?? Let's have a round of Geritol to celebrate!
On Thursday, Pat was back over here for the evening class I taught on hand piecing quilt blocks. No lie, as she was approaching completion of one quarter of her pieced block, she said, (with great passion, I might add), "Oh, I'm about done! This is so exciting!!"
Ding, ding! I won that round. Or did I? Maybe I'm just dragging poor Pat down with me.
See you later!
Love,
Kari
Denise Austin, Eat Your Heart Out!
The Dot is home for a few weeks, and it has been a buh-last hanging out with her! She has done nothing but work for the past three years, getting herself through the last of her undergraduate program, and completing a year of real-world toil as a manager at the university's performing arts center. She was poised to start a graduate film program this fall, but at the last minute decided to scout the underbrush for her career path. We're helping out by inviting her here for free room and board, and some R & R time to get the synapses back into synch. It's sort of a poor man's version of a graduation trip to Europe.
I'm spending the next few months crawling out of the chubby hole, so The Dot has been helping me get my flexibility and stamina back. Mind you, she is a dancer, a runner, does Pilates regularly, and lifts weights. In comparison, I neck-move to “Let's Hear it For the Boy”, try to remember to hold my tummy in when I carry the laundry basket upstairs, sweat with Richard in the VCR, and alternate lifting my thighs as I ascend the five risers from the garage with fifteen pounds of groceries dangling from each hand. She's ahead of me in the fitness gig, but I'm making headway.
Which brings me to today's thought. People tend to think of quilting as a sedentary activity. Cha-ah! I don't think so! As an example, let's take a look at the whole quilting-in-the-church-basement thing from this summer.
We quilters got the day going at dawn, and after arranging our appearances to the safe side of scary, we started loading our vehicles. There was the machine, the cutting mat, the bag of supplies, fabric, and for some, a light lunch. I always had my Nalgene along, adding another thirty-two awkward ounces of gear to haul. When we pulled up to the east doors of the church, we prayed for parking within a half a block of the entrance. Once inside, there was the trip across the lobby, down one flight of stairs, turn the corner, down another half flight, turn at the landing, down again, take the short walk through the Upper Youth Room, then down the last flight of dang stairs with no railing, and, finally, into the Lower Youth Room. You couldn't usually get all your stuff down in one trip, either, wouldn't you know. Brother.
Plugging in the machine involved crawling on the floor in search of the extension cord or the outlet, and setting up our workspaces afforded us the opportunity to bend from our knees. We were stretching and reaching to cut over the mat, bending to pick up lost pins, running to and from the ironing boards, racing off to the bathroom every twenty minutes (thanks to the Nalgene), and making the trip back up all those stairs and across the foyer to the Education Building, in order to use the copy machine. The experience did not exactly spell s-i-t-t-i-n-g o-n y-o-u-r f-a-n-n-y. No sir, it was cardio, I'm telling you, cardio!
I was reminded of this today when Val, from the summer class, called to see if I had a few minutes to help sandwich her quilt. As you may recall, I use Sulllivans® Quilt Basting Sp-raaaaay, and the “spray” part is said like a “ta-daaaaaaa”! Sulllivans® Quilt Basting Sp-raaaaay is the best invention known to quiltkind, and as far as I'm concerned, there's a right way and a wrong way to use it. Actually, there are probably several right and wrong ways to use it, but I know one of the right ways, and I'm willing to share the wealth. You don't want to pull a muscle and be out of commission for weeks. Quilter's can't afford that kind of down time – there is just too much fabric out there demanding our attention.
Having a hands-on demonstration facilitates the learning process, and Val was ready for a 1:1. As we commenced with the sandwiching, phrases from my work-out videos kept running through my head. Using Sulllivans® Quilt Basting Sp-raaaaay is not only very aerobic, it's good for toning, too. In the first step, the newspapers have to be unfolded and laid around the perimeter of the quilt.
“Now we're ready to do a few squats to warm up a little. Doing squats is one of the best ways to engage the large muscles groups of the body, and if you build that muscle, it will burn your fat for you! Be careful not to extend your knees over your toes.”
Since laying out newspapers isn't one of the fun parts of quilting, rushing through it tends to get the heart rate up.
“I know you can feel yourself getting warmer now. Just a little longer. There, that wasn't so bad, and I guarantee it will get easier the more you do it.”
We unfurled the batting, and then it was down onto the floor to get the creases and lumps under control.
“Lift your chest up to a Modified Cobra Pose, soft belly, soft throat. Come back down. Raise up to Downward Dog, then move one leg forward to a lunge.”
By then, we were breathing harder...
“...stre-etch and hold, stre-etch and hold...strrrrrre-etchh just a little more....and release.”
Once the batting was smoothed, we returned to an Upright Mountain Position, and whipped out the backing. Each taking a short side, we positioned it carefully over the batting, and slowly lowered ourselves back down onto the floor.
“This is really good for the Powerhouse, which can be found in the area between your shoulders on the upper end, and between your hips on the lower end. Let's test that. As you exhale, keep your belly button pressed into your spine. Remember to keep the ribcage folded in. Tha-at's it. Even if you do the modified version like Dagne is showing you, you will still strengthen your Powerhouse.”
With our backsides tucked under and our spines in a C-curve, we smoothed the backing over the batting, then carefully pulled it towards us, sprayed the batting, and smoothed the backing over the surface again to bond it.
“Squeeze those cheeks in, and don't lower your back. Tha-at's the way. Goo-ood! Now, move from side to side in a gentle rocking motion, keeping your shoulders and hips aligned, and maintaining control of your Powerhouse.”
We continued on in similar fashion, flipping the sandwich over, and laying out the quilt top. I have discovered that careful smoothing of the quilt top, in order to prevent distortion of the pieced design, is a great way to cool down.
“Remember, we have a natural filtration system in our noses. Breathe in through the nose, and out through the nose. In through the nose, out through the nose...”
It was difficult to remember to keep my abs tight as we picked up and repositioned the top in order to smooth out the wrinkles. I kept wanting to let my back lower and release my mid-section.
“Your abs are nature's back brace. Concentrate on keeping them tight and strong.”
Oops. That one came from my physical therapist.
By sticking with it and getting through the entire routine, we finished our workout in twenty-eight minutes of running time. We extended ourselves back up to our beginning positions, reached out, folded the sandwich, and released all the air from our lungs one final time. Inwardly at least, we were doing the Proud Warrior.
“Good for you! I am soooo proud of you. You did a great job, and you deserve to feel healthy and have a shapely body. Only you can bring health and happiness to your life. You can do it. I know you can!”
I am already beginning to feel the benefits of Mari Windsor and Rodney Yee's personal attention at five o'clock each morning. Once again, I am able to turn in my car seat to back out of the garage without pain. Shortly, I'll be noticing the promised return of tone to my mid-section, and the bathroom scales won't fall over laughing when I step on them at my weekly weigh-in. As soon as I am cheerful enough about the whole process, I'll pop in Denise Austin in the morning, do a little salsa and cha-cha-cha, confident that my endurance level will allow me to continue quilting for hours at a time.
I only hope the Dot will be able to keep up with me.
Copyright © September 2005 Kari E.O. Burns
I'm spending the next few months crawling out of the chubby hole, so The Dot has been helping me get my flexibility and stamina back. Mind you, she is a dancer, a runner, does Pilates regularly, and lifts weights. In comparison, I neck-move to “Let's Hear it For the Boy”, try to remember to hold my tummy in when I carry the laundry basket upstairs, sweat with Richard in the VCR, and alternate lifting my thighs as I ascend the five risers from the garage with fifteen pounds of groceries dangling from each hand. She's ahead of me in the fitness gig, but I'm making headway.
Which brings me to today's thought. People tend to think of quilting as a sedentary activity. Cha-ah! I don't think so! As an example, let's take a look at the whole quilting-in-the-church-basement thing from this summer.
We quilters got the day going at dawn, and after arranging our appearances to the safe side of scary, we started loading our vehicles. There was the machine, the cutting mat, the bag of supplies, fabric, and for some, a light lunch. I always had my Nalgene along, adding another thirty-two awkward ounces of gear to haul. When we pulled up to the east doors of the church, we prayed for parking within a half a block of the entrance. Once inside, there was the trip across the lobby, down one flight of stairs, turn the corner, down another half flight, turn at the landing, down again, take the short walk through the Upper Youth Room, then down the last flight of dang stairs with no railing, and, finally, into the Lower Youth Room. You couldn't usually get all your stuff down in one trip, either, wouldn't you know. Brother.
Plugging in the machine involved crawling on the floor in search of the extension cord or the outlet, and setting up our workspaces afforded us the opportunity to bend from our knees. We were stretching and reaching to cut over the mat, bending to pick up lost pins, running to and from the ironing boards, racing off to the bathroom every twenty minutes (thanks to the Nalgene), and making the trip back up all those stairs and across the foyer to the Education Building, in order to use the copy machine. The experience did not exactly spell s-i-t-t-i-n-g o-n y-o-u-r f-a-n-n-y. No sir, it was cardio, I'm telling you, cardio!
I was reminded of this today when Val, from the summer class, called to see if I had a few minutes to help sandwich her quilt. As you may recall, I use Sulllivans® Quilt Basting Sp-raaaaay, and the “spray” part is said like a “ta-daaaaaaa”! Sulllivans® Quilt Basting Sp-raaaaay is the best invention known to quiltkind, and as far as I'm concerned, there's a right way and a wrong way to use it. Actually, there are probably several right and wrong ways to use it, but I know one of the right ways, and I'm willing to share the wealth. You don't want to pull a muscle and be out of commission for weeks. Quilter's can't afford that kind of down time – there is just too much fabric out there demanding our attention.
Having a hands-on demonstration facilitates the learning process, and Val was ready for a 1:1. As we commenced with the sandwiching, phrases from my work-out videos kept running through my head. Using Sulllivans® Quilt Basting Sp-raaaaay is not only very aerobic, it's good for toning, too. In the first step, the newspapers have to be unfolded and laid around the perimeter of the quilt.
“Now we're ready to do a few squats to warm up a little. Doing squats is one of the best ways to engage the large muscles groups of the body, and if you build that muscle, it will burn your fat for you! Be careful not to extend your knees over your toes.”
Since laying out newspapers isn't one of the fun parts of quilting, rushing through it tends to get the heart rate up.
“I know you can feel yourself getting warmer now. Just a little longer. There, that wasn't so bad, and I guarantee it will get easier the more you do it.”
We unfurled the batting, and then it was down onto the floor to get the creases and lumps under control.
“Lift your chest up to a Modified Cobra Pose, soft belly, soft throat. Come back down. Raise up to Downward Dog, then move one leg forward to a lunge.”
By then, we were breathing harder...
“...stre-etch and hold, stre-etch and hold...strrrrrre-etchh just a little more....and release.”
Once the batting was smoothed, we returned to an Upright Mountain Position, and whipped out the backing. Each taking a short side, we positioned it carefully over the batting, and slowly lowered ourselves back down onto the floor.
“This is really good for the Powerhouse, which can be found in the area between your shoulders on the upper end, and between your hips on the lower end. Let's test that. As you exhale, keep your belly button pressed into your spine. Remember to keep the ribcage folded in. Tha-at's it. Even if you do the modified version like Dagne is showing you, you will still strengthen your Powerhouse.”
With our backsides tucked under and our spines in a C-curve, we smoothed the backing over the batting, then carefully pulled it towards us, sprayed the batting, and smoothed the backing over the surface again to bond it.
“Squeeze those cheeks in, and don't lower your back. Tha-at's the way. Goo-ood! Now, move from side to side in a gentle rocking motion, keeping your shoulders and hips aligned, and maintaining control of your Powerhouse.”
We continued on in similar fashion, flipping the sandwich over, and laying out the quilt top. I have discovered that careful smoothing of the quilt top, in order to prevent distortion of the pieced design, is a great way to cool down.
“Remember, we have a natural filtration system in our noses. Breathe in through the nose, and out through the nose. In through the nose, out through the nose...”
It was difficult to remember to keep my abs tight as we picked up and repositioned the top in order to smooth out the wrinkles. I kept wanting to let my back lower and release my mid-section.
“Your abs are nature's back brace. Concentrate on keeping them tight and strong.”
Oops. That one came from my physical therapist.
By sticking with it and getting through the entire routine, we finished our workout in twenty-eight minutes of running time. We extended ourselves back up to our beginning positions, reached out, folded the sandwich, and released all the air from our lungs one final time. Inwardly at least, we were doing the Proud Warrior.
“Good for you! I am soooo proud of you. You did a great job, and you deserve to feel healthy and have a shapely body. Only you can bring health and happiness to your life. You can do it. I know you can!”
I am already beginning to feel the benefits of Mari Windsor and Rodney Yee's personal attention at five o'clock each morning. Once again, I am able to turn in my car seat to back out of the garage without pain. Shortly, I'll be noticing the promised return of tone to my mid-section, and the bathroom scales won't fall over laughing when I step on them at my weekly weigh-in. As soon as I am cheerful enough about the whole process, I'll pop in Denise Austin in the morning, do a little salsa and cha-cha-cha, confident that my endurance level will allow me to continue quilting for hours at a time.
I only hope the Dot will be able to keep up with me.
Copyright © September 2005 Kari E.O. Burns
Home on the Range: A Day in the Life...
Since last week's post, I have been doing a little self-assessing and mulling-over. The self-assessment centered around the question, “How am I able to fall behind in the very activity I would prefer to lose myself in?” The mulling-over focused on how to incorporate some measurable quilting segments into my weekly schedule and stick with it. I know people who work for The Man full-time, and they put in more time behind the needle than I do.
I started out looking for my lost shaker of lint, and ended up in a process of awareness that would bring Freud to his knees. I am ever grateful to my studies and years as a counselor, as those skills frequently help me untangle some of life's mysteries. I chose to go the route of cognitive behavioral therapy, a nod to Albert Ellis and Aaron Beck, and reality therapy, from the halls of William Glasser. I began to peel back the layers of the onion, looking for my inner child. Ah, I love all that counseling mumbo-jumbo. It helps normalize my situation.
My problem stems from the perception of the value of work; the Christian work ethic, my friend Ann calls it. I learned about it as the Puritan work ethic in my American history classes, with its emphasis on the value of being a useful and contributing member of society. Value was tied to the concept of work within the community. The work ethic system is what kept the industrial age moving along. It is the stick in the corporate world, while advancement, recognition, and an increasing paycheck are the carrot.
Somewhere along the line, the work itself wasn't valued, but work that was connected to a paycheck was. As I was coming of age, what was once known as “women's work” was scorned, basically because the salary stank and there were no benefits. The working world of the traditional man was what we valued. Instead of adding choices, which must have been the original intent, the women's movement of the 60's and 70's reduced them by at least two; being a wife and a mother was no longer worthy. Bringing home the bacon and frying it up in the pan was the way to go. We wanted it all.
When Hubba and I started reproducing, we decided I'd stay home with the critters. I could always go pick up some kind of meaningful work with a paycheck once they were in school, and get myself back on a career path. Besides, from what I was led to believe, being a SAHM would be a nice break from teaching all day, and then spending my evenings in graduate classes or advising the school newspaper staff. My school days usually started around 6:30 a.m., and if I was home by 6:30 p.m., it was a short day for me. As usual, we make all decisions with incomplete data. The stay-at-home route wasn't the respite of my preconceived notion. The women's movement had lied.
I was swamped! I worked days and nights, and I didn't get lunch and dinner off, either. Once we got The Dot under control, we went ahead and had T-man, and it started all over again. There were days I envied those women who could drop off the progeny for the day and not have to quad-task 1.) first aid, 2.) kitchen cleanliness, 3.) crying jags (and sometimes it was even the kids), and 4.) relationship skills between siblings, all on four hours of sleep. I always did the night shift, because Hubba had the job, and I could "rest" during the day. Ri-i-ight.
I bumped into a former teaching cohort who asked me, “Are you working now?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Her face brightened. “Really? Where?”
“I'm at home.”
“Oh, I meant, do you have a job?”
Sheesh. Women's movement, schwomen's movement.
Another acquaintance asked why I wasn't teaching anymore. “You're just wasting your education!” she scolded.
Hmmm. Let's evaluate that situation. At the time, the local daycare center had been running employment ads for child care workers, the only requirement then being a GED. That doesn't mean people with GEDs aren't fabulous with children, but the stated educational requirement was a GED. So, if we are on the subject of me wasting my education, it would follow that I would leave my children with someone with a GED, go off to a teaching job, and let other people's children have the benefit of my education. The trip from Point A to Point B did not seem all that circuitous to me. I decided to waste my education on my children.
There I was. I found myself working crappy hours, pouring my heart into work that needed a diaper change every thirty minutes, and my peers were dissing me because I didn't have a job.
I went to the church basement. The ladies down there were confused by the new system, too. A generation before, they had married, started their families, and when the kids got in school, they took over from the older ladies who served the funerals, polished the brass, and were officers in their circles. Now the younger women were at work, even before the kids started school. I filled in as best as I could, but they were adapting quickly, and soon figured out how to cover the loss. It was a Catch 22 for me there, too. They no longer provided child care for circle, because there weren't enough SAHMs with kids to make it worth the effort. I couldn't go.
The stay-at-home choice is a lifestyle choice, and the division of labor became obvious: Hubba brought in the paycheck, paid the bills, and mowed the lawn, and I did the rest. I am not bemoaning this situation, mind you. I saw my status as bringing a great deal of value to our family. I could get the homemaking tasks out of the way, and when we had time to be together, we could do something entertaining and educational. I didn't discover a glitch in the system until the first day I started back to graduate school for mental health counseling, and the sitter came in.
“Oh, yeah. Erica, can you show the kids how to make their beds? I never did get around to that.” It hadn't occurred to me that doing chores was “being together”, too, and arguing about who would do what was as useful as arguing about politics and religion over dinner.
I did the counseling career for a few years and loved it, but situations change and that came to an end. I didn't make any substantial money in my counseling practice, but I was passionate and confident about the services we provided, and in our ability to perform them well. The community saw me as “working”, and the kids could say their mom “had a job”.
In reality, though, the only thing that changed for my family was -- nothing! I still did the laundry, kept the house in order, and did all the shopping. We ate out more, which I hated, but something had to give. I helped with homework, ran the kids to practices and rehearsals, and made the weekly trip to La Crosse for The Dot's 5-hour dance-class marathon. I'm not trying to pat myself on the back. It's another clue as to how I got where I am today. I did a lot of meaningful work, I contributed to my family and community in a positive way, and I felt valued.
Then the little traitors both graduated from high school and went off to college. I figured the only thing I could do to bring value to them now was to find a job and make money for their expenses. I needed to go to work. I tried a couple of more-than-full-time jobs and wound up hating my life. By then I figured it's not work unless you hate it. Otherwise, they'd call it fun! The worst part was that I didn't believe I brought anything significant to the plus column, and it was depleting me as a person. I applied for different jobs, as I had off and on over the years, and got nowhere with that. Clearly my skills were not needed in the work world. That is gratifying, she said sarcastically. It didn't make me want to rush right out and apply again.
I quit the last job that was heading nowhere in January. When I hung up the phone that day, I walked straight to my quilting basket and picked up the piece that I had put down two-and-a-half years earlier. As I shook it out, the dust literally flew into the air, but that wasn't what caused the tear in my eye. That quilt and I sat down in a chair, and we began to think. As I stitched, the quilt unwound the coils in my befuddled mind. If the only way I had come to see myself as a valued member of my community was by the size of my paycheck, I had somehow bought into a system that I had steadfastly rejected for decades. When did that happen? No wonder I was perplexed.
Awareness, as they say, is the first step. It didn't hit me until just this week why I'm not constantly quilting, even though I'm not “working” and really do have some time to devote to it. Instead, I have been running around trying to justify my existence since last January. If quilting is fun, I shouldn't be doing it. I should be working.
The truth of the matter is, I am not going to find a job that will make any significant financial impact for the better on our lives at 406 Center Avenue. If one exists within driving distance, the chances are I'm not in line for it. Yet, I am lucky enough to have been prepared to do other kinds of work, to find other ways to bring value to my community, and I am ecstatic that I have the privilege.
I do need to earn some money -- there are always things that need to be paid for or donated to. And there's fabric, too, of course. But, if I teach a few classes and do a decent job of it, other people may want to take a class from me. If I bake a few cakes, and people find them really yummy, they may order one or recommend them to their friends. If one of my favorite school districts calls, I'll go sub and keep up with middle school pop culture.
And, when I'm not doing those things, I'm going to gather my things together, and do a little free range quilting. It's valuable work, and I love it.
Copyright © September 2005 Kari E.O. Burns
I started out looking for my lost shaker of lint, and ended up in a process of awareness that would bring Freud to his knees. I am ever grateful to my studies and years as a counselor, as those skills frequently help me untangle some of life's mysteries. I chose to go the route of cognitive behavioral therapy, a nod to Albert Ellis and Aaron Beck, and reality therapy, from the halls of William Glasser. I began to peel back the layers of the onion, looking for my inner child. Ah, I love all that counseling mumbo-jumbo. It helps normalize my situation.
My problem stems from the perception of the value of work; the Christian work ethic, my friend Ann calls it. I learned about it as the Puritan work ethic in my American history classes, with its emphasis on the value of being a useful and contributing member of society. Value was tied to the concept of work within the community. The work ethic system is what kept the industrial age moving along. It is the stick in the corporate world, while advancement, recognition, and an increasing paycheck are the carrot.
Somewhere along the line, the work itself wasn't valued, but work that was connected to a paycheck was. As I was coming of age, what was once known as “women's work” was scorned, basically because the salary stank and there were no benefits. The working world of the traditional man was what we valued. Instead of adding choices, which must have been the original intent, the women's movement of the 60's and 70's reduced them by at least two; being a wife and a mother was no longer worthy. Bringing home the bacon and frying it up in the pan was the way to go. We wanted it all.
When Hubba and I started reproducing, we decided I'd stay home with the critters. I could always go pick up some kind of meaningful work with a paycheck once they were in school, and get myself back on a career path. Besides, from what I was led to believe, being a SAHM would be a nice break from teaching all day, and then spending my evenings in graduate classes or advising the school newspaper staff. My school days usually started around 6:30 a.m., and if I was home by 6:30 p.m., it was a short day for me. As usual, we make all decisions with incomplete data. The stay-at-home route wasn't the respite of my preconceived notion. The women's movement had lied.
I was swamped! I worked days and nights, and I didn't get lunch and dinner off, either. Once we got The Dot under control, we went ahead and had T-man, and it started all over again. There were days I envied those women who could drop off the progeny for the day and not have to quad-task 1.) first aid, 2.) kitchen cleanliness, 3.) crying jags (and sometimes it was even the kids), and 4.) relationship skills between siblings, all on four hours of sleep. I always did the night shift, because Hubba had the job, and I could "rest" during the day. Ri-i-ight.
I bumped into a former teaching cohort who asked me, “Are you working now?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Her face brightened. “Really? Where?”
“I'm at home.”
“Oh, I meant, do you have a job?”
Sheesh. Women's movement, schwomen's movement.
Another acquaintance asked why I wasn't teaching anymore. “You're just wasting your education!” she scolded.
Hmmm. Let's evaluate that situation. At the time, the local daycare center had been running employment ads for child care workers, the only requirement then being a GED. That doesn't mean people with GEDs aren't fabulous with children, but the stated educational requirement was a GED. So, if we are on the subject of me wasting my education, it would follow that I would leave my children with someone with a GED, go off to a teaching job, and let other people's children have the benefit of my education. The trip from Point A to Point B did not seem all that circuitous to me. I decided to waste my education on my children.
There I was. I found myself working crappy hours, pouring my heart into work that needed a diaper change every thirty minutes, and my peers were dissing me because I didn't have a job.
I went to the church basement. The ladies down there were confused by the new system, too. A generation before, they had married, started their families, and when the kids got in school, they took over from the older ladies who served the funerals, polished the brass, and were officers in their circles. Now the younger women were at work, even before the kids started school. I filled in as best as I could, but they were adapting quickly, and soon figured out how to cover the loss. It was a Catch 22 for me there, too. They no longer provided child care for circle, because there weren't enough SAHMs with kids to make it worth the effort. I couldn't go.
The stay-at-home choice is a lifestyle choice, and the division of labor became obvious: Hubba brought in the paycheck, paid the bills, and mowed the lawn, and I did the rest. I am not bemoaning this situation, mind you. I saw my status as bringing a great deal of value to our family. I could get the homemaking tasks out of the way, and when we had time to be together, we could do something entertaining and educational. I didn't discover a glitch in the system until the first day I started back to graduate school for mental health counseling, and the sitter came in.
“Oh, yeah. Erica, can you show the kids how to make their beds? I never did get around to that.” It hadn't occurred to me that doing chores was “being together”, too, and arguing about who would do what was as useful as arguing about politics and religion over dinner.
I did the counseling career for a few years and loved it, but situations change and that came to an end. I didn't make any substantial money in my counseling practice, but I was passionate and confident about the services we provided, and in our ability to perform them well. The community saw me as “working”, and the kids could say their mom “had a job”.
In reality, though, the only thing that changed for my family was -- nothing! I still did the laundry, kept the house in order, and did all the shopping. We ate out more, which I hated, but something had to give. I helped with homework, ran the kids to practices and rehearsals, and made the weekly trip to La Crosse for The Dot's 5-hour dance-class marathon. I'm not trying to pat myself on the back. It's another clue as to how I got where I am today. I did a lot of meaningful work, I contributed to my family and community in a positive way, and I felt valued.
Then the little traitors both graduated from high school and went off to college. I figured the only thing I could do to bring value to them now was to find a job and make money for their expenses. I needed to go to work. I tried a couple of more-than-full-time jobs and wound up hating my life. By then I figured it's not work unless you hate it. Otherwise, they'd call it fun! The worst part was that I didn't believe I brought anything significant to the plus column, and it was depleting me as a person. I applied for different jobs, as I had off and on over the years, and got nowhere with that. Clearly my skills were not needed in the work world. That is gratifying, she said sarcastically. It didn't make me want to rush right out and apply again.
I quit the last job that was heading nowhere in January. When I hung up the phone that day, I walked straight to my quilting basket and picked up the piece that I had put down two-and-a-half years earlier. As I shook it out, the dust literally flew into the air, but that wasn't what caused the tear in my eye. That quilt and I sat down in a chair, and we began to think. As I stitched, the quilt unwound the coils in my befuddled mind. If the only way I had come to see myself as a valued member of my community was by the size of my paycheck, I had somehow bought into a system that I had steadfastly rejected for decades. When did that happen? No wonder I was perplexed.
Awareness, as they say, is the first step. It didn't hit me until just this week why I'm not constantly quilting, even though I'm not “working” and really do have some time to devote to it. Instead, I have been running around trying to justify my existence since last January. If quilting is fun, I shouldn't be doing it. I should be working.
The truth of the matter is, I am not going to find a job that will make any significant financial impact for the better on our lives at 406 Center Avenue. If one exists within driving distance, the chances are I'm not in line for it. Yet, I am lucky enough to have been prepared to do other kinds of work, to find other ways to bring value to my community, and I am ecstatic that I have the privilege.
I do need to earn some money -- there are always things that need to be paid for or donated to. And there's fabric, too, of course. But, if I teach a few classes and do a decent job of it, other people may want to take a class from me. If I bake a few cakes, and people find them really yummy, they may order one or recommend them to their friends. If one of my favorite school districts calls, I'll go sub and keep up with middle school pop culture.
And, when I'm not doing those things, I'm going to gather my things together, and do a little free range quilting. It's valuable work, and I love it.
Copyright © September 2005 Kari E.O. Burns
Eenie, Meanie, Miney, SLOW
Dag-nabbit! Sometimes I just can't seem to get ahead. It's my own fault, of course, because there are so many interesting things to do in a day, and sometimes I forget I can't do them all. The problem with having so many choices is that the situation results in slow progress for the larger projects. I keep thinking I'll have large blocks of time to complete my major undertakings, yet these interesting distractions slow me down. Furthermore, I'm at a total loss to explain how I manage to add more assignments to the list.
I have three heavy-duty quilt objectives clearing their throats right now. “Do me!" "No, do me!” "Yoo-hoo, I'm over here!" They are all alluring projects, and they have roughly the same deadline. I am working on my priority chart this weekend, and lining them up looks something like this:
Priority # 1. Just mere weeks ago, this was priority #3. I live in an area that proudly boasts several old, rural congregations. In the upper Midwest, rural churches were fashioned to be centrally located among several farms, and the families who worshiped there were often large and intergenerational. I grew up in a what passes for a city in Iowa, and instead of being dependent on the farm economy, we were more dependent on local factories, industry, and, earlier on, coal mining. The coal mining was mostly gone by the time I was born, but like Loretta Lynn's peers, our townfolk “worked hard” and at night “they were tar'd”. You don't expect me to forgo the opportunity to bring up those memorably rhyming song lyrics, do you?
Anyway, rural congregations weren't a part of my awareness as a “city” dweller, even though The Barn's dad spent a lifetime in them as a pastor. When I moved to Decorah, I joined a town church, and still didn't really pay much attention to the country congregations meeting faithfully and regularly, even as their numbers declined. Decorah Lutheran absorbed some of the early closings, prior to 1976 when we joined, and I don't want to see more of them fade away. I wish I could join seven or eight of them and help them with the struggle. Since I can't, I like to participate in some of their activities, if I can.
One of my favorite congregations is Hauge Lutheran Church, out on Middle Hesper Road. It was featured in Midwest Living a few Christmases ago, an example of bucolic beauty that has drawn people to worship in gratitude for generations. It is the family church of the Larson family, and Pat-neé-Larson, one of my closest friends, works loyally to keep the doors open. The president of the congregation, Darlene, is a woman whose stamina I covet. When Darlene asks for help with her duties, it is truly because she cannot do it herself. If she could have, it would have already been done last Thursday. When I saw her in July, her eyes lit up.
“Kari, I've got a question for you.”
“Fire away.”
“We have some quilt blocks one of our members embroidered for our bazaar this fall. If I get some fabric, can you help think of a way to put them together?”
“Sure. What do you have in mind?”
“I don't know. I'm not a quilter, but we just need them to be put together so they look nice.”
“Okay.”
“Do you think it's something you can help with?”
Of course. Do you know any Hauge members who would like to work on this with me?”
“Well, there aren't really any of us who can do those kinds of things anymore. The one lady who used to do this for us is in The Home now.” Younger folks aren't filling in when the older ones drop out. The old plan isn't working in this century.
“Darlene, why don't you just bring them over, and I'll figure out something. We have all sorts of time, since the bazaar isn't until October, and...”
“Good. That's what I was hoping you'd say. I'll drop them off this week.”
All kinds of time is now about six weeks away. I think this project has shifted to the top. I'll have to give Pat a buzz and see if she wants to help with the piecing. I see a long-arm job in the future, as well.
Priority #2. I just got back from my two weeks in the Seattle area. I walked in the house at the stroke of Tuesday/Wednesday midnight, and got to bed very early Wednesday morning. Determined to get myself back on Iowa time, I rose at my usual five a.m. I'm not going to apologize for that quirk in my personality, because I like being up at that time of day. Of course, last Wednesday, that meant it was three a.m., Pacific time. Yee-aawwnnn.
I exercised, had breakfast, put some laundry in, and saw to my e-mail and phone messages. By the time I was ready to take my bath, the morning was disappearing, yet it was only about 9:00 in Seattle. I thought I heard the doorbell ring, but couldn't get there, figuring whomever was pushing it would get back to me. Little did I know that the purpose of that contact would bring me full bore back into a quilting priority.
Before long, the phone rang. It was Pastor Vik, our visitation pastor at Decorah Lutheran. Earlier, I had insisted that all the pastors make a block for the organ quilt we're making. This quilt was the goal of the two classes held at church this summer, and we wanted it to be a memorial, one-of-a-kind achievement. Pastor Vik, as it turns out, is a pretty artistic guy. He wanted to do an eagle. Nothing like starting small, huh, Pastor? I looked at some online clip art, but soon realized he was going to have to decide what kind of eagle he held in his mind's eye. Was it an eagle in flight? Sitting in a tree? Posed with its wings spread? A cartoony eagle? I found pages of eagles on the clip art websites, and yet only Pastor Vik would know which one worked. He was calling to say he'd found it.
“I stopped by earlier, but no one answered the bell. I have an eagle, and I need to come by and get some fabric.”
“Oh, sure! When would work for you?”
“I'll be here at church for the rest of the morning, but this afternoon would work.”
“Is 1:30 okay?”
“I'll see you then.”
The church quilt. We were able to gather over twenty blocks of varying sizes from members of the classes this summer, and even a few non-class members were moved to contribute a block. I still have two staff members and one pastor to corner near a machine, and then we can put all these individual efforts together in whatever arrangement we think best. I can't wait! Of course, before we can raffle the thing off, we need to file our papers with the gaming commission. That's about the funniest thing that's come out of our church basement in awhile.
Pastor Vik and I spent a few hours together that afternoon, working on his eagle block. He chose to use the fusible web method to appliqué three eagles onto his block, and I'm more of a needle turn appliqué kind of girl. He tolerated my need to stumble through this process, and in the end, he had the eagles ready to finish on his own, according to his plan.
We promised the congregation we'd have a quilt for them to see, and they'll be looking for it before the snow flies. I'd better make a few phone calls and send out some e-mails, and reconvene the troops. We'll make ourselves a quilt top out of all these beautiful and individual blocks.
Priority #3. I started the summer with one quilting goal certain in my mind – Lynn and Jeff's wedding quilt. Yeah, I'm talking about the Lynn and Jeff that were married August 21st in Seattle. I sort of undershot my goal, but I knew this was a possibility, and had the sense to warn them ahead of time. I was hoping I could work on their quilt during the day-long workshops in the church basement, but instead I was busy with the beginners. Man, was that fun! They had intelligent questions, were eager and focused, and they made rapid progress towards becoming full-fledged lintaholics. I love to turn the unsuspecting into my people! Bwa-ha-ha-ha! Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly!
It came to pass that I chose to leave all my quilting things down in the church basement for the entire summer, as there was always a sprinkling of lintheads wandering in and out during the week. Since the newbies were just starting to collect quilting gear of their own, I wanted to make my stuff available for them to use or try before they made their own purchases. As a result, I didn't work on the wedding quilt at home, either, and that slowed the progress to a crawl. Uffda. I think I made some sawtooth blocks for an inner border, and that was about it for June, July, and August.
Lynn and Jeff's quilt is a rose-themed quilt, all the blocks being fashioned into some type of rose configuration, either by piecing or appliqué. The Peg loved roses, as regular readers may remember, and that was my inspiration. Coincidentally, Lynn and her attendants carried roses, so I hope that makes their quilt even more meaningful. As a private little bonus for me, I was presented a rose to wear as I played my flute during the ceremony. I suppose if we want to get crazy about this theme thing, the congregation rose as Lynn came down the aisle with her parents. Nyuk, nyuk. Sometimes I crack myself up...
I really need to get Priorities #1 and #2 under control and done, and I'm going to love every minute of it. I have some new linty friends, and these projects will make a difference, one for a small rural congregation and one for a big town church.
When they are buttoned up and put to bed, however, I'm going to bask in the memories of the two weeks we spent in Seattle. I'm going to make “slow” a good thing. As I stitch away this winter, I will be warmed, remembering the family time some of us were able to spend together. Unfortunately, our sisters Jean and Lora, and their families, couldn't make it, as they were bound to the dates by the beginning of their school years. We kept them in our hearts, and hoped for a time when we can all join together as a family: aunts and uncles; nieces and nephews; cousins, and now cousins-in-law; and, of course, Grandpa The Barn.
I know! We can make a family quilt together! Each of us could choose a fabric, and we can...
Copyright © September 2005 Kari E.O. Burns
I have three heavy-duty quilt objectives clearing their throats right now. “Do me!" "No, do me!” "Yoo-hoo, I'm over here!" They are all alluring projects, and they have roughly the same deadline. I am working on my priority chart this weekend, and lining them up looks something like this:
Priority # 1. Just mere weeks ago, this was priority #3. I live in an area that proudly boasts several old, rural congregations. In the upper Midwest, rural churches were fashioned to be centrally located among several farms, and the families who worshiped there were often large and intergenerational. I grew up in a what passes for a city in Iowa, and instead of being dependent on the farm economy, we were more dependent on local factories, industry, and, earlier on, coal mining. The coal mining was mostly gone by the time I was born, but like Loretta Lynn's peers, our townfolk “worked hard” and at night “they were tar'd”. You don't expect me to forgo the opportunity to bring up those memorably rhyming song lyrics, do you?
Anyway, rural congregations weren't a part of my awareness as a “city” dweller, even though The Barn's dad spent a lifetime in them as a pastor. When I moved to Decorah, I joined a town church, and still didn't really pay much attention to the country congregations meeting faithfully and regularly, even as their numbers declined. Decorah Lutheran absorbed some of the early closings, prior to 1976 when we joined, and I don't want to see more of them fade away. I wish I could join seven or eight of them and help them with the struggle. Since I can't, I like to participate in some of their activities, if I can.
One of my favorite congregations is Hauge Lutheran Church, out on Middle Hesper Road. It was featured in Midwest Living a few Christmases ago, an example of bucolic beauty that has drawn people to worship in gratitude for generations. It is the family church of the Larson family, and Pat-neé-Larson, one of my closest friends, works loyally to keep the doors open. The president of the congregation, Darlene, is a woman whose stamina I covet. When Darlene asks for help with her duties, it is truly because she cannot do it herself. If she could have, it would have already been done last Thursday. When I saw her in July, her eyes lit up.
“Kari, I've got a question for you.”
“Fire away.”
“We have some quilt blocks one of our members embroidered for our bazaar this fall. If I get some fabric, can you help think of a way to put them together?”
“Sure. What do you have in mind?”
“I don't know. I'm not a quilter, but we just need them to be put together so they look nice.”
“Okay.”
“Do you think it's something you can help with?”
Of course. Do you know any Hauge members who would like to work on this with me?”
“Well, there aren't really any of us who can do those kinds of things anymore. The one lady who used to do this for us is in The Home now.” Younger folks aren't filling in when the older ones drop out. The old plan isn't working in this century.
“Darlene, why don't you just bring them over, and I'll figure out something. We have all sorts of time, since the bazaar isn't until October, and...”
“Good. That's what I was hoping you'd say. I'll drop them off this week.”
All kinds of time is now about six weeks away. I think this project has shifted to the top. I'll have to give Pat a buzz and see if she wants to help with the piecing. I see a long-arm job in the future, as well.
Priority #2. I just got back from my two weeks in the Seattle area. I walked in the house at the stroke of Tuesday/Wednesday midnight, and got to bed very early Wednesday morning. Determined to get myself back on Iowa time, I rose at my usual five a.m. I'm not going to apologize for that quirk in my personality, because I like being up at that time of day. Of course, last Wednesday, that meant it was three a.m., Pacific time. Yee-aawwnnn.
I exercised, had breakfast, put some laundry in, and saw to my e-mail and phone messages. By the time I was ready to take my bath, the morning was disappearing, yet it was only about 9:00 in Seattle. I thought I heard the doorbell ring, but couldn't get there, figuring whomever was pushing it would get back to me. Little did I know that the purpose of that contact would bring me full bore back into a quilting priority.
Before long, the phone rang. It was Pastor Vik, our visitation pastor at Decorah Lutheran. Earlier, I had insisted that all the pastors make a block for the organ quilt we're making. This quilt was the goal of the two classes held at church this summer, and we wanted it to be a memorial, one-of-a-kind achievement. Pastor Vik, as it turns out, is a pretty artistic guy. He wanted to do an eagle. Nothing like starting small, huh, Pastor? I looked at some online clip art, but soon realized he was going to have to decide what kind of eagle he held in his mind's eye. Was it an eagle in flight? Sitting in a tree? Posed with its wings spread? A cartoony eagle? I found pages of eagles on the clip art websites, and yet only Pastor Vik would know which one worked. He was calling to say he'd found it.
“I stopped by earlier, but no one answered the bell. I have an eagle, and I need to come by and get some fabric.”
“Oh, sure! When would work for you?”
“I'll be here at church for the rest of the morning, but this afternoon would work.”
“Is 1:30 okay?”
“I'll see you then.”
The church quilt. We were able to gather over twenty blocks of varying sizes from members of the classes this summer, and even a few non-class members were moved to contribute a block. I still have two staff members and one pastor to corner near a machine, and then we can put all these individual efforts together in whatever arrangement we think best. I can't wait! Of course, before we can raffle the thing off, we need to file our papers with the gaming commission. That's about the funniest thing that's come out of our church basement in awhile.
Pastor Vik and I spent a few hours together that afternoon, working on his eagle block. He chose to use the fusible web method to appliqué three eagles onto his block, and I'm more of a needle turn appliqué kind of girl. He tolerated my need to stumble through this process, and in the end, he had the eagles ready to finish on his own, according to his plan.
We promised the congregation we'd have a quilt for them to see, and they'll be looking for it before the snow flies. I'd better make a few phone calls and send out some e-mails, and reconvene the troops. We'll make ourselves a quilt top out of all these beautiful and individual blocks.
Priority #3. I started the summer with one quilting goal certain in my mind – Lynn and Jeff's wedding quilt. Yeah, I'm talking about the Lynn and Jeff that were married August 21st in Seattle. I sort of undershot my goal, but I knew this was a possibility, and had the sense to warn them ahead of time. I was hoping I could work on their quilt during the day-long workshops in the church basement, but instead I was busy with the beginners. Man, was that fun! They had intelligent questions, were eager and focused, and they made rapid progress towards becoming full-fledged lintaholics. I love to turn the unsuspecting into my people! Bwa-ha-ha-ha! Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly!
It came to pass that I chose to leave all my quilting things down in the church basement for the entire summer, as there was always a sprinkling of lintheads wandering in and out during the week. Since the newbies were just starting to collect quilting gear of their own, I wanted to make my stuff available for them to use or try before they made their own purchases. As a result, I didn't work on the wedding quilt at home, either, and that slowed the progress to a crawl. Uffda. I think I made some sawtooth blocks for an inner border, and that was about it for June, July, and August.
Lynn and Jeff's quilt is a rose-themed quilt, all the blocks being fashioned into some type of rose configuration, either by piecing or appliqué. The Peg loved roses, as regular readers may remember, and that was my inspiration. Coincidentally, Lynn and her attendants carried roses, so I hope that makes their quilt even more meaningful. As a private little bonus for me, I was presented a rose to wear as I played my flute during the ceremony. I suppose if we want to get crazy about this theme thing, the congregation rose as Lynn came down the aisle with her parents. Nyuk, nyuk. Sometimes I crack myself up...
I really need to get Priorities #1 and #2 under control and done, and I'm going to love every minute of it. I have some new linty friends, and these projects will make a difference, one for a small rural congregation and one for a big town church.
When they are buttoned up and put to bed, however, I'm going to bask in the memories of the two weeks we spent in Seattle. I'm going to make “slow” a good thing. As I stitch away this winter, I will be warmed, remembering the family time some of us were able to spend together. Unfortunately, our sisters Jean and Lora, and their families, couldn't make it, as they were bound to the dates by the beginning of their school years. We kept them in our hearts, and hoped for a time when we can all join together as a family: aunts and uncles; nieces and nephews; cousins, and now cousins-in-law; and, of course, Grandpa The Barn.
I know! We can make a family quilt together! Each of us could choose a fabric, and we can...
Copyright © September 2005 Kari E.O. Burns
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