How Many Quilters Does It Take To Screw In A Lightbulb?

Q: How many quilters does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: None. We like to press on (in) the dark side.

Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk. Quilt humor. Okay, so I admit it is weak quilt humor, but it's intended to remind us that quilting isn't a solitary experience. We even drag non-quilters into the mix, and we benefit from their naive wisdom.

“This needs something. Any suggestions?”

“I need you to pick out the backing fabric. I'm stuck among these choices.”

“Can you draw a cricket for me? I need one for this quilt.”

As I consider the number of times I have asked Hubba or the offspring for help when making a quilt, I am reminded how much nicer the outcome is when a quilt has bits and pieces of my family in it. The poor souls who live with me certainly have a lot of lint shoved in their faces, and perhaps osmosis shouldn't be dismissed out of hand. They seem to understand the task when I ask for help.

It was Hubba's unsuspecting comment, “Oh, a bee for Burns,” that brought about the embroidered bees on all succeeding quilts. Now, the first thing recipients of my quilts look for is the bee. In fact, when I show a quilt I made to just about anyone, they say, “Now to find the bee -- I know it's here someplace!”

The Peg wasn't a quilter, but she was wonderfully creative with the garments she made. What's more, she guided us to creative functions, and my sisters and I designed most of the clothes we wore from a fairly early age. The challenge was before us with every garment; we had yards and yards of fabric to choose from, and boxes and boxes of different patterns.

“Can you get a vest and a skirt out of this fabric. I'd like the vest from this pattern here only longer, but please make the neckline from this pattern, not the rounded one on the the first vest pattern. And I'd like the skirt to have gores, not an A-line. This gore skirt pattern is too small for me now. Can you make it work?”

She could. Her results taught us how many possibilities there are in the world of design, and how ordinary people like the Onerheims at 415 Quincy Avenue could make our own ideas into something beautiful.

What's more, it was fun! The Peg always seemed up for the task. When simple shifts and “tent” dresses were in vogue, she could make us something new to wear in one evening.

“Kari, if you make dinner and do the dishes, I'll make you a dress for school tomorrow.”

Once she made me a psychedelic mini-dress in a loosely woven, hopsack-type fabric that bore a large geometric pattern in carrot orange, grape juice purple, and lime green. That same evening, I made meat loaf, baked potatoes, and a green bean casserole, and loaded the dishwasher after dinner. We joked about that dress for the rest of her life, saying it as the first time she put a green zipper in a purple dress with orange thread.

My sister Jeanie was voted “Best Dressed” in high school. Small wonder. She created very stylized designs, and The Peg and she would sew them up together. For instance, the movie Bonnie and Clyde was released about this time, and she designed an outfit inspired from the film. In a twist, it was a Clyde-like outfit – a vest and skirt in navy pin-stripe, a dark blood-red blouse, and a necktie made from the same pin-striped fabric. They pulled it off flawlessly. Jeanie always looked impeccable, tall and slender, hair down to her waist, and dressed to the nines.

When I got carried away with one of my prom dresses, The Peg told me she wouldn't work that hard on another dress until it was my wedding dress. Yes, I did design my wedding dress, and the The Peg made it. I intend to make a quilt out of it someday.

The group of home schooled children I'm teaching are learning similar lessons of design and quilting. They are making quilts from recycled and reclaimed fabric, and gathering that fabric was a design challenge in itself. Lydia's mom has sewed in the past, so the two of them went through her mother's stash and selected a few whole pieces of cloth for consideration in her quilt. Lydia has a very good eye, and understanding scale and color is instinctive with her. She appears able to see the big picture, even as a ten-year-old, as she comprehends how once piece relates to another, and that the finished quilt will be a composite of how each piece functions within the scheme. At our last meeting, Lydia had her pieces all cut out and numbered into rows, ready for sewing. In doing so, she spontaneously incorporated her own personality into the process. She clearly grasps the concept of being an important part of the whole scheme of life.

I called Lydia's house one day, and her paternal grandma was there with her. Lydia's mom was gone for a few days to help her own mother recover from an accident, and when I called, Lydia and her grandma were working on arranging her cut squares. They were moving them around, finding the pattern they found pleasing, and sharing quilt and fabric thoughts with one another. I flashed back to the times The Peg and I spent together on similar pursuits, and I mentally thanked her soul in heaven for teaching me.

Boy Aidan has an eye for detail, and he likes big, splashy prints with lots of contrast between dark and bright colors. Boy Aidan brought some of the most luscious, textured fabrics along with him the day we shared fabric choices. It seems Boy Aidan's mother is a bit of a closet fabriholic herself, and she will buy used clothing at The Depot (Decorah's version of Good Will or The Salvation Army) strictly for the sensuousness of the cloth. In our fabric-sharing session, Boy Aidan unfurled the most divine blue velvet choir robe, and everyone in the room gasped! It was just his size, and many children his age would have hoarded that piece for a Harry Potter costume. Boy Aidan saw it differently – it was perfect for a quilt to nap under, keeping precious spots of this heavenly softness within arm's reach, to comfort the user from a demanding world.

When we started cutting out fabric, we dug through a very large collection of fabric, still in the incarnation of clothing, to see what was useful there. Chris from The Depot had donated these items for the home schoolers, and our children were more than delighted with what they found. I encouraged them not to overlook the elements unique to the fabric source. For example, you can't buy fabric off the bolt that has buttons or collars or pockets, any of which would make marvelous, creative additions to a quilt. Boy Aidan got it. He was as eager to look for buttons and embroidered or appliquéd treasures as he was for the more obvious explosions of colorful fabrics. Each find was a new treasure, but as he did with the Harry Potter/choir robe, he didn't hoard them. Gentle Aidan shared his finds with the others, negotiating and distributing this bounty as he saw fit by the lights in the eyes of his friends. The tranquilness I observed as he rationed his precious discoveries was contagious.

Girl Aidan and Anna came to the fabric-sharing session with an intergenerational collection of fabrics that gave me goosebumps. They had clothing from grandparents and mom, and even a darling baby outfit from their little brother Kai. Girl Aidan knows herself, and she tempers her choices for joy rather than conflict. She is guided by an inner unselfishness that allows her to see the beauty in the meaning of things, not just in the surface design. When she was examining Kai's baby outfit for a place in her quilt, she chose an area with a small figure that she hoped he'd eventually recognize as being from his infancy. Elsewhere she found a clever little pocket that looked about blocksize for her quilt, and together we carefully measured and cut it out. When she showed Anna there were two pockets, we repeated the process for her little sister.

Girl Aidan and Lydia share an awareness of their own awakening strengths. They both recognize that they are capable of making the quilt they are working on, and they want to be responsible for its completion. Their families respect their claim to the process, and jump in where they are needed and stand back when they aren't. The Quilt Dance, we could call it. And while they're dancing, they are also singing. Both of them have powerful voices, strong and true, and they sing while they work, entertaining themselves and the rest of us with melodies they find pleasing to repeat.

Anna is amid it all. If her middle name isn't Lark, it should be. Or maybe her nickname could be The Starling, as described in the book King Solomon's Ring by Konrad Z. Lorenz. The starling is a happy and gentle bird that will follow wherever a loving soul leads. Anna isn't so much a follower as she is trusting, and to borrow a saying from a plaque at a craft show, she will bloom where she is planted. The next time we meet, I'm going to spend most of my time with Anna. She is a bud in the spring, a cocoon in the fall. She is definitely Anna, and she is percolating her personality, waiting for the blend to become distinct. She knows she will have a quilt when she's done with the group. She will work on it and learn new things, and I predict the importance of her quilt project will fade in and out for a few years, until she can appreciate her efforts. Then, it will change from a showpiece to a descriptor of Anna, and she will wonder how she ever made it happen. When that moment occurs, she will know if she wants to make another, and if she does, it will be spectacular.

Some experiences and emotions are difficult to relate. It's much easier to repeat a humorous exchange of conversation, and then editorialize on its key points. But what word can I use to describe a learning atmosphere filled with peace and excitement, rambunctious serenity and satisfied bewilderment? It's the sum of members of a family, of a community of shared dreams, of a place where everybody matters. That's where I teach people to make quilts.

Q: How many quilters does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: At least one family, but it's open to anyone who wants to share the light.

Copyright © November 2005 Kari E.O. Burns