This binding business is for the birds. I spent at least an hour and half hand stitching the border of my quilt, and my fingertips were absolutely on fire today. And, to add insult to injury, I totally suck at it. The border looks really good from the front of my quilt, and it looks really, really decent, but on the back, not so much. I was sent home with black thread, first of all. Again, I don't question my mother-in-law when it comes to this type of thing, so you can see every stitch I make, and just how I can't cut in a straight line, I can't sew in a straight line either, without the aid of a sewing machine.
I attempted to start binding again tonight, and things got a little off track with the edge, got annoyed I couldn't find my scissors, and just gave up for a little bit to blog and watch Law and Order.
Aside from my slightly frustrating binding experience, I'm also looking into the history of quilting, really just to satisfy my own curiosity. It seems like such an inherently female, and...Quaker-ish, activity, like breast-feeding or packaging oats for consumption. When I think about the history of quilting for some reason, one of the strongest images that come to my mind are women in black bonnets, white dresses and black aprons, sitting around in a circle in rocking chairs clucking their tongues at Goody Osborne and whether or not they are going to attend her witchcraft trial.
It's one of those hobbies that really stood the test of time. Like all things, it has become modernized (I heard my mother-in-law and her sisters talking breathlessly about a sewing machine a friend recently acquired, it's an embroidery sewing machine, computerized, and cost a shit-ton of money) No longer are just looms or ancient Singers used to piece together scrapes of material to keep one warm and colorful. Quilting is serious business.
Like all modern gals, I consulted my encyclopedia, Wikipedia, to learn about the history of quilting.
I found this entry particularly interesting:
"In American Colonial times most women were busy spinning, weaving and making clothing. Meanwhile women of the wealthier classes prided themselves on their fine quilting of wholecloth quilts with fine needlework."
It's a rich lady activity! Like throwing benefits for cleft palates! I like it. Apparently the Abigail Williams and Elizabeth Proctors of my fantasies were too poor to make quilts!
But, now it has come to this, according to Wikipedia
"In modern times, art quilts have started to become popular for their aesthetic and artistic qualities rather than for functionality (they are displayed on a wall rather than spread on a bed)"
Vickie has an array of wall hanging quilts. Mostly holiday themed. When I mentioned my interest in making a Halloween quilt Jim asked me if I was going to make a wall hanging. "No!" I said, "I wanna make one I can use!" To me, hanging a quilt on a wall seems like a waste. It can be used to keep you toasty! Why would you use it as art work?
I moved on from Wikipedia and just Googled "history of quilting" and the delightfully titled "womenfolk.com" website popped up. I like it already.
I may be a twenty-six year old product of my generation. I can't function without my cell phone, computer, ipod...I don't cook, I clean only when necessary, I often wonder, really, why my husband married me. But, as modernized and ahead of the curb I may think I am (not only my lacking in domestication, but my political thinking, my entitled feminism, my potty mouth) but I do have a tinge of old-fashioned in me. I got married. That's pretty old fashioned in itself. Not only did I get married, I got married when I was twenty-three. That's pretty f-ing young to get married this day in age. I like to be taken care of, but that can be written off as being a victim of birth order. I have an older sister who as always taken care of me or made sure I was taken care of (not in the parental form of the meaning, I have very capable and good parents) so it's a lifestyle I have become accustomed to. I think it's classy when a guy holds a door open for me, I don't mind if people call me "sweetheart" or "honey" ( I get a little weirded out when "doll" is used, but the only person who ever calls me that is this nice lady I work with, and she calls everyone that) I ask men to lift heavy things for me, and I want to be a good quilter. I love to go into craft or fabric shops and look around. Imagine the types of things I could make out of them, knowing, deep down, that I really couldn't, it would look like crap. But, quilting, it's not that it connects me to the history of womanhood, it just makes me feel more...ladylike. And I'm not very ladylike.
Well, it's after nine o'clock. If I wanna get any of this motherfucking binding done I better get a move on.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Monday, September 7, 2009
Bound
My Halloween quilt is now at home. It received it's batting session on Saturday and now the front is attached to the back (no sewing required on the back, it is just one large piece of fabric) and all that is left is the binding.
I like how that sounds, "binding." It reminds me of book binding, or women in Ancient China binding their feet to make them smaller. Here is its official definition from Merriam-Websters online dictionary.
I like how that sounds, "binding." It reminds me of book binding, or women in Ancient China binding their feet to make them smaller. Here is its official definition from Merriam-Websters online dictionary.
- Main Entry: 1bind·ing
- Pronunciation: \ˈbīn-diŋ\
- Function: noun
- Date: 13th century
1 : the action of one that binds
2 : a material or device used to bind: as a : the cover and materials that hold a book together b : a narrow fabric used to finish raw edges c : a set of ski fastenings for holding the boot firm on the ski
I am literally doing letter b! Binding sounds so final, so done. I think that is why I like the sound of it. Once I finish binding, I have officially completed my second quilt! Mostly painless and swear word free!
I was given a quick lesson tonight by Vickie. Not quick because she was in a rush, no, no...but quick because she thinks it's easy, and that I will be able to do it. Again, Jim and his family have a tremendous amount of faith it me, I don't know where it comes from. Again, she began it with, "Here, it's easy..." and took a needled, threaded it, and whipped a few small stitches in a little perfect line in a few seconds flat. "See, easy." I didn't ask follow-up questions, or protest that I surely would not be able to do that so handily at home on my own, I just took it, the needle and the thread in my arms and went on my way.
I figure, even if I don't get it done perfectly, no matter how it's bound, it will still look good to me. Anyways, who even looks at perfect edges? I'll be able to do it, I'm sure. And now that I have my quilt home, and will mostly be doing this project on my own, the swears will flow like wine.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Quilted Out
The Minnesota State Fair represents all that is good in our glorious state. It's wholesome, with crafts and children and farm equipment as far as the eye can see, it promotes massive amount of food intake, and what Minnesotan worth their salt doesn't like to eat? Steak, chicken, pork chops, cheesecake, hot dish, all of these things readily available on a stick, mini-donuts, Greek food, tacos, pizza, cheese curds, for miles and miles Aside from all the outdoors, free-standing food booths, there is even an entire building dedicated to food at the Fair. And, every type of person goes to the fair. Boring suburbanites, urbane hipsters from Uptown, people from "up north" who take a two hour car ride just to go the the fair. Roving groups of Goth/emo kids AND hip-hop kids in equally amounts, gay, straight, black, white, Al Franken and Michelle Bachman...every Minnesotan loves the fair.
I descended upon the Fair yesterday with my Mom and sister. Towards the end of our trip, (we go the the fair to eat, stare at the farm animals, and make fun of the way people dress) we entered the 4-H Building. The 4-H Building is one of my favorite places to visit at the fair. It's the down home kids showing of their research on endangered species, or how to make homemade soup in the form of plaster-board and pictures printed off the internet. They show off their needlepoint, and yes, there was an entire corner dedicated to quilts. When we walked by the quilt corner, I was too entranced by the group of awkward farms kids singing Jason Mraz's "I'm Yours" and doing uncomfortable dance steps with an opposite gender dance partner, adding to the awkwardness, heh...that the quilts didn't really catch my interest, Mom even said, "Roxy! Quilts!" I glanced, looked briefly, and my attention went back to the stage of kids. Adorkable.
Why do other peoples quilting not capture my attention? I should have taken the time a looked at what the 4-H kids had done. From what I could tell at my quick glance, the quilts were beautiful. But, it's not that I didn't care, I just didn't want to really take the time to look. Maybe it was the dorks on the stage, or the fact that it was towards the end of the fair trip and I was getting tired (we still had the Big Pig to go look at!) Maybe, at that moment, I was just quilted out.
I haven't seen my quilt since Thursday night. I wonder what it looks like? Vickie said she was going to machine quilt it on Saturday, which would have been yesterday, meaning it should be all put together. Hmmm...I bet it looks cool. I took my left-over material home with me Thursday night, so I have a bunch of Halloween themed scraps of fabric sitting on my kitchen table right now, "You can make a little lap quilt with them!" Vickie offered. I don't own a needle or thread, let alone a sewing machine. I was promised, however, one of her older, beaten down ones in a couple weeks, "I just gotta bring it home from the cabin" she said.
Hopefully, tomorrow night I will get up to her house to take the quilt home and begin the binding process. Sore fingers and, if I'm lucky, a few calluses to look forward too!
I descended upon the Fair yesterday with my Mom and sister. Towards the end of our trip, (we go the the fair to eat, stare at the farm animals, and make fun of the way people dress) we entered the 4-H Building. The 4-H Building is one of my favorite places to visit at the fair. It's the down home kids showing of their research on endangered species, or how to make homemade soup in the form of plaster-board and pictures printed off the internet. They show off their needlepoint, and yes, there was an entire corner dedicated to quilts. When we walked by the quilt corner, I was too entranced by the group of awkward farms kids singing Jason Mraz's "I'm Yours" and doing uncomfortable dance steps with an opposite gender dance partner, adding to the awkwardness, heh...that the quilts didn't really catch my interest, Mom even said, "Roxy! Quilts!" I glanced, looked briefly, and my attention went back to the stage of kids. Adorkable.
Why do other peoples quilting not capture my attention? I should have taken the time a looked at what the 4-H kids had done. From what I could tell at my quick glance, the quilts were beautiful. But, it's not that I didn't care, I just didn't want to really take the time to look. Maybe it was the dorks on the stage, or the fact that it was towards the end of the fair trip and I was getting tired (we still had the Big Pig to go look at!) Maybe, at that moment, I was just quilted out.
I haven't seen my quilt since Thursday night. I wonder what it looks like? Vickie said she was going to machine quilt it on Saturday, which would have been yesterday, meaning it should be all put together. Hmmm...I bet it looks cool. I took my left-over material home with me Thursday night, so I have a bunch of Halloween themed scraps of fabric sitting on my kitchen table right now, "You can make a little lap quilt with them!" Vickie offered. I don't own a needle or thread, let alone a sewing machine. I was promised, however, one of her older, beaten down ones in a couple weeks, "I just gotta bring it home from the cabin" she said.
Hopefully, tomorrow night I will get up to her house to take the quilt home and begin the binding process. Sore fingers and, if I'm lucky, a few calluses to look forward too!
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Playing Frog
"On our quilting retreats, we get a little crazy, when someone screws up we say, 'what are you doing...??' 'Oh, just playing frog, rip-it, rip-it.'" Honestly, will the craziness never cease!?
Vickie shared this gem with me tonight, it was really adorable, because I was playing m-f-ing frog all night long tonight. The seam ripper really became my best friend. I think it was because I was getting a little overwhelmed. The type of quilt I am working on is called a "Log Cabin" quilt (no, it's not a quilting style exclusively for for Gay Republicans) why it is called this, I do not know, and again, I am not sure if this is an official quilting term, or something Vickie came up with on her own. Is there an official quilting language? I have yet to find this out. Unless, I am becoming immersed in it and learning it without knowing it, like when Bart Simpson went to France and learned to speak French without trying...
The Log Cabin quilt starts with a small square, a focal point. In the case of my quilt, it's a witch, since I am making a Halloween quilt. The small square gets a border, then the border gets a different border, and so on and so on, as many borders as you like. My witch square has three borders. Well, sewing this squares with borders was simple enough, sewing strips of fabric on a square, do it, done. In total, my quilt has nine witches, nine squares, all with three borders. Then, a larger different border is added, sewing all the squares together, and eventually, getting all these squares together, you end up with your quilt. I had no problems with my seams when I was sewing the squares, it was simple quick work, however, sewing all three squares together with the different border proved difficult, because it just got so damn big.
Suddenly, the machine would start to squeak. Vickie would come over, tell me to move out of the chair, she'd fiddle around a bit, solve the problem (usually a machine threading probably, he machine a Janome, for the curious, is super fancy and has a thread ripper on the side for when you finished your seam, well, I was getting a little overzealous with the thread ripper and in my enthusiasm, I would un-thread the whole damn machine, whoops. After doing that twice I was instructed to use the scissors, and only the scissors.) Another issue, a bigger issues was on these big pieces of fabric, I would get it bunched up, and sew the back to the front making a big ball of fabric and thread. Vickie would had over the trusty seam ripper, a small blue tool with a sharp claw-type apparatus at the end. She would just put the longer sharp end under the seam, and rip-it, rip-it. I only had to do it twice, but it was on big pieces of fabric, so it totally sucked, because I did each seam separately. I didn't have the confidence to just rip like Vickie did, I didn't want to accidentally rip my fabric.
Finally, after stopping and starting and ripping and re-sewing, a major chunk of the quilt was completed tonight. All that needs to be done is the "batting" a process I am entirely in the dark about. It is adding the soft, fluffy middle to make it, you know, a blanket. Vickie did the batting on my sister's quilt, so I didn't see how that came together. And then the binding, which is had sewing all the edges together. Which Vickie said she is going to teach, and then "let" me do. "Good luck with that," my mother said when I told her of the task I had in front of me. She knows me too well. "It's just like hemming." Vickie said. Yea, I don't hem... "And it's nice because then you can watch TV while you do it!" Super. I do love TV.
I am hoping to get the quilt home on Monday to begin the binding. So, I can get started on something that makes my fingers sore just thinking about it.
I left my mother-in-law's tonight covered in sweat (it's really hot in her sewing room, yes, she has a room exclusively devoted to sewing.) and bits of string, which I didn't want to pick off of myself. They are like badges of honor. I am tackling this old, square, lame-o hobby, and I am winning the battle! I am making this thread my bitch! And it is strewn about my clothes to prove it, like limbs on a battlefield! Ha!
Vickie shared this gem with me tonight, it was really adorable, because I was playing m-f-ing frog all night long tonight. The seam ripper really became my best friend. I think it was because I was getting a little overwhelmed. The type of quilt I am working on is called a "Log Cabin" quilt (no, it's not a quilting style exclusively for for Gay Republicans) why it is called this, I do not know, and again, I am not sure if this is an official quilting term, or something Vickie came up with on her own. Is there an official quilting language? I have yet to find this out. Unless, I am becoming immersed in it and learning it without knowing it, like when Bart Simpson went to France and learned to speak French without trying...
The Log Cabin quilt starts with a small square, a focal point. In the case of my quilt, it's a witch, since I am making a Halloween quilt. The small square gets a border, then the border gets a different border, and so on and so on, as many borders as you like. My witch square has three borders. Well, sewing this squares with borders was simple enough, sewing strips of fabric on a square, do it, done. In total, my quilt has nine witches, nine squares, all with three borders. Then, a larger different border is added, sewing all the squares together, and eventually, getting all these squares together, you end up with your quilt. I had no problems with my seams when I was sewing the squares, it was simple quick work, however, sewing all three squares together with the different border proved difficult, because it just got so damn big.
Suddenly, the machine would start to squeak. Vickie would come over, tell me to move out of the chair, she'd fiddle around a bit, solve the problem (usually a machine threading probably, he machine a Janome, for the curious, is super fancy and has a thread ripper on the side for when you finished your seam, well, I was getting a little overzealous with the thread ripper and in my enthusiasm, I would un-thread the whole damn machine, whoops. After doing that twice I was instructed to use the scissors, and only the scissors.) Another issue, a bigger issues was on these big pieces of fabric, I would get it bunched up, and sew the back to the front making a big ball of fabric and thread. Vickie would had over the trusty seam ripper, a small blue tool with a sharp claw-type apparatus at the end. She would just put the longer sharp end under the seam, and rip-it, rip-it. I only had to do it twice, but it was on big pieces of fabric, so it totally sucked, because I did each seam separately. I didn't have the confidence to just rip like Vickie did, I didn't want to accidentally rip my fabric.
Finally, after stopping and starting and ripping and re-sewing, a major chunk of the quilt was completed tonight. All that needs to be done is the "batting" a process I am entirely in the dark about. It is adding the soft, fluffy middle to make it, you know, a blanket. Vickie did the batting on my sister's quilt, so I didn't see how that came together. And then the binding, which is had sewing all the edges together. Which Vickie said she is going to teach, and then "let" me do. "Good luck with that," my mother said when I told her of the task I had in front of me. She knows me too well. "It's just like hemming." Vickie said. Yea, I don't hem... "And it's nice because then you can watch TV while you do it!" Super. I do love TV.
I am hoping to get the quilt home on Monday to begin the binding. So, I can get started on something that makes my fingers sore just thinking about it.
I left my mother-in-law's tonight covered in sweat (it's really hot in her sewing room, yes, she has a room exclusively devoted to sewing.) and bits of string, which I didn't want to pick off of myself. They are like badges of honor. I am tackling this old, square, lame-o hobby, and I am winning the battle! I am making this thread my bitch! And it is strewn about my clothes to prove it, like limbs on a battlefield! Ha!
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Math is Hard
The most difficult thing about quilting to me is the surprising amount of math involved.
I suck majorly at math. I always have and always will. Even the smallest thing that somehow seems like a math equation is a huge diversion to me. Like, how many gallons of gas does my car hold? I have no clue. I don't care to know. Gallons sounds a little too much like something that would have baffled me and made me want to cry in middle school. Which is how I feel whenever I encounter math. And really, it can be the simplest addition and subtraction. I don't know why this is. Perhaps some undiagnosed learning disability, or the fact that I was out sick the day we learned the multiplication tables in third grade and I have never quite caught up. But math is one of the only things that truly makes me feel stupid.
I am embarrassed sometimes at my lack of math skills. When I used to work at a job where I was at a cash register I would be thrown into a blind panic if I didn't hit the correct button on the register that would tell me what change to hand back to the customer, or my heart would sink whenever I would ring the total through, get my amount to hand back to the costumer, and they would say, "Oh, wait, I have a dime...." Uh, ok, super. What the hell am I suppose to do with this dime? I know this some how rounds up your change to a solid dollar amount, but what it is? Mostly kind-hearted women would take pity on me and see the terror in my eyes and say, in the most conversational manner, "Oh, and that will just give me back a five!" I always wanted to hug these women. Men, well, they never really offered their assistance. Poor social cue reading. Oh, well, they apparently never noticed when I would hand them back in the incorrect change, either.
Anyway, the math in quilting isn't gallons, or change, obviously, it's measurements. Inches, mostly. I have been working in the world of "quarter inches" these last few days. I'm still not quite sure what they are, but apparently, I rock at them. "Oh, your doing really well on your quarter inches!" Vickie will say, after I finished sewing a few squares together and hand them over to her to press ("that means iron" Jim offered helpfully to me the other day, yeah, buddy, I know what she means when she says "press") Last night Vickie explained, and I tried to comprehend, "See, you want to be right on with your quater inches, that is where you can get screwed up. Then your quilt will never lay right and the seams will be off." Hmmm...I didn't know so much of the finished product relayed so heavily on the oh-so-sacred quarter inch.
The quarter inch is a setting on the sewing machine. I figured that much out. It's where the pressure foot sits in relation to the edge of the fabric you are sewing. On Vickie's million dollar machine you can just punch in a few numbers to the little computer on the top, and the pressure foot moves to the quarter inch spot automatically. Impressive! I wonder if I would be so awesome at the quarter inch if I was left to find that magical spot all on my own with a cheaper, or old school, machine.
I ran into this quarter inch problem on the quilt I made a few years ago for Cori. Her quilt lays flat, but there are several squares that don't line up. It's ok. They are few and far between, but pretty noticeable, especially if they are pointed out.
Aside from the quarter inch, there are other inches to be measured, that can't be punched into a high tech sewing machine.
Now, Vickie is "teaching" me to quilt. But, she isn't a "teacher" she's a "do-er." She can just do it, and I think sometimes if something comes to easily to you, you have a hard time teaching it to someone else, which I think we are running into this a little. The particular quilt I am working on is a different style them my first one, a much more precise hand is needed. We reached the step last night where we are to sew three of the big squares together, however, we needed to leave space to add our border. Vickie held up the square, mumbled to herself, set the square back down and quickly measured it. "It's 17 inches, so we need 5 inches of border." Uh....ok. How did you reach that conclusion? I didn't ask. I was just happy she could figure it out quickly, while I would have been, "err, uhh, it's about, I dunno, which lines do I read the ruler at again?"
The math is probably my biggest obstacle with quilting. The math, and the sewing. Which I am doing much, much better at my second go-round.
Enjoy some pics of my first quilt!
The quilt, in it's permanent spot. Cori's living room. Oh, and her papillion Moya. The dog literally saw me take my camera out and went running to be photographed as well. Little ham.
It's a Queen sized quilt, but Cori doesn't have Queen sized arms, but she's holding it up for me anyways. The style is what Vickie calls a "star climber" quilt. Is this an official style? I dunno. I just nod.
I suck majorly at math. I always have and always will. Even the smallest thing that somehow seems like a math equation is a huge diversion to me. Like, how many gallons of gas does my car hold? I have no clue. I don't care to know. Gallons sounds a little too much like something that would have baffled me and made me want to cry in middle school. Which is how I feel whenever I encounter math. And really, it can be the simplest addition and subtraction. I don't know why this is. Perhaps some undiagnosed learning disability, or the fact that I was out sick the day we learned the multiplication tables in third grade and I have never quite caught up. But math is one of the only things that truly makes me feel stupid.
I am embarrassed sometimes at my lack of math skills. When I used to work at a job where I was at a cash register I would be thrown into a blind panic if I didn't hit the correct button on the register that would tell me what change to hand back to the customer, or my heart would sink whenever I would ring the total through, get my amount to hand back to the costumer, and they would say, "Oh, wait, I have a dime...." Uh, ok, super. What the hell am I suppose to do with this dime? I know this some how rounds up your change to a solid dollar amount, but what it is? Mostly kind-hearted women would take pity on me and see the terror in my eyes and say, in the most conversational manner, "Oh, and that will just give me back a five!" I always wanted to hug these women. Men, well, they never really offered their assistance. Poor social cue reading. Oh, well, they apparently never noticed when I would hand them back in the incorrect change, either.
Anyway, the math in quilting isn't gallons, or change, obviously, it's measurements. Inches, mostly. I have been working in the world of "quarter inches" these last few days. I'm still not quite sure what they are, but apparently, I rock at them. "Oh, your doing really well on your quarter inches!" Vickie will say, after I finished sewing a few squares together and hand them over to her to press ("that means iron" Jim offered helpfully to me the other day, yeah, buddy, I know what she means when she says "press") Last night Vickie explained, and I tried to comprehend, "See, you want to be right on with your quater inches, that is where you can get screwed up. Then your quilt will never lay right and the seams will be off." Hmmm...I didn't know so much of the finished product relayed so heavily on the oh-so-sacred quarter inch.
The quarter inch is a setting on the sewing machine. I figured that much out. It's where the pressure foot sits in relation to the edge of the fabric you are sewing. On Vickie's million dollar machine you can just punch in a few numbers to the little computer on the top, and the pressure foot moves to the quarter inch spot automatically. Impressive! I wonder if I would be so awesome at the quarter inch if I was left to find that magical spot all on my own with a cheaper, or old school, machine.
I ran into this quarter inch problem on the quilt I made a few years ago for Cori. Her quilt lays flat, but there are several squares that don't line up. It's ok. They are few and far between, but pretty noticeable, especially if they are pointed out.
Aside from the quarter inch, there are other inches to be measured, that can't be punched into a high tech sewing machine.
Now, Vickie is "teaching" me to quilt. But, she isn't a "teacher" she's a "do-er." She can just do it, and I think sometimes if something comes to easily to you, you have a hard time teaching it to someone else, which I think we are running into this a little. The particular quilt I am working on is a different style them my first one, a much more precise hand is needed. We reached the step last night where we are to sew three of the big squares together, however, we needed to leave space to add our border. Vickie held up the square, mumbled to herself, set the square back down and quickly measured it. "It's 17 inches, so we need 5 inches of border." Uh....ok. How did you reach that conclusion? I didn't ask. I was just happy she could figure it out quickly, while I would have been, "err, uhh, it's about, I dunno, which lines do I read the ruler at again?"
The math is probably my biggest obstacle with quilting. The math, and the sewing. Which I am doing much, much better at my second go-round.
Enjoy some pics of my first quilt!
The quilt, in it's permanent spot. Cori's living room. Oh, and her papillion Moya. The dog literally saw me take my camera out and went running to be photographed as well. Little ham.
It's a Queen sized quilt, but Cori doesn't have Queen sized arms, but she's holding it up for me anyways. The style is what Vickie calls a "star climber" quilt. Is this an official style? I dunno. I just nod.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Quilting: My Brief History
Quilting, in fact, is not sexy. It's actually quite square. Lame. Old-fashioned. What do you think of when you think of quilting as a hobby? What kind of person pops into your mind? For me, it's my mother-in-law. She is a quilter extraordinaire. And she fits the bill. She's an older lady who has been a stay-at-home-mom all of her children's lives, (they are on 34 and 29, respectively) and has always been a hobby-haver. She used to make jewelry, she paints furniture, she makes costumes, she sews, and gardens, and welds, and works on her classic cars and on and on and on. But, her quilts are her crowning jewel. They are beautiful, big, colorful pieces of shapes and desings and all things cozy and comfy.
Vickie, my dear mother-in-law, isn't what you would qualify as a "square" on paper, anyway. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing but love and respect for the woman who raised my husband, but she is so, so different from my mother. So...very...different. While my mother-in-law has several tattoos and wacky ear piercings, a spiky hair 'do and funky reading glasses from Walgreens, my mother is very opposite of this. No tats, normal ear piercings, the same hair style since 1995. But, who would win in a fight? Debbie, the womb which bore my sister and I, hands freakin' down. Who could drink you under the table? Debbie, the woman who made us listen to classic rock, and only classic rock, growing up. Mother taught my sister and I the benefits of Skynard, Zepplin, AC/DC, and to a lesser extent, Mellencamp, U2, and what ever else happened to be playing in rotation on the classic rock station on the way to school that particular morning. Mom may have worked the majority of our childhoods, but she could always be counted on, and still can be.
I remember my mother-in-law saying to me how she used to sing "Bunny Fou-Fou" to her boys and do shadow puppets that went along with it. ....Sounds adorable. And, my mother-in-law would avoid a fight (not saying my mother seeks them out, but, if it came down to it, her silver hoop earrings would come out mighty fast, I do believe) not only does Vickie (the womb which bore my husband) not fight, she's also not a shit-talker. Quelle, quelle shock! I have been hard-pressed to find a gal who doesn't have at least one bad thing to say about someone, anyone else, man, woman, or child. And my Mom, sister and I have all but perfected this skill. But, this lady, nothing bad about no one. Sometimes her and I find ourselves in long silences due to this fact, since, I like to think of myself as Clairee from "Steel Magnolias": "Honey, if you don't have anything nice to say about anyone, come sit by me."
The common interests Vickie and I share may be limited, very limited, therefore making our conversations limited, but this doesn't mean I harbor any ill will towards her. It's just, well, I don't have to seek out hobbies to share an interest with my mom. Our interests our tied up in each other and our family...and pop culture...and celebrity gossip...
But, this isn't about moms or mother-in-laws, it's about quilting, and it's inherent unsexiness. I made my first quilt two years ago as an Christmas present to my dear big sis. It's was a leap of faith, faith in myself that I would be able to tackle this project, let alone complete it. Naturally, it was my husband's idea. My sis is always tickled when she receives something homemade from me. This, I don't know why. Does she think that it's cute that I tried? The quality in my homemade crafts are shoddy, at best. I can visualize something, sure, but it's the execution that I cannot follow through with. I made Cori (my dear big sis) a scrapbook of her life for her 26th birthday...you could see the glue seeping out of the edges of the pictures, I can't seem to color within the lines, a basic task even a 1st grader can do...and to cut a straight line? Why would you ask me to do such a difficult task?? But, Cori cried when she leafed through it. I know she liked it because she knew I worked hard on it and it came from the heart, but still, it looks like crap.
Of course, then Jim, my husband, would be the one to say, "You should make Cori a quilt for Christmas! My mom could help me!" I was excited that he thought I could do it. Silly goose, he knows I have never, ever worked a sewing machine before, save for those summers at Grandma's house where she would let us dink around on her big, green ancient Singer sewing random things, like a red, white and blue "Get On The Peace Train" patch on to a dingy piece of denim. That was as far as my sewing experience was. I was a child of the late-20th century. What the hell did I need to learn to sew for? I didn't make my own clothes, and I sure as hell didn't repair them when they tore. I would either wear them in a cool mid-1990's chic fashion, all grungy and hole-y, or I would simply throw them away and get new ones. Not only was I excited that Jim thought I had the skill to complete this task (Jim's sometimes blind faith in me is one of the many reasons I love him) I was also a bit uneasy about having to spend massive amounts of time with him mom.
Again, she is a dear, dear woman. Not a mean bone in her body, and truly, a heart of gold. And therein lies the problem. But, if she were teaching me something, we'd have something to talk about! We would share a common interest, a bond of some sort, this is what we could do, together! So, Vickie gave me a quick lesson, and sent me on my way with one of her many, many sewing machines to set up at home. Apparently, she had the same amount of faith in me as her son did too.
If I set up a Swear Jar during the at-home time I spent working on that quilt, I would be driving a new car by now. I called that sewing machine everything from "jerk", to "bastard" to "piece of shit" to "motherfucker" to "cunt" to "useless piece of shit motherfucking jerk cunt bastard". I HATED it. Hated everything about it. I hated threading the needle, I hated lining up the pressure foot, and above all else, I hated sewing. But, I finished that f-ing quilt. And it turned out amazing. It's big enough for a Queen size bed, black, pink, white and kitty fabric makes for a lovely adornment that now sits in my sister's living room and serves as a bed for her cats. Perfect.
Apparently, I must have blocked most of that experience out, because as I type this I am now more than halfway done with my second quilt ever. And, it has been going much, much better.
Why am I quilting? Why, this hobby, out of everything else? It's no longer about connecting with my mother-in-law, like it may have been those two years ago. Her and I have learned to be comfortable in our silences, and she may not shit-talk, but that sure as hell doesn't mean she isn't going to listen to me do it. And, I am not a square. I don't think. I'm 26 years old, by no means, "quilting age". It's not kitschy, like when hipsters take up knitting. But, as I mentioned before, I am missing the mind/hand connection to produce something I can visualize, but this....it's clicking. Kinda...
Why? Why quilting?
Why did I decided to make another one?
Why is the process going much smoother this time?
All these questions, and more, will be answered....hopefully.
Vickie, my dear mother-in-law, isn't what you would qualify as a "square" on paper, anyway. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing but love and respect for the woman who raised my husband, but she is so, so different from my mother. So...very...different. While my mother-in-law has several tattoos and wacky ear piercings, a spiky hair 'do and funky reading glasses from Walgreens, my mother is very opposite of this. No tats, normal ear piercings, the same hair style since 1995. But, who would win in a fight? Debbie, the womb which bore my sister and I, hands freakin' down. Who could drink you under the table? Debbie, the woman who made us listen to classic rock, and only classic rock, growing up. Mother taught my sister and I the benefits of Skynard, Zepplin, AC/DC, and to a lesser extent, Mellencamp, U2, and what ever else happened to be playing in rotation on the classic rock station on the way to school that particular morning. Mom may have worked the majority of our childhoods, but she could always be counted on, and still can be.
I remember my mother-in-law saying to me how she used to sing "Bunny Fou-Fou" to her boys and do shadow puppets that went along with it. ....Sounds adorable. And, my mother-in-law would avoid a fight (not saying my mother seeks them out, but, if it came down to it, her silver hoop earrings would come out mighty fast, I do believe) not only does Vickie (the womb which bore my husband) not fight, she's also not a shit-talker. Quelle, quelle shock! I have been hard-pressed to find a gal who doesn't have at least one bad thing to say about someone, anyone else, man, woman, or child. And my Mom, sister and I have all but perfected this skill. But, this lady, nothing bad about no one. Sometimes her and I find ourselves in long silences due to this fact, since, I like to think of myself as Clairee from "Steel Magnolias": "Honey, if you don't have anything nice to say about anyone, come sit by me."
The common interests Vickie and I share may be limited, very limited, therefore making our conversations limited, but this doesn't mean I harbor any ill will towards her. It's just, well, I don't have to seek out hobbies to share an interest with my mom. Our interests our tied up in each other and our family...and pop culture...and celebrity gossip...
But, this isn't about moms or mother-in-laws, it's about quilting, and it's inherent unsexiness. I made my first quilt two years ago as an Christmas present to my dear big sis. It's was a leap of faith, faith in myself that I would be able to tackle this project, let alone complete it. Naturally, it was my husband's idea. My sis is always tickled when she receives something homemade from me. This, I don't know why. Does she think that it's cute that I tried? The quality in my homemade crafts are shoddy, at best. I can visualize something, sure, but it's the execution that I cannot follow through with. I made Cori (my dear big sis) a scrapbook of her life for her 26th birthday...you could see the glue seeping out of the edges of the pictures, I can't seem to color within the lines, a basic task even a 1st grader can do...and to cut a straight line? Why would you ask me to do such a difficult task?? But, Cori cried when she leafed through it. I know she liked it because she knew I worked hard on it and it came from the heart, but still, it looks like crap.
Of course, then Jim, my husband, would be the one to say, "You should make Cori a quilt for Christmas! My mom could help me!" I was excited that he thought I could do it. Silly goose, he knows I have never, ever worked a sewing machine before, save for those summers at Grandma's house where she would let us dink around on her big, green ancient Singer sewing random things, like a red, white and blue "Get On The Peace Train" patch on to a dingy piece of denim. That was as far as my sewing experience was. I was a child of the late-20th century. What the hell did I need to learn to sew for? I didn't make my own clothes, and I sure as hell didn't repair them when they tore. I would either wear them in a cool mid-1990's chic fashion, all grungy and hole-y, or I would simply throw them away and get new ones. Not only was I excited that Jim thought I had the skill to complete this task (Jim's sometimes blind faith in me is one of the many reasons I love him) I was also a bit uneasy about having to spend massive amounts of time with him mom.
Again, she is a dear, dear woman. Not a mean bone in her body, and truly, a heart of gold. And therein lies the problem. But, if she were teaching me something, we'd have something to talk about! We would share a common interest, a bond of some sort, this is what we could do, together! So, Vickie gave me a quick lesson, and sent me on my way with one of her many, many sewing machines to set up at home. Apparently, she had the same amount of faith in me as her son did too.
If I set up a Swear Jar during the at-home time I spent working on that quilt, I would be driving a new car by now. I called that sewing machine everything from "jerk", to "bastard" to "piece of shit" to "motherfucker" to "cunt" to "useless piece of shit motherfucking jerk cunt bastard". I HATED it. Hated everything about it. I hated threading the needle, I hated lining up the pressure foot, and above all else, I hated sewing. But, I finished that f-ing quilt. And it turned out amazing. It's big enough for a Queen size bed, black, pink, white and kitty fabric makes for a lovely adornment that now sits in my sister's living room and serves as a bed for her cats. Perfect.
Apparently, I must have blocked most of that experience out, because as I type this I am now more than halfway done with my second quilt ever. And, it has been going much, much better.
Why am I quilting? Why, this hobby, out of everything else? It's no longer about connecting with my mother-in-law, like it may have been those two years ago. Her and I have learned to be comfortable in our silences, and she may not shit-talk, but that sure as hell doesn't mean she isn't going to listen to me do it. And, I am not a square. I don't think. I'm 26 years old, by no means, "quilting age". It's not kitschy, like when hipsters take up knitting. But, as I mentioned before, I am missing the mind/hand connection to produce something I can visualize, but this....it's clicking. Kinda...
Why? Why quilting?
Why did I decided to make another one?
Why is the process going much smoother this time?
All these questions, and more, will be answered....hopefully.
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