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.