I’ve stolen some time that I should have spent doing other things to work on another quilt project. This is the other quilt we have that Ian’s mom made: The center panel is printed to look quilted, and it’s torn. The edges are pieced from old jeans and some shirts, I think. But it’s definitely related to the other one I repaired recently. Figuring out what to do with the center panel has been a challenge. I didn’t want to take it out since nothing about this quilt is truly square; removing the center would structurally damage the whole. But …
Category: Making
I like feather pillows. But they never seem to stay sufficiently lofty, ending up all flat and rather pointless to sleep on. So, we buy more pillows, and put the old, unlofty ones away (since I appear to have inherited my grandmother’s inability to throw things away, something that conflicts with my desire to simplify and tidy, which I think comes from my mother). So, what does one do with old, flat pillows you can’t bring yourself to throw away? Consolidate, of course! It’s an easy-peasy sewing project, all rectangles and straight seams. One I probably should have used stash …
Sometimes the worn things can be patched up and brought back to life. This quilt was made by Ian’s mom, out of old clothes, jeans and shirts circa 1970. But by the time I met it, it’s backing had torn and it had been boxed up as something laced with memories but too much on it’s last leg to stand regular use. When I took it to the fabric store to find coordinating fabric to be the new backing (a challenge given the nearly forty years of shifting definitions of “fashionable”), it still smelled like the cedar chest. I felt …
I’m a horrible person because I don’t remember who made this doll for me. I think it was my grandmother, Mom’s mom, but it might have been my great grandmother. It might have been Mom. I don’t remember. I’ve been told several times and the information just doesn’t stick. I do remember playing with this doll a lot. I liked to braid and rebraid her hair. She’s stained on one hand, probably from being taken outside too much, or being held by my own grubby hand. Disturbingly, I never named her. She has always been The Ragdoll. She’s Caitlyn’s now. …
We caucused (is that a word?) today. Caitlyn thought “the tacos” was much fun. She got to sit on parental shoulders, and there was lots of applause, one of her favorite things judging from the enthusiasm with which she stopped whatever she was doing and joined in whenever she heard some. I’d never been to a caucus before. Maybe it was the elementary school gym we were in, but it felt a bit like a pep rally: that old-gym smell, barely audible instructions, inaudible speeches, spontaneous chants. I missed the cheerleaders’ dance number, which was always the best part of …