Scrappy Patchwork Quilt

 

"We do not live an equal life, but one of contrasts and patchwork:

now a little joy, then a sorrow, now a sin, then a generous or brave action."

--Ralph Waldo Emerson

I really love patchwork quilts, or scrappy quilts as they are often referred to by quilters.  Sorting through small pieces of remnant fabric, matching up all different colors and designs, and stitching them up into one large, useful cloth is historic needlework practice.  Nothing ever went to waste. Everything was reused or repurposed, as we now say.  It was and still is a good idea.

Our church sewing group is the beneficiary of piles of fabric, donated by people cleaning out their closets, downsizing stitchers, or simply women who no longer sew.  Yet, even after we cut out 11 inch blocks for our mission quilts, piles of usable fabric remain. 

I pulled together a bag of leftover fabric and decided I would try to create some true patchwork for one of our quilt tops. Cutting strips of varying width, sewing them together, and then using my rulers and rotary cutter, I fashioned a stack of 11 inch blocks. Alternating the orientation between vertical and horizontal striping, I sewed the blocks together...

...and together some more...

All these fabrics from different homes and different lives,  joined together in stripes of varying widths.  It is amazing how this panoply of color, hue, and tone creates something so vividly eyecatching and so ultimately useful. And..it emerged rather haphazardly, without tremendous plan or precision.  Recently I heard a writer stress the importance of process over product. Journey over destination. I tend toward overplanning, a compulsion to prepare for every contingency, fill every minute, anticipate every need.  But the beauty of life sometimes simply unfolds from minutes and moments stitched together, just as they appear... 

Hand Quilting: If at first you don't succeed....

I learned something new this week, both about quilting and myself.  Tuesday I took a class on hand quilting, a a back-to-the-basics approach that has intrigued me ever since I learned how to quilt. I want to know how to do it the way it used to be done.  Turns out hand quilting is not as easy as running stitches through layers of filled fabric.

You need supplies--a quilting hoop (which is not just a big embroidery hoop), marking pens, a design template, special needles called "betweens" (I thought it was a misprint for needles on my class description), special hand quilting thread (heavier and glazed), a special thimble (my mother's thimble, tucked in my sewing basket, lacks a special ridge to catch and anchor the needle), along with a steady stream of patience and persistence. Learning how to hold the needle correctly, use the thimble effectively, and train your fingers to pinch the fabric, stack the needle, and pull the thread to sew small, even stitches is all much more challenging than I thought it would be.

Not long into my class, I began to rethink my desire to learn how to hand quilt.  My thumb balked at lining up with the needle and my rocking stitch refused to rock. I listened and watched fellow newbies move from asking clarifying questions to stitching away in a relaxed flow.  I struggled to get half of my heart stitched, merely the very inside rim done....in two hours.   Inwardly, I kept repeating, "I don't think I can do this."  I came home with a splitting headache.  

I tend to obsess over challenges I can't figure out so I retreated to my safe place--a book.  I read different instructions from the spoken ones offered by my teacher and studied the step-by-step photos that illustrated close up shots of the technique.  I knew with time to process and space to practice, I could do this. It might not be pretty, small, or exact but it would eventually happen. First, I needed to understand the flow of needle, thimble, and thread, so I practiced....and slowly my shoulders relaxed, my mind quieted, and stitches began to appear more easily.

This first stab at hand quilting was never designed by our instructor as a finished product; yet I believe there is merit in keeping this rudimentary sample of this first foray into hand quilting.  Yesterday, I preserved it as pocket on a patchwork tote bag, a most useful reminder of the pitfalls along the path of persistence, patience, and perseverance.

Retreating

I am the person God created me to be

                  when my mind peaceful

                  when my body is disciplined

                  when my appetite is bridled

                  when my thoughts turn outward

                  when  my hands repair the tears of the world

                  when my heart acknowledges all my blessings

                  when my feet walk slowly

                  when my eyes look and really see

                  when my ears listen and really hear

                  when my mouth utters encouragement and offers mercy

                  when my spirit soars

                  and my soul finds peace and rest in Thee…

            

World Book Night

Today is World Book Night and I was an official Book Giver!  World Book night began in the UK and migrated to the US last year.  It always falls on April 23, the UNESCO International Day of the Book, and WilliamShakespeare's birthday.  It was also chosen in honor of Miguel de Cervantes, who died on April 23.  In a certain region of Spain, that day is celebrated by giving a book and a flower to a special someone. 30 books are selected by a panel of librarians. Booksellers and authors waive their royalties and publishers donate all the copies special editions of the selected books.  In mid autumn, potential book givers apply to personally hand out 20 copies, with the targeted audience being light readers or non-readers.  It is an amazing project--giving away books to share the love of reading.

I first read about World Book Night on Facebook, learning more about it from their website.  When I discovered one of the books available for distributing was Vanessa Diffenbaugh's The Language of Flowers, I knew exactly who I wanted to give it to.  Diffenbaugh's book begins with the emancipation of 18 year old Victoria who has spent her entire life in the foster care system.  The book is about her life of loss and her struggle to grow beyond her painful past.  It is a book that doesn't sugar coat the life of disenfranchised kids or the system designed to protect and guide them.  Despite the rawness and roughness of Victoria's life, there is ultimately hope and redemption in this story...an inspirational story for the great group of young women who live at Stormbreak, a group home for girls here in my hometown.

Tonight, we gathered around the familiar dining room table, chattering and chatting about books, stories, life, reading, writing, and the language of flowers in this book.  We read the first chapter together....

Since 20 copies is about 10 too many for Stormbreak, I thought perhaps another good delivery spot would be the local women's shelter, only a few houses away.

They were happy to get them too, and I was so very happy and so very honored to give them.

Stillness

He leads me beside still waters;

he restores my soul."  Psalm 23

The news sounding from the radio, streaming through my computer, and radiating from the television has been unendingly urgent this week--bombs exploding in Boston, tainted letters in Washington, and reasoned gun legislation thwarted in the Senate.  It really all seems too much...

In contrast, life this week here seems slower, less chaotic, quieter, more contemplative.  Perhaps it is because I am coming off spending two days with Yogini Kaliji last week, followed by an inspirational evening with writer Sandra Cisneros this week.  Even though each of these women walks a uniquely different path, they both share a common message, perhaps the common message of wisdom throughout the ages--live in the present, be aware of the divine presence, meditate, notice, see and seek the light, and step slowly on the path illuminated before you. 

This morning when I opened my devotional, the passage to read was the 23rd Psalm.  Gosh, I thought, what else is there to meditate upon in the 23rd Psalm....but then two words stopped me at a spot never noticed before. Still.  Waters.  Still waters is a place in the interior landscape of life and while quietude seems to run counter to the urgency of lives fueled by Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram feeds, stillness and slowness are what ultimately do restore our souls.  Being lead beside still waters is a good place to be. 

Another birthday

It is so hard to believe that my baby now has a baby of his own!  34 years ago our youngest, our Robby, was born.  His presence in the life of our family has added lightness, laughter, and love ever since.  He was, and still is, an answer to our prayers....Happy birthday, my dear son.

April has actually more than begun

...and this is my first post of the month, at almost the halfway point. I guess life here has been just a little busy.  Can you tell?