This is all so weird. I am perfectly fine. Doing just dandy. Life is good. Then the next morning, I can't figure out how I will ever get through this stretch.
The sermon Sunday gave me lots to meditate on, push to the back of my mind to drag out at times and chew on. It keeps resurfacing during parts of the day-----if I allow it too.
We have been noticing, my husband, daughter and I that people who survived the fire, and their losses, are having dark days about now. Is it the comming of winter, the less light in the day, the Thanksgiving feast, or , hum, Christmas looming? Why are we all kind of feeling as if we are setting at the bottom of the ditch beside the road, wondering if you even want to get your feet under you and keep moving. We have all felt some repercussions in our state of health too. Interesting. But not fun.
Our children arranged for us to go to the Oregon Coast for the Feast week. Most all of the families made the trek and we had a good time. The coast always seems theraputic. And then we came home. The weather had been below freezing for most of two weeks. Now its in the upper 30's and 40's, but there is grey and rain.
We have wondered if we wanted to, or if we even could stand going through the motions. Can you make something happen, to come true, to be real?
We have bought tree lights and a tree, and this evening, the local grandkids came and helped Grandpa put up the tree, the lights and all. He says he feels better having it up. I am glad its done.
It doesn't make me sing like I would like too. But am glad its done.
What does make me feel good is the house on the hill that is being built. They have all the windows in now except the few, that mistakes were made on. The PUD is supposed to come and turn on the power this week. Most of the sheetrock is up and one of the sheetrockers worked late tonight. There is temporary heat and when you step into the entry and then the living room it feels so very good, So very very good. That feeling is amazing.
Making decisions has been tormenting. Decisions made, Decisions changed. Back and Forth and never feeling that its right. But Saturday I went to the City by myself, and took my time and made some decisions, again. And it seemed that my kitchen, that has been so important and so elusive, just came together. I can see it now in my minds eye and I just want it done, to walk and work in it, to dance in it, to cook in it. Too sing, and sing.
The entry hall has fallen apart again. Tile that had been chosen, discontinued and another choice, just too busy, but this time my husband went with me and we picked up some samples together and brought them home and put them behind a chair till we had quiet peaceful time to look at them again, and with our daughter. It will be ok. We hope we find it this time. We have looked and looked until you feel like you have considered everything.But when its right, it will be right.
We had to buy more insulation, more than we thought, and when we went to the lumber yard today there were two doors. We have been pricing doors that we like at about $1400, and I am not joking that figure. These two doors some one had ordered and never picked up. They wanted $200 each for them. No--they weren't EXACTLY what I had envisioned-- but they are nice. Not as private as I would want, but warmer, more open and welcoming and the fiberglass we wanted for this climate.. And, I can use that extra budget to buy something else that we really think is necessary for the house. And I have a feeling that we will find that too. That life will be better. That we will get through this. We will sing and cry but we will get through this and some how we will meld with the home the firestorm prepared us for.
A little melodramatic perhaps, but better than setting in the rain crying.
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Friday, September 26, 2014
And so it rolls
It has been a very bad, not so terrile, muddled, slow start week.
I have been trying to get out and walk. My body is in such poor shape, from fat, from falling and hurting my legs and ankles and not able to get around very well. So, I figured, walk 4 blocks to start. I actually felt better and less pain in my ankles. The next day I walked 6 blocks. Better yet, just alittle breathless, and the next day 7 blocks.
Then two days of running around, cooking etc. chores, laundry and not much else. I don't have the what it takes to sew. But my daughter took me to the new quilt store in Winthrop, "The Three Bears" and I couldn't resist buying some red and white stripe vintage fabric, and some dark blue with tiny stars. I have an idea, but it has to cook for a while in the dark recesses of my mind before it can bloom.
But too busy to walk? I had a friend that is having a rough patch. Shes trying to behave herself but some signs of imminent stroke. Today I went to stay with her for a few hours, just so she is not alone and will not try to do something ambitious. She can't hardly set still and rest.
I on the otherhand have been feeling some crumbling in my armour. Wednesday night in church for some reason I started thinking of my paternal grandparents and realized, its possible that I don't have a picture of them. I don't know for sure, because I have not been able to check out my external hard backup yet. But it is possible. And my brother had given me his pictures to copy and then send back. Guess what--- ashes to ashes.
There are little bits of grit falling inside. I can feel it. Knowing me I will crash and sob when I have the biggest audience because, the humiliation of it all will try and do me in.
I just do not want to mess with the drama, trauma,headache, heartache and everything else that will bubble up and come out. What is the point anyway? Why waste the time. But the memory is starting to surface of things that are no more.
So- I have replaced a book that I have lost and Hopefully, plan on adding 15 minutes of exercise a day to this - can we even call it, a walking program at this stage. And I bought a god pair of walking shoes that will do me in all kinds of weather. Started breaking them in to day.
The house is rising. The I-joists are mostly up on the second floor. When you step inside the doorway, the house sort of wraps its self around me and there is this good cozy feeling, just standing in it. Do I dare hope that it will actually happen.
There is a stack of garden books by the bed. Hubby says don't plan on planting pine trees again behind the house. Oh how I love Poderosas. Surely we can find a place for them somewhere. So I planned a planting of old Homestead roses along the upper drive. He says they build up dry brushy branches fast and furious and are very hard to prune. Hummm. Problems on every hand. But don't get in a stir about it. There is so terribly much to do before I can even "think" of actual work on that stuff.
The upper veggie gardens? What do I dare do. Can I get some fencing up? Yes, will have too. The dogs have been in there and I don't need their gifts left to contaminate my food. I need to think of just what is the best and first thing to do.??
Guess, as usual. I will try and sleep on it. Tomorrow, may bloom brighter.
I have been trying to get out and walk. My body is in such poor shape, from fat, from falling and hurting my legs and ankles and not able to get around very well. So, I figured, walk 4 blocks to start. I actually felt better and less pain in my ankles. The next day I walked 6 blocks. Better yet, just alittle breathless, and the next day 7 blocks.
Then two days of running around, cooking etc. chores, laundry and not much else. I don't have the what it takes to sew. But my daughter took me to the new quilt store in Winthrop, "The Three Bears" and I couldn't resist buying some red and white stripe vintage fabric, and some dark blue with tiny stars. I have an idea, but it has to cook for a while in the dark recesses of my mind before it can bloom.
But too busy to walk? I had a friend that is having a rough patch. Shes trying to behave herself but some signs of imminent stroke. Today I went to stay with her for a few hours, just so she is not alone and will not try to do something ambitious. She can't hardly set still and rest.
I on the otherhand have been feeling some crumbling in my armour. Wednesday night in church for some reason I started thinking of my paternal grandparents and realized, its possible that I don't have a picture of them. I don't know for sure, because I have not been able to check out my external hard backup yet. But it is possible. And my brother had given me his pictures to copy and then send back. Guess what--- ashes to ashes.
There are little bits of grit falling inside. I can feel it. Knowing me I will crash and sob when I have the biggest audience because, the humiliation of it all will try and do me in.
I just do not want to mess with the drama, trauma,headache, heartache and everything else that will bubble up and come out. What is the point anyway? Why waste the time. But the memory is starting to surface of things that are no more.
So- I have replaced a book that I have lost and Hopefully, plan on adding 15 minutes of exercise a day to this - can we even call it, a walking program at this stage. And I bought a god pair of walking shoes that will do me in all kinds of weather. Started breaking them in to day.
The house is rising. The I-joists are mostly up on the second floor. When you step inside the doorway, the house sort of wraps its self around me and there is this good cozy feeling, just standing in it. Do I dare hope that it will actually happen.
There is a stack of garden books by the bed. Hubby says don't plan on planting pine trees again behind the house. Oh how I love Poderosas. Surely we can find a place for them somewhere. So I planned a planting of old Homestead roses along the upper drive. He says they build up dry brushy branches fast and furious and are very hard to prune. Hummm. Problems on every hand. But don't get in a stir about it. There is so terribly much to do before I can even "think" of actual work on that stuff.
The upper veggie gardens? What do I dare do. Can I get some fencing up? Yes, will have too. The dogs have been in there and I don't need their gifts left to contaminate my food. I need to think of just what is the best and first thing to do.??
Guess, as usual. I will try and sleep on it. Tomorrow, may bloom brighter.
Sunday, September 14, 2014
Quilt Show Friday
My daughter called and asked if I wanted to go to the quilt show this last Friday. Have I ever turned down an invite to a Quilt Show? Well, at least one more.
My husband and I had made it down to the Moses Lake Quilt show earlier in the year and it was a really fun one for me. They had a nice display of older quilts that for some reason really appealed to me, with their sharp colors contrasts and old quilt patterns. I just kept going back and looking at those old quilts again and again. Perhaps thats why after the fire took us out, and I started feeling the need for fabric between my fingers or under my rotary blade, that I started looking at fabrics that could almost pass for old. The difference of course is the slightly different design with color approach. But that is what I sought when I went to buy some Therapy Fabric after the fire.
But Life has been busy, and mind bending. I had turned down a trip to the Buggy Barn Show. Two things, I had fell and hurt my legs and ankles, and I just don't feel justified in purchasing fabric right now--- except for what I got with my gift certificate and then just a little more to round out this project that I have started. But I have also felt somewhat disconnected with life, somewhat drifting and not very focused, so this sounded like a good thing to do at this time.
It was a good show. Lots of quilts, the guest quilter did applique and it was so very good, and there were the usual quilts, the well, just quilts and some very interesting modern quilting design quilts. How can I do that, veer back and forth from the old to the very modern? But that was where my interest was this time. What do they have in common? What attracts me right now and why? Simplicity? Colors? Less clutter? What is it? I can't find it, what I am seeing that attracts. Maybe it is not what they have in common, but what each offers that is interesting.
While visiting with a friend today, she was talking about the lack of interesting quilts at the county fair this year. One winner, she just couln't get into this quilt at all, and I found that one the most interesting of the display. She thought that it was so full of unrelated fabric and too many fabrics with pictures of things in it, and I can see that and understand that. But she felt it was just a meshmash of mixed color and no real pattern, and I thought the path the colors took you down was what was interesting. And I must admit. There wasn't much else to catch my interest at that display either. Quilters! Arise and show your work! Intrigue other quilters into doing more. We do stimulate each other and that is good.
But there were a few quilts at this show I went back and looked at a few times, trying to decide what attracted me, what pulled me back, what I was seeing. I had no trouble with wanting to duplicate them and as I told my husband, there is something sad at looking at so much display and your minds eye kept calling to mind your own unfinished but loved work that the firestorm took out. I try not to dwell on that stuff. But the more you see, the more you remember.
But,perhaps I liked the very modern look this time because, I am working on a "sort of" oldish design, and what I lost was folky, brights and sharp,my own designs or a series of drunkard paths, and I didn't have to compare so different with so modern? Your mind will play tricks with you, so it doesn't have to hurt anymore.
I didn't purchase a single piece of fabric at the show. That was surely not me. But I didn't. I want to keep on with this Therapy project and finish it and not get side tracked with multi ideas. I do think working with multi ideas at the same time is a good thing. You can switch modes and jump start some good design activity with a fresh approach on a fresh day. Its just that -- now is not the time to invest in fabric, not for me. I am trying to focus on the important things of life, and not just be a loose marble, rolling from item to item, out of control. I am probably afraid of losing control and spiriling somewhere where I don't want to go.
One thing that I couldn't resist though was, the Quilting Boutique Booth that had boxes and boxes and boxes of old quilt books, all kinds, all assorted publishers, along with magazines for sale---CHEAP. With my library in ashes, this I couldn't and didn't resist. What bargins.
I haven't looked at any of them yet since I brought them home. I am saving them for that lazy, cozy, day of sheer relaxing.
What I did do though was sew up four more of my project quilt blocks. They do not look old. They have a certain old feel, but they are too sharp and colorful to be old. There is too much different directions in the fabric designs to attain a certain blahness that most old quilts have. But it was an enjoyable day, and maybe the best part of the day was to feel the machine sing beneath my fingers when I came home and pieced a few more blocks.
My husband and I had made it down to the Moses Lake Quilt show earlier in the year and it was a really fun one for me. They had a nice display of older quilts that for some reason really appealed to me, with their sharp colors contrasts and old quilt patterns. I just kept going back and looking at those old quilts again and again. Perhaps thats why after the fire took us out, and I started feeling the need for fabric between my fingers or under my rotary blade, that I started looking at fabrics that could almost pass for old. The difference of course is the slightly different design with color approach. But that is what I sought when I went to buy some Therapy Fabric after the fire.
But Life has been busy, and mind bending. I had turned down a trip to the Buggy Barn Show. Two things, I had fell and hurt my legs and ankles, and I just don't feel justified in purchasing fabric right now--- except for what I got with my gift certificate and then just a little more to round out this project that I have started. But I have also felt somewhat disconnected with life, somewhat drifting and not very focused, so this sounded like a good thing to do at this time.
It was a good show. Lots of quilts, the guest quilter did applique and it was so very good, and there were the usual quilts, the well, just quilts and some very interesting modern quilting design quilts. How can I do that, veer back and forth from the old to the very modern? But that was where my interest was this time. What do they have in common? What attracts me right now and why? Simplicity? Colors? Less clutter? What is it? I can't find it, what I am seeing that attracts. Maybe it is not what they have in common, but what each offers that is interesting.
While visiting with a friend today, she was talking about the lack of interesting quilts at the county fair this year. One winner, she just couln't get into this quilt at all, and I found that one the most interesting of the display. She thought that it was so full of unrelated fabric and too many fabrics with pictures of things in it, and I can see that and understand that. But she felt it was just a meshmash of mixed color and no real pattern, and I thought the path the colors took you down was what was interesting. And I must admit. There wasn't much else to catch my interest at that display either. Quilters! Arise and show your work! Intrigue other quilters into doing more. We do stimulate each other and that is good.
But there were a few quilts at this show I went back and looked at a few times, trying to decide what attracted me, what pulled me back, what I was seeing. I had no trouble with wanting to duplicate them and as I told my husband, there is something sad at looking at so much display and your minds eye kept calling to mind your own unfinished but loved work that the firestorm took out. I try not to dwell on that stuff. But the more you see, the more you remember.
But,perhaps I liked the very modern look this time because, I am working on a "sort of" oldish design, and what I lost was folky, brights and sharp,my own designs or a series of drunkard paths, and I didn't have to compare so different with so modern? Your mind will play tricks with you, so it doesn't have to hurt anymore.
I didn't purchase a single piece of fabric at the show. That was surely not me. But I didn't. I want to keep on with this Therapy project and finish it and not get side tracked with multi ideas. I do think working with multi ideas at the same time is a good thing. You can switch modes and jump start some good design activity with a fresh approach on a fresh day. Its just that -- now is not the time to invest in fabric, not for me. I am trying to focus on the important things of life, and not just be a loose marble, rolling from item to item, out of control. I am probably afraid of losing control and spiriling somewhere where I don't want to go.
One thing that I couldn't resist though was, the Quilting Boutique Booth that had boxes and boxes and boxes of old quilt books, all kinds, all assorted publishers, along with magazines for sale---CHEAP. With my library in ashes, this I couldn't and didn't resist. What bargins.
I haven't looked at any of them yet since I brought them home. I am saving them for that lazy, cozy, day of sheer relaxing.
What I did do though was sew up four more of my project quilt blocks. They do not look old. They have a certain old feel, but they are too sharp and colorful to be old. There is too much different directions in the fabric designs to attain a certain blahness that most old quilts have. But it was an enjoyable day, and maybe the best part of the day was to feel the machine sing beneath my fingers when I came home and pieced a few more blocks.
Monday, September 8, 2014
Our firestorm changed me, I thought
I was a confident perfectly happy adult meandering through my occupational hazardous day. There were so many things I wanted to do, meant to do, hoped to do, and planned to do, that it was just a matter of choosing what would occupy my time at the moment.
Kids were out of the house, money of my own to spend with no guilt in what ever way I wanted to spend it and enough interests, that there were plenty of choices. I like to be alone, I crave to be alone but I confess, I was discovering that aloneness wasn't quite what I had thought it was when there were so many to do for, for so long.
My empty nest was full of genealogy work and fabric piled, folded, organized, and just crammed all around me to create with. I had reached the point where patterns were secondary at best, I felt able to start putting fabric on the board and seeing where it took me. Oh, yes, early stages of that, but fun, interesting and variable.
Our little firestorm changed that. I "said" I wasn't going to sew. My friend and right arm, Betsy the 830 Bernina that had traveled the road with me so many years had given up and had to be replaced with a Phaff, anniversary expression model. It had taken some months of getting used to her and we were just starting to move with comfort and amity when now she too was gone. No name yet and now no future. Thousands and thousands of fabriholic collection fabric gone up in smoke, a few barely bought and hadn't even been near a design wall, and most of it unremembered shards of creative impulse, smoked to nonexistance.
But it was a void world out there. I had a few Buckeye chickens left to look at that had somehow survived the smoke as the spit and crackling fire moved through their world and left only 1/3 of them behind, homeless and shaken. But it was less than a week later that I found myself wanting a sewing machine beneath my hands and when I ran across a gift certificate from a daughter in my purse given me for my 68th birthday, well, I couldn't waste that.
I had decided to see if my daughter (in-law) would loan me her sewing machine, and then I talked to a sewing friend about it. The next thing I knew, I was going out of her house with a New Home machine, and a load of tools and necessities, and some not so necessary stuff bundled into the trunk of Bessie, my little red 4 runner.
When my husband saw the machine, he demanded that I hem three new pair of jeans for him. That took a long time. Is there anything more frustrating, exasperating and sewtime killing then hemming jeans for someone?
In the meantime, I pulled out three borrowed quilt books and started planning a mindless, meandering quilt project. Something simple, and just casual sewing was what was needed. Oh, "The Road Home Block", that looks and sounds perfect.
Somewhere along the way, the Road Home was needing more variety so it is being enlarged to contain other blocks that fit into a square in a square pattern. There are pages of notes of how many blocks of what, and color planning of the triangles that will fit it together into a cohesive eclectic collection. How did that happen? Where does the mind come up with this stuff? When did it just take off and start running on its on? This is crazy! Who is in charge here?
My little 2 x 3' space allotted to my "sewing" is creeping, oozing out from its designated tiny corner of this single wide trailer we are renting. I think a monster is growing over in that corner of the kitchen that will just take over if I am not careful!
Meanwhile up on the hill, a block away, our "Home' has been cleared away. Trees have been chopped down and brush hauled away, rubble removed and ashes dug and carried out.
On our dining table, there is a drawing in progress of "the house" to be and on the hill, there is a foundation poured and stem wall forms ready to be poured tomorrow.
I have always designed houses, and wanted to build "my own". That won't happen. This house is not a creation that I 'wanted' to design, no architectural masterpiece from my free spirit, but instead an extension of need. No, I didn't want a prebuilt home. No, I didn't want anyone else to design it. But it had to be done and done quickly. One of my children said its different than our Home, but kind of laid out in much the same pattern.
The first thing I discovered is we can't live in a small tiny bit of space. What are you to do? Your kids can sleep elsewhere when they come home, but you need space to eat and drink in,and thats the real heart of home. So- well, its going to be interesting. I hope it gets built. I hope the funds arrive when necessary. I hope, it goes well. It looks sure and steady on the lot, and bigger than our old house. It isn't is it? Bigger I mean?
We worked out a two bedroom house with an office for Dear Husband, a bedroom, studio and laundry for my daughter in her own upstairs suite. ( interestingly enough, she didn't want her own kitchen??)
And I get what dear husband calls "mom's great room" a combination of mud room for barn chores and gardening, laundry room for maintenance and a space for computer, designwall and sewing machine and a LITTLE fabric. Since there was space under the roof structure for it, we threw in two guest bedrooms. My mind is already venturing into the future yard, trying to decide on trees and shrubs, bird shelter and so on.
I guess there is still life in the minds eye anyway.
So am I changed? Or just alittle bruised and rising from the ashes of the storm?
Kids were out of the house, money of my own to spend with no guilt in what ever way I wanted to spend it and enough interests, that there were plenty of choices. I like to be alone, I crave to be alone but I confess, I was discovering that aloneness wasn't quite what I had thought it was when there were so many to do for, for so long.
My empty nest was full of genealogy work and fabric piled, folded, organized, and just crammed all around me to create with. I had reached the point where patterns were secondary at best, I felt able to start putting fabric on the board and seeing where it took me. Oh, yes, early stages of that, but fun, interesting and variable.
Our little firestorm changed that. I "said" I wasn't going to sew. My friend and right arm, Betsy the 830 Bernina that had traveled the road with me so many years had given up and had to be replaced with a Phaff, anniversary expression model. It had taken some months of getting used to her and we were just starting to move with comfort and amity when now she too was gone. No name yet and now no future. Thousands and thousands of fabriholic collection fabric gone up in smoke, a few barely bought and hadn't even been near a design wall, and most of it unremembered shards of creative impulse, smoked to nonexistance.
But it was a void world out there. I had a few Buckeye chickens left to look at that had somehow survived the smoke as the spit and crackling fire moved through their world and left only 1/3 of them behind, homeless and shaken. But it was less than a week later that I found myself wanting a sewing machine beneath my hands and when I ran across a gift certificate from a daughter in my purse given me for my 68th birthday, well, I couldn't waste that.
I had decided to see if my daughter (in-law) would loan me her sewing machine, and then I talked to a sewing friend about it. The next thing I knew, I was going out of her house with a New Home machine, and a load of tools and necessities, and some not so necessary stuff bundled into the trunk of Bessie, my little red 4 runner.
When my husband saw the machine, he demanded that I hem three new pair of jeans for him. That took a long time. Is there anything more frustrating, exasperating and sewtime killing then hemming jeans for someone?
In the meantime, I pulled out three borrowed quilt books and started planning a mindless, meandering quilt project. Something simple, and just casual sewing was what was needed. Oh, "The Road Home Block", that looks and sounds perfect.
Somewhere along the way, the Road Home was needing more variety so it is being enlarged to contain other blocks that fit into a square in a square pattern. There are pages of notes of how many blocks of what, and color planning of the triangles that will fit it together into a cohesive eclectic collection. How did that happen? Where does the mind come up with this stuff? When did it just take off and start running on its on? This is crazy! Who is in charge here?
My little 2 x 3' space allotted to my "sewing" is creeping, oozing out from its designated tiny corner of this single wide trailer we are renting. I think a monster is growing over in that corner of the kitchen that will just take over if I am not careful!
Meanwhile up on the hill, a block away, our "Home' has been cleared away. Trees have been chopped down and brush hauled away, rubble removed and ashes dug and carried out.
On our dining table, there is a drawing in progress of "the house" to be and on the hill, there is a foundation poured and stem wall forms ready to be poured tomorrow.
I have always designed houses, and wanted to build "my own". That won't happen. This house is not a creation that I 'wanted' to design, no architectural masterpiece from my free spirit, but instead an extension of need. No, I didn't want a prebuilt home. No, I didn't want anyone else to design it. But it had to be done and done quickly. One of my children said its different than our Home, but kind of laid out in much the same pattern.
The first thing I discovered is we can't live in a small tiny bit of space. What are you to do? Your kids can sleep elsewhere when they come home, but you need space to eat and drink in,and thats the real heart of home. So- well, its going to be interesting. I hope it gets built. I hope the funds arrive when necessary. I hope, it goes well. It looks sure and steady on the lot, and bigger than our old house. It isn't is it? Bigger I mean?
We worked out a two bedroom house with an office for Dear Husband, a bedroom, studio and laundry for my daughter in her own upstairs suite. ( interestingly enough, she didn't want her own kitchen??)
And I get what dear husband calls "mom's great room" a combination of mud room for barn chores and gardening, laundry room for maintenance and a space for computer, designwall and sewing machine and a LITTLE fabric. Since there was space under the roof structure for it, we threw in two guest bedrooms. My mind is already venturing into the future yard, trying to decide on trees and shrubs, bird shelter and so on.
I guess there is still life in the minds eye anyway.
So am I changed? Or just alittle bruised and rising from the ashes of the storm?
Friday, August 29, 2014
The Firestorm came
Some say that life begins at 40.
The Carlton Complex Fire came July 17 2014 and surely changed my life.
Does my life begin now? Of course not, but it surely sometimes feels that way.
My log book burnt and I cannot get into my old blog. My house burnt and I cannot go home again. Well, not yet. I go and visit or drive by the lot most days, like touching home, sort of.
I have been a saver, a keeper of things of the heart, memories, momentos for my kids, history of the family, books, recipes, pictures, and well, tons of fabric. Years of fabric. Because I quilt.
I made my first quilt in about 1986. I had studied some books, collected some pics, and tried to make a pillow with hand quilting for a daughter. For sure, hand sewing anything is not for me. I can't sew a straight seam. I have no patience, no talent. I tried it again a few years ago with the Farmers Wife book. It was fun. The more I did, the worse I got. Go figure that.
But one day I walked into a variety store in a small town nearby, which was actually a larger town compared to us, and of course walked back to the fabric. I was 40 then and my quiltlife began.
Fabric draws me like a magnet. I can't not touch it, and when I look at it images start flying around in my brain, of what it would look like where, on what, what design.
Of course, I buy fabric, the good, the bad the ugly. Ugly fabric just needs to be partnered with something that balances it, that makes a statement, that makes a marriage of types. I ALWAYS have a vision of what to do with it, or I did anyway in the beginning. And on that day, in that variety store I decided that I was going to make a quilt. Why not? I had been sewing since I was in 7th grade. My mom had a Singer treadle machine. I had tried that out when I was younger but mom thought that first I needed to learn the art of embroidery. What do you think? Did I fail? Well, not precisely but it wasn't much to look at either. She started me on a set of tea towels made from muslin. I was 10 when she started me on the first one. I was 20 when I finished the 7th one. A family historical item for sure. It burnt in the fire and there are no plans to replace them, thank you.
But I had sewn clothes for my self and children for at least 20 years and quilting was just following a pattern. I could do that. So I walked around and around the piles of Fabric at Whybarks and picked out a few peices in pink, blue and whites. My daughter was a Taurus, so she would bond with these. I am not sure why I selected that daughter to sew for, it was probably the fabric first and then who to do it for. Thats how my fabric attacks work.
I went by the library and checked out books, picked out an Ohio Star pattern, figured out how many blocks and started cutting and stacking and pinning peices for blocks. The were all a little different. There has to be variety for interest, but the planning was fun. At night after the family had been fed and watered, I stitched and stitched. Then I laid them out, rearranged until I was satisfied and stitched some more. When I plan a project, I usually buy all the supplies at once. And this first time, I bought the batting with a good deal of loft for pleasurable snuggle. Nice. By the end of the second week I had it sandwiched, pinned, and on the machine.
Lesson One. Snuggle is good, but sewing it is not. What a mess, of tucks and pleats in that quilt back. We won't discuss the binding and all, but two days of the quilt on my trusty Bernina 830 and it was done and handed to her, with an offhand, "This is for you".
She took it on every basketball away game bus that she went on. She used it on her bed. She took it with her for all the away from home trips she made. It was mended majorly three different times. But eventually the pilled and frayed cotton-polyester fabric was beyond saving. She wanted me to make her a new one. Nope. I don't make quilts for people anymore. Just for my pleasure. So she started making her own. And hers were lovely, creative, and she gave them away to nieces and nephews galore, then to sisters and brothers too. If I wanted one from her, I had to buy the fabric! But it was wonderful to watch her create. Now she is wrapped up in photography and long mountain hikes and exploring Gods gift of earth and all its wonders through the lens of her camera and many of her quilts burnt in the firestorm, and some people don't even know noq what joys she turned out. The machine burnt in the firestorm too.
Everything burnt in the firestorm, except for two duffle bags of three sets of clothes for my husband and I, three laptops and a large amount of external harddrives, and some stuff that men think to grab and most women don't, five Labradors and a horse. Its just gone.
But we have memories and the people that we made them with and thats important.
We have relocated to a singlewide trailer house hoping to rebuild.
Its a new adventure. Except now I sometimes have bad dreams about losing people, losing things that are important, of being unhappy.
A friend loaned me a sewing machine and gave me all sorts of supplies to get me started again. There has been no time till now. So now I went shopping. In my purse there was a gift card for a quilt store and I had a fine time choosing fabrics. Then I chose 4 very simple patterns to do just mindless peices for therapy. When I started cutting, I knew there wasn't enough variety so back I went to the same store and dug deeper into expansion of colors and styles.
The machine that my friend lent me was not compatible with my frustration level. I am sure that for normal people that it is a jewel. I don't truely think that I am normal. Exceptional (LOL here) but not normal.
After repeated frustration peaks, I started researching machines. My 830 Bernina I had truly worn out. They say they don't wear out, but eventually they do if you truly use and use them. I said that I would have that machine buried with me. Well, the firestorm took it away. It also took away the
Phaff expression that I had bought to replace it because it didn't make sense to me to spend $5,000 on a machine for an elderly, eyes going bad old lady. Now the Firestorm had taken that one away too.
What was I to do? We need to build a house, not buy sewing machines. So I researched and plotted with my SS Check how I was to purchase this machine. Then I headed to the big city. My husband went with me because I had fell recently and was leery about driving so far with my bummed up ankles, feet ant legs.
I came home with a Janome MC6300P. I have not the slightest idea if it will do me happy. I only know when I tried different lower cost machines than the dream Bernina and that this one sang to me as it stitched and the stitches looked good and my heart lifted miles and miles high above the clouds. So it came home with me. My husband bought it, and when I protested the money, he said that I deserved it. And that was all there was to it.
So its here. Therapy has arrived. I can hardly wait to set it up, but there are things going on, and the machine is too much for me to carry into the house. So I will wait to hear the music again.
From the tail of the Firestorm.
The Carlton Complex Fire came July 17 2014 and surely changed my life.
Does my life begin now? Of course not, but it surely sometimes feels that way.
My log book burnt and I cannot get into my old blog. My house burnt and I cannot go home again. Well, not yet. I go and visit or drive by the lot most days, like touching home, sort of.
I have been a saver, a keeper of things of the heart, memories, momentos for my kids, history of the family, books, recipes, pictures, and well, tons of fabric. Years of fabric. Because I quilt.
I made my first quilt in about 1986. I had studied some books, collected some pics, and tried to make a pillow with hand quilting for a daughter. For sure, hand sewing anything is not for me. I can't sew a straight seam. I have no patience, no talent. I tried it again a few years ago with the Farmers Wife book. It was fun. The more I did, the worse I got. Go figure that.
But one day I walked into a variety store in a small town nearby, which was actually a larger town compared to us, and of course walked back to the fabric. I was 40 then and my quiltlife began.
Fabric draws me like a magnet. I can't not touch it, and when I look at it images start flying around in my brain, of what it would look like where, on what, what design.
Of course, I buy fabric, the good, the bad the ugly. Ugly fabric just needs to be partnered with something that balances it, that makes a statement, that makes a marriage of types. I ALWAYS have a vision of what to do with it, or I did anyway in the beginning. And on that day, in that variety store I decided that I was going to make a quilt. Why not? I had been sewing since I was in 7th grade. My mom had a Singer treadle machine. I had tried that out when I was younger but mom thought that first I needed to learn the art of embroidery. What do you think? Did I fail? Well, not precisely but it wasn't much to look at either. She started me on a set of tea towels made from muslin. I was 10 when she started me on the first one. I was 20 when I finished the 7th one. A family historical item for sure. It burnt in the fire and there are no plans to replace them, thank you.
But I had sewn clothes for my self and children for at least 20 years and quilting was just following a pattern. I could do that. So I walked around and around the piles of Fabric at Whybarks and picked out a few peices in pink, blue and whites. My daughter was a Taurus, so she would bond with these. I am not sure why I selected that daughter to sew for, it was probably the fabric first and then who to do it for. Thats how my fabric attacks work.
I went by the library and checked out books, picked out an Ohio Star pattern, figured out how many blocks and started cutting and stacking and pinning peices for blocks. The were all a little different. There has to be variety for interest, but the planning was fun. At night after the family had been fed and watered, I stitched and stitched. Then I laid them out, rearranged until I was satisfied and stitched some more. When I plan a project, I usually buy all the supplies at once. And this first time, I bought the batting with a good deal of loft for pleasurable snuggle. Nice. By the end of the second week I had it sandwiched, pinned, and on the machine.
Lesson One. Snuggle is good, but sewing it is not. What a mess, of tucks and pleats in that quilt back. We won't discuss the binding and all, but two days of the quilt on my trusty Bernina 830 and it was done and handed to her, with an offhand, "This is for you".
She took it on every basketball away game bus that she went on. She used it on her bed. She took it with her for all the away from home trips she made. It was mended majorly three different times. But eventually the pilled and frayed cotton-polyester fabric was beyond saving. She wanted me to make her a new one. Nope. I don't make quilts for people anymore. Just for my pleasure. So she started making her own. And hers were lovely, creative, and she gave them away to nieces and nephews galore, then to sisters and brothers too. If I wanted one from her, I had to buy the fabric! But it was wonderful to watch her create. Now she is wrapped up in photography and long mountain hikes and exploring Gods gift of earth and all its wonders through the lens of her camera and many of her quilts burnt in the firestorm, and some people don't even know noq what joys she turned out. The machine burnt in the firestorm too.
Everything burnt in the firestorm, except for two duffle bags of three sets of clothes for my husband and I, three laptops and a large amount of external harddrives, and some stuff that men think to grab and most women don't, five Labradors and a horse. Its just gone.
But we have memories and the people that we made them with and thats important.
We have relocated to a singlewide trailer house hoping to rebuild.
Its a new adventure. Except now I sometimes have bad dreams about losing people, losing things that are important, of being unhappy.
A friend loaned me a sewing machine and gave me all sorts of supplies to get me started again. There has been no time till now. So now I went shopping. In my purse there was a gift card for a quilt store and I had a fine time choosing fabrics. Then I chose 4 very simple patterns to do just mindless peices for therapy. When I started cutting, I knew there wasn't enough variety so back I went to the same store and dug deeper into expansion of colors and styles.
The machine that my friend lent me was not compatible with my frustration level. I am sure that for normal people that it is a jewel. I don't truely think that I am normal. Exceptional (LOL here) but not normal.
After repeated frustration peaks, I started researching machines. My 830 Bernina I had truly worn out. They say they don't wear out, but eventually they do if you truly use and use them. I said that I would have that machine buried with me. Well, the firestorm took it away. It also took away the
Phaff expression that I had bought to replace it because it didn't make sense to me to spend $5,000 on a machine for an elderly, eyes going bad old lady. Now the Firestorm had taken that one away too.
What was I to do? We need to build a house, not buy sewing machines. So I researched and plotted with my SS Check how I was to purchase this machine. Then I headed to the big city. My husband went with me because I had fell recently and was leery about driving so far with my bummed up ankles, feet ant legs.
I came home with a Janome MC6300P. I have not the slightest idea if it will do me happy. I only know when I tried different lower cost machines than the dream Bernina and that this one sang to me as it stitched and the stitches looked good and my heart lifted miles and miles high above the clouds. So it came home with me. My husband bought it, and when I protested the money, he said that I deserved it. And that was all there was to it.
So its here. Therapy has arrived. I can hardly wait to set it up, but there are things going on, and the machine is too much for me to carry into the house. So I will wait to hear the music again.
From the tail of the Firestorm.
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