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.
