It's easy to forget that I do make quilts. Yep, those of you who have seen my office/studio (I don't know about you but I always feel just a little pretentious calling my sewing dungeon a 'studio') would think this is a DUH based on the amount of fabric and quilting crap I have oozing out of every corner and crevice to be found in this space. I swear, there are days when I look around and think this is no longer a place for mere humans to inhabit, that the fabric must take over and irradicate the oxygen-reliant organic beings because we are, hey, inferior. (Picture Terminator for Quilters and that's my thought.)
Still, hope springs eternal and I know that given a week, month, (whoa, did I say a year?), I might actually make enough stuff with what's lying around that I would then be able to roll around on a bare spot of my office floor. (And really, I am NOT the size of my cats and they have their own trouble doing this in here!)
Long ago and far away when I was a fledgling writer, looking to actually finish something, much less submit and receive something resembling moolah from it, I read this: A writer writes. Well, my dear hubby also read it, (that would be the Man from Whom all Nagging Begins and Ends) and from that moment on I was reminded almost daily that a writer writes, so, hell, why wasn't I writing more?
Well, when this next thought comes to him, and it will, he will be all over me about how a quilter quilts. And, crap, he's right. (But if you dare tell him he is, his body and worldly possessions will be at once transferred to YOU--so don't do it!) Tonight he pops into this Land of Wishful Quilts and says that I really should clean it out. 'Cuse me? Last I checked, cleaning out required TIME on my part. I know, without a doubt, that time is the most precious commodity I have, and there's little of it these days. (Insert rant...now:) I am currently working way too much. And this time, I can honestly say that it's not my fault. I took back my old job but am still fielding all of those freelance assignments I begged for when I was laid off several months ago and that means I'm now juggling the equivalent of 60-80 hours of weekly work. I can't flake on the commitments I've made. It's not fair to anyone involved and makes me look like a flaky freelancer--something I abhor. But, I can't get to the other things during daylight hours, so that leaves me sitting here at 1 a.m. finishing up these last assignments and wondering if I will have a job for much longer and should I maintain the freelance stuff? I've lived in this badmitton game for 18 months now, and it gets old, fast.
I love my job. I really do. What I don't love is the constant worry about whether it will exist tomorrow. I know I'm not alone. But the current economic trends and the shifts in my little corner of the business universe show me that we really never are secure in our jobs. Never. Really. Some of us are blessed to know what goes on behind close VP doors. Some of us are not. But we are all expendable.
Years ago, when I still worked in the blazing hell called Real Estate (complete with fires and demons--ask anyone!) I lived a life outside of the office that allowed for a personality to come through. Indeed, it was during these years that I learned to sew and quilt and expand on my personal interests. While I would never, repeat never, walk through those firey halls of escrow again, I do often miss the time that was my own when I left my office, turning off the lights and shutting the file cabinets, and coming home, was cleansed of the day's trauma through the commute to my garage. Since my commute now ranges the length of my hallway with frequent pitstops made to the coffee maker in the kitchen, there's little cleansing going on. I LOVE working at home. I really do. It's what I always wanted. And like anything we get that we always wanted, there's another side to it we just couldn't see through our naivetee and fantasy. The truth is mostly laced with balance, like Star Wars. It's not about good overcoming evil; it's about those two forces living together because they will always just be.
I guess my bottom line thought, from the bottom of my stressed-out brain, is that I just want more time to make love to my Janome. I want to caress it's body, listen to its heartbeat. And, like a secret lover committed to the secret, everything else in life must come before it. So, hey, Mr. 6500. Hang in there. I'm right behind you and I haven't forgotten you. You are my well-oiled machine (since I finally took you in for servicing--hey, who's your mamma?). We will come together again, I promise. I've just got to finish this deadline piece and take care of this other stuff, and make sure my kid's flu doesn't become pneumonia, and then we'll talk. Or hum. Or do whatever it is that we do. And in the end, beautiful quilts will be made and Dear Hubby will see the floor again and life will be good. Amen.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Hi. My name is Jake and I'm a...
fiber addict!
Okay, so this isn't news to those who know me. Still, I wanted to explore just how sick my sickness is.
I walk into my home office/studio each day, prepared to focus on my paying work, which may or may not involve the quilt industry depending on the day's assignments, and I really, really intend to work. But first, I must check my emails. And since I'm on just about every mailing list involving quilt shops, thread/fabric manufacturers, sewing machine companies, retreats, shows, museum and online communities--all devoted to my addiction--it takes me a while to get to the paying work.
Probably takes me longer since seeing all of those ads and input into my obsession causes me to turn around and peruse the stacks of half-finished quilts sitting just behind me. "Sew me" they call to me, in a beautiful harmonic convergence of my favorite solitary pasttime.
"I can't" I say. "I have a deadline."
"But you said you loved us! Why won't you finish us?"
"Well, I do love you. So much that I bought some more friends for you this past weekend. See that new Moda jelly roll in the corner? One day that will be your little sister. And you see those stunning 1/2 yards of Hoffman batiks I picked up with my birthday discount from our favorite shop? That's going to be your Uncle Lonestar when I get to him. So I do love you. I just can't spend any time on you right now."
The tops sulk back into their stack, quietly pouting their lack of attention. I feel guilty. But what can I do? I have to work.
I turn back to my Hotmail account, revving up to start working, but there waiting for me is the weekly e-newsletter from my favorite online shop, showing me the new arrivals. OHMIGOSH! Look at that quilt! I have to have that Crabapple Hill pattern! See, it involves redwork embroidery, so I can even take the project with me. That means there's a fighting chance to complete it, if I'm carrying to all of Sam's extra-curricular activities. Yeah, that's the way to go.
Hey you know what else is portable? Wool applique. I wonder if I can find any kits online? It'll only take a moment to search...
Three hours later, I've expanded my already-extensive family of quilt projects by seven, and the pile calls to me again:
"Did you see how much time you just spent buying the new additions? You could have finished quilting my border in all of that time. And, where are you going to put all of these newbies, anyway? Your cabinets are already popping open and need I remind you that there is no more hidden stash potential in Samantha's closet, the hall closet downstairs, the once-empty suitcase, the sewing machine travelling bag, the space under the guest room bed, the trunk of your car..."
Okay, I get it, I get it. But, it's not my fault. I have a disease. And I will finish you. I promise. Just as soon as I meet my deadline...
Okay, so this isn't news to those who know me. Still, I wanted to explore just how sick my sickness is.
I walk into my home office/studio each day, prepared to focus on my paying work, which may or may not involve the quilt industry depending on the day's assignments, and I really, really intend to work. But first, I must check my emails. And since I'm on just about every mailing list involving quilt shops, thread/fabric manufacturers, sewing machine companies, retreats, shows, museum and online communities--all devoted to my addiction--it takes me a while to get to the paying work.
Probably takes me longer since seeing all of those ads and input into my obsession causes me to turn around and peruse the stacks of half-finished quilts sitting just behind me. "Sew me" they call to me, in a beautiful harmonic convergence of my favorite solitary pasttime.
"I can't" I say. "I have a deadline."
"But you said you loved us! Why won't you finish us?"
"Well, I do love you. So much that I bought some more friends for you this past weekend. See that new Moda jelly roll in the corner? One day that will be your little sister. And you see those stunning 1/2 yards of Hoffman batiks I picked up with my birthday discount from our favorite shop? That's going to be your Uncle Lonestar when I get to him. So I do love you. I just can't spend any time on you right now."
The tops sulk back into their stack, quietly pouting their lack of attention. I feel guilty. But what can I do? I have to work.
I turn back to my Hotmail account, revving up to start working, but there waiting for me is the weekly e-newsletter from my favorite online shop, showing me the new arrivals. OHMIGOSH! Look at that quilt! I have to have that Crabapple Hill pattern! See, it involves redwork embroidery, so I can even take the project with me. That means there's a fighting chance to complete it, if I'm carrying to all of Sam's extra-curricular activities. Yeah, that's the way to go.
Hey you know what else is portable? Wool applique. I wonder if I can find any kits online? It'll only take a moment to search...
Three hours later, I've expanded my already-extensive family of quilt projects by seven, and the pile calls to me again:
"Did you see how much time you just spent buying the new additions? You could have finished quilting my border in all of that time. And, where are you going to put all of these newbies, anyway? Your cabinets are already popping open and need I remind you that there is no more hidden stash potential in Samantha's closet, the hall closet downstairs, the once-empty suitcase, the sewing machine travelling bag, the space under the guest room bed, the trunk of your car..."
Okay, I get it, I get it. But, it's not my fault. I have a disease. And I will finish you. I promise. Just as soon as I meet my deadline...
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Let's Get Off the Quilt Track for a Moment and Talk Newspapers
Warning: A rant is about to occur. Please hold your ears, turn the page, cursor on if you have any issues reading a rant.
Besides being a phenomenal, accomplished and humble quilt addict, I am also a working print journalist. That means that I earn a significant portion of my annual income writing for newspapers and magazines. About five years ago, with the authoring of my first quilt book, Fast, Fun & Easy Book Cover Art, I officially blended my two loves (writing and quilting) into one income-producing prospect. But, I still regularly write for my area newspaper (which I adore still), covering mostly local features, news and on-the-spot reporting.
It is from my consistent vantage point as a newspaper observer that I offer the divine solution to the mess the newspaper industry has found itself in of late.
For those of you living under a rock, the news biz has been declining faster than President Obama's popularity rating over healthcare reform. Weekly, once-solid and dependable news outlets are laying off throngs of journalists and shuttering papers. For those in the biz, it's a frightening show of "What do we do now?"
For months, I've scanned the blogs and op-ed pages, looking for solutions to stop the bleeding newsprint. Over and over I read excuse after excuse about how advertisers have defected to the Internet, how classifieds are all on craigslist, how readers aren't savvy enough anymore to know the importance of a daily newspaper and how young people don't like paper anymore. There are chats, twitters and panels overflowing with debates on charging for news content on the Web. And through it all, these editors and publishers, albeit some of the finest analytical minds our country boasts, are missing a big part of the answer under that small rock in the vast forest of our news culture, and they have been missing it for years.
In a nutshell: If newspapers returned to the content that earns the notice and dependence of their readers, we'd probably have fewer journos on the unemployment lines. Newspapers MUST return to concentrating on two avenues: local news and in-depth reporting.
TV and cable news offers tons of opinion and some exposure on national nuggets. They do it in 10-to 60-second soundbites, and they do it adequately, sometimes. The small screen is NOT where newshounds go for the whole story. It's where they go for the quick and dirty; the highlights and lowlights that can lead them into a bigger picture. With some important exceptions, like 9-11 and Katrina coverage, election results and celebrity deaths, broadcast news is just not going to answer the thirst for local coverage or getting-to-the-meat of the issue reporting. It's not designed to.
News magazines, which generally excel at the in-depth end of the news spectrum, are limited by their weekly publication dates. And, they answer again the national call for news, not the local.
Radio, in a similar scenario as tv/cable, also can't answer the in-depth question (NPR being one exception-but still national) nor most of the local stuff. Even those local audiocasts work in soundbites, throwing the sexiest, most ironic or disgusting bits into the air for those listeners to snap at like seals facing a sardine dinner.
This is where newspapers SHOULD step in and fill the void of local and in-depth issue reporting. But, in the last 10 years, newspapers have been slowly and deliberately spinning itself dizzy in the constant effort to be politically correct to its readers and to face-off against the broadcast giants and they haven't done their primary job.
If I were the Editor of the World (God forbid) my first change would be to staff my local papers, of any size, with the reporters needed to adequately cover the school district, city councils, water boards, chambers of commerce, youth sports leagues, churches and temples, service clubs, small-town theaters, the grocery store down at the corner. These are the places that generate the news that affects our readers EVERY SINGLE DAY. Yeah, we all want to know what the political rank-and-file in DC are up to. Their bad behavior is always good for a spot of outrage. But, let's face it: When it comes time for my daughter to start school next week, I want to know if my school has changed their nutrition guidelines yet again and if my classroom will see more students because of budget cuts? This is what I need to care about in my day-to-day life and it's becoming increasingly difficult to find the answers from the one place I always trusted to tell me: my local newspaper.
What I see that has happened is in the attempt to balance the newsroom budgets, management has taken out those reporters, photographers and editors who are low guys/gals on their totem pole. They retain the experienced staffers, which, on the surface makes sense. But what you don't always know is that the experienced staffers are those who cover the bigger picture: The state budget, the national beats, the county seat. These are not the staffers who would be required to cover the school district meeting every two weeks in my town, unless of course we know ahead of time that a shooting will happen. So, with the absence of the lower-rung reporters and photographers comes the absence of down-home news coverage. And I, as a reader, either turn to other sources for the down-home news meal (such as the freebie weekly newspaper that's dropped on my doorstep) or, even worse, much, much worse, I stop caring about what's happening with my city council and local shopping center.
It's akin to craving macaroni and cheese and only ever being fed hot dogs. And it sucks.
So the argument comes that the advertisers aren't there for the local. Hogwash. The LOCAL advertisers will pay to place their ads where they are convinced their LOCAL customers will see them. Since they know that their local consumer base has lost faith in area newspapers, they don't want to waste their ad dollars on those newspapers. You have to prove to them that you are commited to the local reader.
The other part of my taking-over-the-news-world solution is the in-depth coverage. Again, similar to the local angle, readers want to be offered a complete picture of an issue. They may or may not choose to absorb it all, but they want to know that it's given to them and that it's fair and balanced. You cannot consistently provide short news pieces and expect that content to answer all the of the relevant directions a story will take. As journalists, we have an obligation to offer the whole picture wherever possible. But we cut our content short to save paper and space and leave a reader with a partial understanding of how their lives may be affected.
Part of this happens because management can't afford to have a reporter spend too much time following one story if that reporter is instead needed to provide content for seven other stories weekly. Following a hard news story with many legs takes time, patience and skill, and it's hard to concentrate on an in-depth story when you're trying to cover all of the other things happening.
The other part in the lack of in-depth reporting comes from what I believe is a serious absence of knowledge on the reporter's part, and it's allowed to slide past the editors. Too many times, I've seen young journos come into the newsroom who don't have a clue about the basic facts of modern life: taxes, medical insurance, real estate, family issues, local politics and more. If you don't understand how utilities are run, how can you report on the back room arrangements being a local politico and the utility head and how that will affect my electric bill? A smart reporter will ask the questions they need to learn on the spot, but not all reporters are that smart, or motivated and they instead rely upon others (spokespeople, public relations, staffers) to offer the explanations for the issue. This is proven to me time and again when I read the real estate section of my area papers. I can tell when the reporter has listened too easily and with relief to the local Realtor who insists her business has never been better when all other indications are that she is barely eating. Her quote stands as God's word to the RE industry, even though it's obviously rediculous.
So it's my deep hope that newspapers will take a step away from themselves for a spell and really look at the smaller picture and what makes them special to us, the readers. Give us the local, tell us about what our neighbors next door are doing, not what the guy seven states over is doing. Tell me why this is important to my life. Show some outrage. And leave the bigger picture to the news wires and national media outlets. They have the resources to cover those stories. Let them.
I want my newspapers to survive and thrive. I want to read what they should cover more of. It affects me every day, and it's important. But they need to know all of this too.
Just my humble opinion here, folks, but it's a rant that's been demanding air time for a while now.
Besides being a phenomenal, accomplished and humble quilt addict, I am also a working print journalist. That means that I earn a significant portion of my annual income writing for newspapers and magazines. About five years ago, with the authoring of my first quilt book, Fast, Fun & Easy Book Cover Art, I officially blended my two loves (writing and quilting) into one income-producing prospect. But, I still regularly write for my area newspaper (which I adore still), covering mostly local features, news and on-the-spot reporting.
It is from my consistent vantage point as a newspaper observer that I offer the divine solution to the mess the newspaper industry has found itself in of late.
For those of you living under a rock, the news biz has been declining faster than President Obama's popularity rating over healthcare reform. Weekly, once-solid and dependable news outlets are laying off throngs of journalists and shuttering papers. For those in the biz, it's a frightening show of "What do we do now?"
For months, I've scanned the blogs and op-ed pages, looking for solutions to stop the bleeding newsprint. Over and over I read excuse after excuse about how advertisers have defected to the Internet, how classifieds are all on craigslist, how readers aren't savvy enough anymore to know the importance of a daily newspaper and how young people don't like paper anymore. There are chats, twitters and panels overflowing with debates on charging for news content on the Web. And through it all, these editors and publishers, albeit some of the finest analytical minds our country boasts, are missing a big part of the answer under that small rock in the vast forest of our news culture, and they have been missing it for years.
In a nutshell: If newspapers returned to the content that earns the notice and dependence of their readers, we'd probably have fewer journos on the unemployment lines. Newspapers MUST return to concentrating on two avenues: local news and in-depth reporting.
TV and cable news offers tons of opinion and some exposure on national nuggets. They do it in 10-to 60-second soundbites, and they do it adequately, sometimes. The small screen is NOT where newshounds go for the whole story. It's where they go for the quick and dirty; the highlights and lowlights that can lead them into a bigger picture. With some important exceptions, like 9-11 and Katrina coverage, election results and celebrity deaths, broadcast news is just not going to answer the thirst for local coverage or getting-to-the-meat of the issue reporting. It's not designed to.
News magazines, which generally excel at the in-depth end of the news spectrum, are limited by their weekly publication dates. And, they answer again the national call for news, not the local.
Radio, in a similar scenario as tv/cable, also can't answer the in-depth question (NPR being one exception-but still national) nor most of the local stuff. Even those local audiocasts work in soundbites, throwing the sexiest, most ironic or disgusting bits into the air for those listeners to snap at like seals facing a sardine dinner.
This is where newspapers SHOULD step in and fill the void of local and in-depth issue reporting. But, in the last 10 years, newspapers have been slowly and deliberately spinning itself dizzy in the constant effort to be politically correct to its readers and to face-off against the broadcast giants and they haven't done their primary job.
If I were the Editor of the World (God forbid) my first change would be to staff my local papers, of any size, with the reporters needed to adequately cover the school district, city councils, water boards, chambers of commerce, youth sports leagues, churches and temples, service clubs, small-town theaters, the grocery store down at the corner. These are the places that generate the news that affects our readers EVERY SINGLE DAY. Yeah, we all want to know what the political rank-and-file in DC are up to. Their bad behavior is always good for a spot of outrage. But, let's face it: When it comes time for my daughter to start school next week, I want to know if my school has changed their nutrition guidelines yet again and if my classroom will see more students because of budget cuts? This is what I need to care about in my day-to-day life and it's becoming increasingly difficult to find the answers from the one place I always trusted to tell me: my local newspaper.
What I see that has happened is in the attempt to balance the newsroom budgets, management has taken out those reporters, photographers and editors who are low guys/gals on their totem pole. They retain the experienced staffers, which, on the surface makes sense. But what you don't always know is that the experienced staffers are those who cover the bigger picture: The state budget, the national beats, the county seat. These are not the staffers who would be required to cover the school district meeting every two weeks in my town, unless of course we know ahead of time that a shooting will happen. So, with the absence of the lower-rung reporters and photographers comes the absence of down-home news coverage. And I, as a reader, either turn to other sources for the down-home news meal (such as the freebie weekly newspaper that's dropped on my doorstep) or, even worse, much, much worse, I stop caring about what's happening with my city council and local shopping center.
It's akin to craving macaroni and cheese and only ever being fed hot dogs. And it sucks.
So the argument comes that the advertisers aren't there for the local. Hogwash. The LOCAL advertisers will pay to place their ads where they are convinced their LOCAL customers will see them. Since they know that their local consumer base has lost faith in area newspapers, they don't want to waste their ad dollars on those newspapers. You have to prove to them that you are commited to the local reader.
The other part of my taking-over-the-news-world solution is the in-depth coverage. Again, similar to the local angle, readers want to be offered a complete picture of an issue. They may or may not choose to absorb it all, but they want to know that it's given to them and that it's fair and balanced. You cannot consistently provide short news pieces and expect that content to answer all the of the relevant directions a story will take. As journalists, we have an obligation to offer the whole picture wherever possible. But we cut our content short to save paper and space and leave a reader with a partial understanding of how their lives may be affected.
Part of this happens because management can't afford to have a reporter spend too much time following one story if that reporter is instead needed to provide content for seven other stories weekly. Following a hard news story with many legs takes time, patience and skill, and it's hard to concentrate on an in-depth story when you're trying to cover all of the other things happening.
The other part in the lack of in-depth reporting comes from what I believe is a serious absence of knowledge on the reporter's part, and it's allowed to slide past the editors. Too many times, I've seen young journos come into the newsroom who don't have a clue about the basic facts of modern life: taxes, medical insurance, real estate, family issues, local politics and more. If you don't understand how utilities are run, how can you report on the back room arrangements being a local politico and the utility head and how that will affect my electric bill? A smart reporter will ask the questions they need to learn on the spot, but not all reporters are that smart, or motivated and they instead rely upon others (spokespeople, public relations, staffers) to offer the explanations for the issue. This is proven to me time and again when I read the real estate section of my area papers. I can tell when the reporter has listened too easily and with relief to the local Realtor who insists her business has never been better when all other indications are that she is barely eating. Her quote stands as God's word to the RE industry, even though it's obviously rediculous.
So it's my deep hope that newspapers will take a step away from themselves for a spell and really look at the smaller picture and what makes them special to us, the readers. Give us the local, tell us about what our neighbors next door are doing, not what the guy seven states over is doing. Tell me why this is important to my life. Show some outrage. And leave the bigger picture to the news wires and national media outlets. They have the resources to cover those stories. Let them.
I want my newspapers to survive and thrive. I want to read what they should cover more of. It affects me every day, and it's important. But they need to know all of this too.
Just my humble opinion here, folks, but it's a rant that's been demanding air time for a while now.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Come and meet my magic wand
It used to be I knew that if I had to grab one thing besides the life essentials and living creatures from my home during a fire, it would be my sewing machine or camera. (For the record, we live in a high brush area and have been evacuated three times in the last six years, so I actually live this thought out...) Well, move over baby! Mama has a new toy! And it fits in her bra!
Say hello to my new best friend, my 16-gig iPhone. Now, I've never owned an Apple product before, and I know I'm a gonna sound like a commercial here, but I've decided my iPhone is my official magic wand. It has eliminated almost every other necessity from my purse: calendar, phone book, calculator, paperback book (load the free Kindle app and you'll be thrilled!) notepad, voice recorder, cell phone, camera, Walkman (dating myself here) checkbook, electronic dictionary, radio, watch and more. The only things it's not replacing are my lipstick, hand cream and tissues. But I faith that an app will appear any day now that will take care of those needs too!
A few weeks ago I even loaded an app, called QuiltFab, that helps calculate yardarge for my backings and bindings. And it's free! (An app is a software program made just for the iPhone that adds extra magical powers to iPhone. Many are free, some are available for a small cost.)This is too much.
About 2o years ago, I prophesied that the communicator Captain Kirk (yep, I'm a Trekkie also) wore so proudly on his chest would soon become a reality. Well, if we just glue a pin backing to the iPhone, we might be there now.
So, how else do I use my Magic Wand for quilting? Besides the obvious QuiltFab app to help me buy more fabric accurately, I take pictures of quilts at shows with the camera, order quilt books through the Amazon app, make notes about quilt ideas in the Notebook app, add quilt chores to my to-do list, locate quilt shops with my WhitePages app, watch "How to Make an American Quilt" for the umpteenth time, use the GPS to find the quilt show location, check the balance in my accounts regularly so I know if I have the bucks there to shop, calendar my guild dates and minigroup sessions and search the Net for All Things Stitched. I'm telling you, the iPhone is made for quilters! And if you can't use AT&T for your phone service, look into the iTouch instead. Offers all the same features and capabilities without the phone part.
Now, if I can just get it to sew that block for me...
Say hello to my new best friend, my 16-gig iPhone. Now, I've never owned an Apple product before, and I know I'm a gonna sound like a commercial here, but I've decided my iPhone is my official magic wand. It has eliminated almost every other necessity from my purse: calendar, phone book, calculator, paperback book (load the free Kindle app and you'll be thrilled!) notepad, voice recorder, cell phone, camera, Walkman (dating myself here) checkbook, electronic dictionary, radio, watch and more. The only things it's not replacing are my lipstick, hand cream and tissues. But I faith that an app will appear any day now that will take care of those needs too!
A few weeks ago I even loaded an app, called QuiltFab, that helps calculate yardarge for my backings and bindings. And it's free! (An app is a software program made just for the iPhone that adds extra magical powers to iPhone. Many are free, some are available for a small cost.)This is too much.
About 2o years ago, I prophesied that the communicator Captain Kirk (yep, I'm a Trekkie also) wore so proudly on his chest would soon become a reality. Well, if we just glue a pin backing to the iPhone, we might be there now.
So, how else do I use my Magic Wand for quilting? Besides the obvious QuiltFab app to help me buy more fabric accurately, I take pictures of quilts at shows with the camera, order quilt books through the Amazon app, make notes about quilt ideas in the Notebook app, add quilt chores to my to-do list, locate quilt shops with my WhitePages app, watch "How to Make an American Quilt" for the umpteenth time, use the GPS to find the quilt show location, check the balance in my accounts regularly so I know if I have the bucks there to shop, calendar my guild dates and minigroup sessions and search the Net for All Things Stitched. I'm telling you, the iPhone is made for quilters! And if you can't use AT&T for your phone service, look into the iTouch instead. Offers all the same features and capabilities without the phone part.
Now, if I can just get it to sew that block for me...
Monday, July 27, 2009
Ever get so overwhelm that you underwhelm yourself?
That would be me these days. I have so much to do I'm not sure where to start. And the sad part about it is I actually have the time to sit at That Machine behind me and sew. I have things to sew, pretty things, promised things, things that will make me and others smile once done. And yet, here I sit, with my back to That Machine and I don't force myself to play.
My kid just left for a sleepover at her friend's house. Samantha is now 8 and it's really very strange to see her take off to have a sleepover with such joy and anticipation. Makes me wonder if living here sucks? Nah. I know it doesn't. But I also know that when I was a kid, sleepovers were a means to survival in my house. Without my friend's families adopting me, who knows how I would have turned out? That's not Samantha's life though. My husband and I work too hard to let it be, in any way or shape, even remotely similar to what we came from. She's happy, kind, smart and sweet and I couldn't ask for more from her short being.
But, being without kid underfoot means being A-L-O-N-E and it's freaky. Husband is probably taking off to play tennis in this raging So Cal heat. And I, sit, here, thinking about That Machine, hearing That Machine whine just a little because she's lonesome. And I think about the loot I scored this past weekend at the International Quilt Festival in Long Beach. My head goes back to the pretties. Yes, yes Darling, I'm coming to play with you. Just a moment while I wind that bobbin and change that rotary blade...
My kid just left for a sleepover at her friend's house. Samantha is now 8 and it's really very strange to see her take off to have a sleepover with such joy and anticipation. Makes me wonder if living here sucks? Nah. I know it doesn't. But I also know that when I was a kid, sleepovers were a means to survival in my house. Without my friend's families adopting me, who knows how I would have turned out? That's not Samantha's life though. My husband and I work too hard to let it be, in any way or shape, even remotely similar to what we came from. She's happy, kind, smart and sweet and I couldn't ask for more from her short being.
But, being without kid underfoot means being A-L-O-N-E and it's freaky. Husband is probably taking off to play tennis in this raging So Cal heat. And I, sit, here, thinking about That Machine, hearing That Machine whine just a little because she's lonesome. And I think about the loot I scored this past weekend at the International Quilt Festival in Long Beach. My head goes back to the pretties. Yes, yes Darling, I'm coming to play with you. Just a moment while I wind that bobbin and change that rotary blade...
Saturday, December 27, 2008
The Final Command Quilt
My father died suddenly on Dec. 3. Whether it was the suddenness, all of those unresolved thoughts or the frustrations experienced by me from his last visit in August, his death has had a greater impact on me than others. I’ve never had someone so close to me die without warning. Even the supreme tragedy of my 19-year-old cousin, Aubrey, who died five years ago from cancer, came with foreknowledge to soften the blow. There is a blessing in knowing death is coming. The foreknowledge numbs you to the final moment, at least for the survivors.
Dad was killed when he was struck by a car while out for his morning workout in Reno, Nevada. He was a lifelong competitive track athlete, a distance runner and race walker. He was in Reno for an annual board meeting of the USA Track and Field committee, the overriding organization feeding athletes into the Olympics.
So, here’s what it is about my dad: He was never subtle and often ran roughshod over someone else’s sensibilities to demand his own attention. But, he had a kind heart, especially when he got out of the way of his own ego.
Earlier this year, he called me and wanted to know if I had ever made a T-shirt quilt. I told him I hadn’t but it wouldn’t be brain surgery. He said, “Fine.” Nothing else. Just “Fine.
A couple of weeks later I get this box in the mail from Florida. I open the flaps and sitting on the top of a pile of what looked like fabric was a note that said, “Make me a quilt.” Nothing else, no signature, no “Love to you and the kid.” Nadda. Under the note was a stack of T-shirts, his favorites, from his running career. There were one or two shirts in the collection that were as old as my 40 years; this I know because I remember him wearing them when I was a kid. They were from track clubs and races that meant something to him. Several of them were so worn, the threads barely held together.
I was miffed and touched at the same time, a common reaction to our interactions. Miffed came from the assumption that I had nothing else going on and the presumption that I would, of course, jump right into his Command Quilt with both gun blasting. Yet I was touched because I thought he didn’t know squat about quilting and my life at the sewing machine and here he was reaching out to me in his distinctive way to bridge us together under a blanket. I carefully unpacked the box, kept the contents and the note together and stacked them in my future projects basket.
At the moment of his death about seven months later, the T-shirts and note were still sitting in the future projects basket. “Dad’s T-shirt Quilt” remained near the top of my quilting to-do list. I’d gone so far as to purchase a couple of yards of a novelty fabric that had runners in a race on it. Yes, I wish I’d known I wouldn’t have him for much longer. And, yes, I wish I’d been able to immediately set to work on his quilt so I could see that smile on his face when I handed it to him. That’s not always the way of life and with my dad, things were always off-kilter. But, as these weeks of the New Year open, I pledge to begin working on that quilt, to see its completion and allow his T-shirts to blanket us in his love and his obsession. For years, I’ve named those quilts my family members have told me I was to make for them Command Quilts. This simple T-shirt quilt will stand as my dad’s Final Command Quilt and I will post my progress as I continue to create the quilt.
Dad was killed when he was struck by a car while out for his morning workout in Reno, Nevada. He was a lifelong competitive track athlete, a distance runner and race walker. He was in Reno for an annual board meeting of the USA Track and Field committee, the overriding organization feeding athletes into the Olympics.
So, here’s what it is about my dad: He was never subtle and often ran roughshod over someone else’s sensibilities to demand his own attention. But, he had a kind heart, especially when he got out of the way of his own ego.
Earlier this year, he called me and wanted to know if I had ever made a T-shirt quilt. I told him I hadn’t but it wouldn’t be brain surgery. He said, “Fine.” Nothing else. Just “Fine.
A couple of weeks later I get this box in the mail from Florida. I open the flaps and sitting on the top of a pile of what looked like fabric was a note that said, “Make me a quilt.” Nothing else, no signature, no “Love to you and the kid.” Nadda. Under the note was a stack of T-shirts, his favorites, from his running career. There were one or two shirts in the collection that were as old as my 40 years; this I know because I remember him wearing them when I was a kid. They were from track clubs and races that meant something to him. Several of them were so worn, the threads barely held together.
I was miffed and touched at the same time, a common reaction to our interactions. Miffed came from the assumption that I had nothing else going on and the presumption that I would, of course, jump right into his Command Quilt with both gun blasting. Yet I was touched because I thought he didn’t know squat about quilting and my life at the sewing machine and here he was reaching out to me in his distinctive way to bridge us together under a blanket. I carefully unpacked the box, kept the contents and the note together and stacked them in my future projects basket.
At the moment of his death about seven months later, the T-shirts and note were still sitting in the future projects basket. “Dad’s T-shirt Quilt” remained near the top of my quilting to-do list. I’d gone so far as to purchase a couple of yards of a novelty fabric that had runners in a race on it. Yes, I wish I’d known I wouldn’t have him for much longer. And, yes, I wish I’d been able to immediately set to work on his quilt so I could see that smile on his face when I handed it to him. That’s not always the way of life and with my dad, things were always off-kilter. But, as these weeks of the New Year open, I pledge to begin working on that quilt, to see its completion and allow his T-shirts to blanket us in his love and his obsession. For years, I’ve named those quilts my family members have told me I was to make for them Command Quilts. This simple T-shirt quilt will stand as my dad’s Final Command Quilt and I will post my progress as I continue to create the quilt.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
The First Time is Always the Hardest
I've been writing for publication long enough to know that it's always the first time that twists a writer's brain cells into a helix. So, let's just get it over with and say, "Here I am, for better or worse!" I'm sure, without the assistance of a full-time invested editor, that I will say things that make others cringe. But, at the end of the day, does it really matter? Welcome to my blog and I hope my musings draw you back for more.
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