Saddle Sores

Yesterday was my first day back in the saddle (for reals) with my Bernina.  After about $400 worth of cleaning, a motherboard re-build and repairs (and messing around with a few small projects) I strapped on my courage and took out a languishing UFO that needs to be finished because it is a long overdue gift.

The first couple of hours went well – amazingly well.  I was sailing right along,   the machine was making all the right sounds.  Life was good.  I love that machine,   I love sewing,  it was all good.

This is such a large quilt  I had to spread the blocks out on my king-size bed. I did about 3 miles of walking,  looping the long hallway between my bedroom  and the sewing room.  On one trip  I placed some connected blocks next to the long row they would be attached to and realized – I goofed.    Not a little “opps” goof,   but an EPIC FAIL GOOF.   A sit-down-on-the-bed-and swear goof. To make matters worse,   I did some periodic reverse stitching  to strengthen a few places where the seam allowance wasn’t quite (ahem)  1/4 inch.  As I looked even closer,  I saw a single row of half square triangles on one block that was….going the wrong way. Four little half square triangles…..would anyone notice? I did, and my mother’s voice in my head did, too.

Long story short,   I spent most of the rest of the day parked in my favorite chair with a seam ripper.   I put a movie in the VCR – ironically, The Agony and the Ecstasy.  It seemed appropriate for the task and besides –   I loves me some campy Charlton Heston movies.  I managed to separate the scofflaws but had to sacrifice two entire  blocks as the surgical separation necessitated some fabric amputation.  It pained me deeply.   I will push on and finish this thing but the next time I even THINK about doing a Lady of the Lake quilt I want someone out there to beat me about the head and shoulders with a blunt instrument.   This quilt will never lie flat or square up well.   I don’t think even Charlton Heston as Moses  (another fav campy flick) could pull something that biblically epic out his hat.

Happily Ever After

I really love it when serendipity happens.

Recently, a very loving and thoughtful man  from Gloucester brought some of his wife’s quilting things to the museum to be donated for whatever purpose they could serve. Wilbur loved June very much – as shown here in her brief but perfect obituary:

Born in Beverly, she was the daughter of the late …….. June and Wilbur had a beautiful wedding and returned to the house that was to be their home for the next 53 years. And just like the children’s story, they lived happily ever after.

Among the lovely items was a pair of quilt frames, one style of which I did not know existed but was always the quilt frame of my dreams.  I have always loved feather quilting motifs but have never been able to master the technique. My mom always told me I needed to learn to hand quilt in all directions, toward me, away from me, at angles – and I always resisted.  I’m a two-directional hand quilter at best and was pretty much resigned to the fact that I would never conquer feathers.  Enter my new quilt frame:

We had the donated frames for sale in the museum shop for a few days before I took the plunge.  (The other frame sold in the same day!)   I am so glad I made the purchase  as this is the most miraculous thing ever.  The engineering behind it is remarkable – even my husband was impressed.  The quilt hoop is on a gimble, so you can whip it around – much like you handle the steering wheel in a car.  This makes sewing curves (aka the curves found in feathers) so much more manageable.   Big bonus – the whole thing kind of collapses on itself so I can slide it under my chair and it takes up (practically) no space.   I can’t tell you how much I love getting back to hand quilting – it never fails to calm my spirit and soothe my heart.

I am so thankful Wilbur decided to donate June’s lovely things that  I  sent him a little thank you note.  I’m even happier I could bring one of them back to Gloucester.  I think of them both every time I sit down to sew, and marvel at the great love I have seen, known and witnessed in my life.

I Think I …..Can’t

It has been three weeks since the loss of my Dad and while the initial numbness is easing, the hard parts are not.

When in the thick of a crisis  I tend to say to myself,  “If I can just get through X, I’ll be fine.”  X being a tough day, a week, an event.   I have a way of breaking things up in to manageable mental bits so I don’t go completely postal and/or collapse.   “If I can get on the plane and get home to my family, I’ll be OK.  If I can get through the wake and visitation, I’ll be fine.  That’s the hard part.  No, wait. If  I can get through the funeral….the burial….the exhausting plane trip back to Gloucester…..” .  I just keep making those little goals because the big one is too much to comprehend or manage. Like the little train, I keep chugging along with “I think I can… I think I can…”  but seriously,  right now, I think I can’t.

I forgot about the next part.

The aftermath, the physical exhaustion, the mental grief.  Yesterday was a good example.  I am working on a grant for the local library and spent most of the day on my 7-year-old computer (AKA the *#&$^%  boat anchor) trying to wrestle down documents and cope with incompatibilities in software.  I thought I would take a break and sync up my iPad and iPod touch so I can have some commute-worthy books to listen to on the road.

As I watched one device sync I noticed a lot of songs I didn’t recall buying.  HYMNS, for heaven’s sake.  “King of the Road” by Roger Miller!  Then it dawned on me – I downloaded those on wi-fi at the hospital so Dad could listen to some familiar music.  Dad  loved him some Roger Miller.  I don’t even know if he could hear them, but I played them for him.

Then I got an email from my brother with a copy of the death certificate. (I’m going to release the (Sicilian) hounds -  my husband -  on American Airlines for being so heartless.)  When another brother requested the family address book, I (as the keeper of the family minutia,  ephemera, and other stuff) popped open my spreadsheet and saw the list  of addresses and phone numbers…. including the ones for Dad.  Hard to look at that. I  deleted those  before I sent it along, but when I popped open the browser to get back to my email I saw the bookmark for his Caring Bridge website where we kept far-flung relatives aware of his status.  Another thing to delete.  A thousand little things that appear and sting and compound the loss. Even hearing the TV  commercial about “setting up financial arrangements before a loved one goes in to a nursing home” sent me on a brief ,  “I wonder if  Gary got the billing sorted out before Dad moves to…..oh.”   A thousand little things.

Mothers Day is thankfully past, but made even  more difficult this year by falling on my Dad’s birthday.  Really, world?  Seriously?  Not enough stress for one day?  Then a sister wisely pointed out that we gave them both the gift they have surely wanted for almost ten years – we gave them back each other.  (Can I get a “thank God for sisters” from the choir?)

It helped.  But it is the thousand little things that  rain like  fine, thin shards of glass and fall  without warning  on your head and your heart.  I know it will let up,  I know it will get better.  I went through this when we lost Mom, but I really did forget (or blocked out) this part, and I can’t break it up into manageable bits because that is not how it works.  I push through each day. I crave sleep.  I turn on my sound machine app to a quiet rainstorm to drown out the noise of traffic and motorcycles.  I want it to be quiet. I want peace. I want to stop crying at unexpected moments and inappropriate places. I want the roller coaster ride to level off.

I do not want to do this part but I do not  have a choice. Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted.   Maybe someday, but I’m not feeling it now. I’m just sayin’.