Using the “Good” Scissors

My mother had a nice pair of Gingher scissors that were to be used ONLY on fabric.  She did a lot of garment construction – clothes for her kids -  but later she became a quilter.  As children we were roundly and soundly clobbered if we took the “good” scissors and used them to cut up paper or magazines or newspapers.

Fast forward to about six months ago when I saw a much smaller pair of Ginghers that called my name. I could not resist the siren song of having a really, really good pair of scissors so I took the plunge.  They came in a lovely little box which I kept open on my cutting table so I could admire them then and relish the pride of ownership.  It was enough for me to just have them. I was content to keep them,  save them for something “good.”

Fast forward again to about two weeks ago when I crashed and burned on a baby quilt for my niece. I’ve been doing this long enough to know that when things go south you need to just. walk. away. and come back later when the fog clears.  I decided to take a bag of leftover quilt scraps and try my hand a paper piecing hexagons. (Note:  do not start paper piecing hexagons – EXTREMELY addictive.)  I went to grab a scissors to trim up the hexies when, for some unexplainable reason, I busted out the Ginghers.

You know where this is going.  I could not believe the difference.  Like a hot knife through cold butter, this thing sliced and clipped like a laser.  I was  thrilled with the results, the ease of cutting, the razor crisp edges. Like dawn breaking over Marblehead (local joke) I realized it was STEWPID to keep things “for good.”  What if I get hit buy a bus tomorrow?  What was I waiting for?  WHY DO WOMEN DO THIS?  Because honestly I know I am not the only one. Every woman on the planet has something put away “for good” and most of those things will never see use or the light of day. Why do we do this?  So we have something to look forward to?  Is the “looking forward to” part better than the actual joy of using it or wearing it or whatever the hell it is we’re trying to capture?  I don’t know, but I don’t think so. I’m not getting any younger and I’m tired of waiting.  Not only am I going to use these Ginghers, but I’m gonna bust out some cash and pick up one of the new Gingher Seam Rippers.  You heard me. Retractable blade, beeuches.  Who says quilters are old ladies with afghans in their laps?  I’m armed and dangerous.  I run with scissors. ( Really, really GOOD ones. )

1-800-RATIONALIZE

With the multi-whammy of additional, unexpected income taxes due, an expensive major appliance “shitting the bed” (Joe’s favorite saying and I’ve just picked it up because….it’s so…. accurate), finding out the source of my knee problems is a torn meniscus and the upcoming one year anniversary of the loss of my Dad all rolling up on me………well, I kind of had a meltdown. “Kind of” in the sense that I didn’t actually throw anything (hey, I’ve grown. Besides, I don’t wear high heels anymore and I’m out of spackle) but everything else cut loose in a peri-menopausal-chronic-pain-grieving-hormonal rage of tears, angst and depression.  My dark Irish side can throw down with the best of ‘em.

So what to do?  I needed to drive.  Serious “get out of Dodge” driving. That isn’t possible here because it’s too congested and populated. No wide open spaces and long reaches of road and open sky.  This therapy always worked for me when I lived in Nebraska but in Massachusetts – well, it’s not happening.  I still wanted to make a road trip and maybe do a little retail therapy ( a logical response to a cash-strapped crisis, right?) and pick up some Kaffe Fassett fabric I’ve been coveting for, oh, years.  Seriously coveting.

I did not buy ALL of these....just some....

Normally I would call my sister Pat before embarkation. Pat is the queen of rationalization.  You can call her and ask her about anything  and she will give you really good reasons to 1) do it or 2) buy it.  What I came up with would pale in comparison but I think it was pretty respectable in a dark, depressive kind of way.

Mother’s Day is approaching.  I was not blessed with motherhood and my mother has been gone many years but I’m still pissed off.  She was 69. Pancreatic cancer.  (Insert “f” word here….)  Those of us with infertility and failed adoption issues have always found MD to be a trauma-inducing “holiday” that personally guts me like a fish.  When life gives you lemons, make lemonade – right?  I started thinking about all the MD presents I’ve never received, all the cards and flowers and – well, that adds up to some serious cash, right? So, feeling sorry for myself, I felt free to go ahead and spend a little of what my husband and/or kids would have spent.  Bingo – rationalized.

I had a lovely time at Portsmouth Fabric getting overwhelmed by bolts and bolts of amazingly beautiful fabric.  That alone made me feel better. Quilters will understand how that works.  I even had some laughs with the staff as a siren kept sounding in the distance and we couldn’t figure out what it was until some guy stuck his head inside the door and said, “I think that is the siren from Seabrook!”  (Local nuclear power plant. I am not kidding.)  I stood there and thought about where I was and if there was indeed a core meltdown I’d be dead pretty fast.  Then I kept shopping.  What better place to be?  My husband and family all know I love them – we never separate without saying so – and I’m pretty much right with my Lord…. so I kept shopping and discussing (with the shop ladies) where the nearest bar with the best food was just in case it really was the “end of time” or something. I figured I’d fare pretty well at my judgement if my Mom saw me with a vodka tonic in my hand – she’d claim me in a minute just to have a sip or two. Or three.

Then I drove back home and listened to another podcast from Pray As You Go.  You have got to love the Jebbies, they come up with some really good stuff.  Anyway, I did a lot of thinking, a lot of sorting out and a whole lot of mental housecleaning. When I got home I made a new sign for my sewing room and put a copy of it in my bathroom.

It’s out there.  It’s all around me.  I have a feeling it would save me a lot of the time I spend worrying – AKA threading beads on a string with no knot at the end. I’m going to find joy every day.  Wish me luck. I need some joy.

PS – here is a great start.  I never watch these things but for some reason I did this one. WOW.

Caine’s Arcade

Labors of Love – Quilts from the Heart

The Why Quilts Matter post went live today - here is the link!    

February is the month for giving and receiving expressions of love.  Mothers, fathers, friends and dear ones all given love tokens in a variety of shapes, sizes, colors, mediums, and all-important flavors of chocolate.I have always considered quilts to be among the greatest expression of love but only recently have I fully appreciated the depth and scope of their significance. Quilts I made over the past 20 years have been displayed in homes, been unfolded, used, refolded, comforted babies, warmed bodies and family pets, all the time witnessing and absorbing the history of their lives, the growth of their children, the pack-up-and-moves to new cities.
Baby quilts are always a satisfying labor of love. I have a nephew who was so desperately attached to the shredded remnants of his baby quilt and a receiving blanket that he loved to bits (literally) and squeezed them into a ball of shreds. He tucked it up inside his pillowcase (so no one would know) and held on to it well in to his early teens. Mom was insistent the baby quilts she made for her  grandchildren be used and washed, and was keenly pleased to see how long her grandson held on to the quilt she made just for him.
My favorite baby quilt was one made by my mother when Joe and I were newly married and confidently planning a family.  Fate intervened and no babies ever came. The quilt was always in our bedroom, draped over a quilt holder for about 20 years.  When my god-daughter had her first child I decided it was time to let go of that quilt and find it a home with Mom’s new great-grandson.  The emotions surrounding the giving and receiving of that quilt cannot be expressed in words.  For me it defined a four-generation gift of love in so many ways, with both a melancholy ache and tears of joy.

Quilts are visual and tactile manifestations of love.  Who hasn’t been sick and wrapped up in a quilt and felt just a little bit better, or at least comforted? When missing my Mom overwhelms me I grab a quilt she made and roll myself up, inhale the fabric and trace my finger over her carefully hand quilted stitches, taking to her and feeling a bit of her presence in my needy soul. So many pioneer brides crossed the frontier with a signature quilt packed among her belongings, a physical reminder of home and loved ones she might never see again.  How cherished those quilts must have been even as they were pressed into service warming bodies or blocking sod house drafts and windows with non existent-glass.

A heart Mom made for me, on my design wall.

In the late 70’s, when my Grandma Major (Dad’s mother) was in the nursing home, my mother made her a lap quilt out of scraps of our old dresses and pantsuits. We still have the precious keepsake and it was covering Dad the night he left us. While Mom was waiting for him on the other side, a quilt she originally made for his mother was keeping him warm.

The Family Quilt

At both of their funerals the double wedding ring anniversary quilt made by their three daughters covered their caskets with beauty and love.

I invite you to look back over the years and inventory the quilts you have seen, given, been given or were just privileged to see in a show or exhibit. Every one of those quilts matter – every one that you or I or anyone has ever made, regardless of shape, size, color or intricacy.  No such labor of love should be judged anything but the most wonderful gift from the heart. It blesses both the giver and the recipient with the greatest gift of all — a colorful, tactile and enduring expression of love.  When the flowers have faded and the chocolate a memory, the quilt endures as a lasting and constant assurance of true love. Happy Valentines Day – to you and to all you love.

NOTE:
I was asked to write a guest blog for Why Quilts Matter and the above entry  was the result.  Why Quilts Matter is a scholarly, entertaining and visually stunning DVD. A copy should be in the home of anyone who loves art, color, and beautiful quilts. I do not in any way benefit monetarily from this – I just believe in it, and as one who loves art, color and beautiful quilts I bought two copies and donated one to my local library. Do the same. RESPECT and support for quilting begins with each of us.