Reflections on the Eighth Week of Spring – Reinventing the Charm

Raffle Quilt with Border Pinned to Right Side

My quilt guild has a reputation for bickering (though most people use a different adjective starting with “b”). Each member is exotic and creative in her own way―a delight to chat or work with. But stitch us together for a business meeting? Sheesh! We form one crazy quilt.

    Gail, founder of the Country Charms Quilt Guild and owner of Homespun Treasurers where the guild meets, announced, “You can’t put on a show with twenty-one people.”

    Pat, another veteran, agreed. “It’s too much work. We’ve put on enough shows.”

    Eyebrows of newer members rose.

    Linda, president because no one else wanted the job, started a campaign. “If we do neat projects, people will see how much fun we have. They’ll want to join.”

    “Don’t let them come to a business meeting,” someone mumbled.

    Linda advertised fun nights on Facebook.

• Demonstrate Kim Templin’s diamond cutting ruler.
• Create self portraits from scraps.
• Make Radiant Stars.

    Two people joined. Eight more left. We had seventeen members.

    “We can’t have a quilt show now.” Pat shoved her fists against her hips. “We don’t need one anyway.”

    “The community does,” I blurted out. “We give to the community through the quilt show, and I joined the guild because I enjoy the shows.”

    “Too bad.” Pat hit her fist against the table. “We’re too old.”

    But Pat’s fist didn’t tie up the debate. During the next four meetings, we voted on a quilt show with mixed results―no, yes, maybe―and without reaching a quorum. When we voted over the Internet, we got more votes than members.

    Fourteen members attended last October’s business meeting.

    Pat sighed. “Well, we could downsize. Hold the show at Our Lady of Lourdes for one day. Limit the entries to two per person. And I could ask the church ladies to do the food.”

    Her downsizing idea passed. Only Pat and Gail voted no.

Member by member.

Vote by vote.

    “Oh, I’ll be the chair.” Pat said after the vote. “It won’t be that hard.”

    Pooh-pooher Pat, chair of the show? Yikes.

    And I’d given the memorial quilt (See “My Kind of Postmistress” May 7, 2017 blog.) I’d made for Mom to my nephew in Florida. Double yikes. I needed to sew a quilt in six or seven months. Maybe I could manage the twin-size Mansfield Park quilt for my son’s new apartment. I bought fabrics in fall colors―the only input he would give―adapted the blocks for a man, (See “40% Discount for Pirates” November 5, 2017 blog) and followed directions.

Cut by cut.

Square by square.

    At the November meeting, Pat said, “Okay. We’re having a quilt show. You’re all going to help.” She shook her pen at the group. “Who’s going to be chair for the quilt we sew to raffle?”

    “I will,” Gail said before anyone else got a chance. “I’ll find some patterns then you can choose which one to make.”

    At the next meeting, she waited for us with an eight inch high stack of patterns and pattern books. “Look through these. Then vote for the pattern you like best.”

    Gail slid the stack and a piece of paper to me. I set choices with catchy designs yet easy for a group to assemble in front of me. I passed patterns with curves or appliqué to the next person.

    Linda called from across the room, “Vote already and pass the patterns along.”

    I looked up. “I can’t vote until I’ve seen them all. There are twenty.”

    I needn’t have bothered to study the designs. The number of choices diluted the votes. A falling leaf pattern, sewn entirely from two inch squares, received the most votes―three.

    Gail selected fabrics from her store, cut them, and taught us how to make the leaves.

Point by point.

Leaf by leaf.

JW's Falling Leaf Blocks for Country Charms' Raffle Quilt

    Then she announced. “I’m going in for knee surgery. I’ve hired people to open the shop Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. You can work on the quilt then.”

    Great. The quilt chair wouldn’t be helping with the quilt, and the material was so expensive we’d be lucky to break even with raffle ticket proceeds.

    But, I sewed four leaf blocks for the guild’s quilt and assembled cross in a cross blocks for mine.

Stitch by stitch.

Block by block.

    Since the huge leaf quilt required much more time than meetings allowed, Pat organized Thursday sewing days at the shop.

    With wet hair from swimming laps, I powered my car up the rutted, snow covered driveway, and lugged my sewing machine into the shop.

    Only Pat and Linda sewed in the back room.

    “I didn’t think you’d come,” Pat said.

    “I emailed I would,” I said, set my machine on a table, and found an electric outlet.

    “When I came, I got stuck in the driveway.” Pat waved her arms over her head. “I had to get Gail’s husband to dig me out. So I emailed everyone not to come if they didn’t have four wheel drive.”

    I chuckled. “I didn’t get the email in the swimming pool, and I drive a Subaru. I made it up fine. What can I do?”

    Pat pulled a leaf block and a row of filler blocks off the design board. “Sew these together.”

    During an afternoon of attaching filler blocks to leaf blocks, I asked, “Will Fox’s quit shop let me rent one of their embroidery machines? I want to make the label for my quilt, and hand embroidery comes apart with time.”

    Linda looked up from the block she ripped apart. “No. You don’t have any training.” She set her pieces down. “But I’ll embroider one for you on my machine. Bring me the fabric and what you want the label to say.”

Rip by rip.

Row by row.

    At home, I lay each fall colored fabric against the bottom left block on the back, chose the bright yellow-gold, and ironed it for Linda. Then I wrote, crossed out words, checked spelling, and hand printed the label six times to space words just right and form the letters legibly for Linda.

Mansfield Park Quilt

Adapted with Love

for Spencer Charles

Janet Wells

Milledgeville, PA

2018

Letter by letter.

Word by word.

    With many thanks, I handed the paper and fabric to Linda at the next meeting. Ten of us had come to sew.

    Two members moved fabric blocks and rows of squares on the display board until the arrangement no longer resembled the picture of the falling leaf pattern.

    Sewers waited in line for assignments from movers.

    “Rip this seam” or “Attach these pieces.”

    We sewed and another member ironed seams.

    The hums of sewing machines mixed with laughter and the buzz of conversations.

   Pieces stitched together.

    “Oh, my,” Pat stuck her hands on her head. “We just have to attach the long middle seam and the top’s ready for the border.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to do that. No one will.”

    Sewing the last seam to hold the quilt together? Sounded fun to me. “I will.” I climbed the step stool to unpin the sections from the wall and lugged them to my machine. I tugged to stretch fabric so corners would meet. Then I lugged the ten foot by ten foot leaf quilt back to the board. With two members holding the sides, I climbed up the step stool and pinned our quilt top onto the display board. Awesome!

Move by move.

Section by section.

    At home, my quilt didn’t come together as fast as the guild’s. Hunkering over the sewing machine, I tread lightly on the foot pedal to keep stitching accurate. I missed more than once so ripped mismatched corners, trimmed raveling threads, and sewed again. I hooted the day I’d attached all thirty squares and eight rectangles to form the last of twelve Four Square 2 blocks. Progress!

    As if walking on cotton batting,I whistled to the mailbox. Inside lay a plastic bag with the yellow-gold fabric. Eager to see Linda’s embroidered label, I opened the bag and pulled out the fabric. Rich brown thread wrote the six lines with perfect spacing. But she spelled the first word in the second line “Aapted.” Pain.

    I shuffled back to the house, slumped into a chair, and stared at the fabric.

    My husband Spence looked up from his computer. “What’s wrong?”

    I handed him the label.

    “It looks nice,” he said handing the label back.

   “But she spelled ‘Adapted’ wrong! Do I dare ask her to make it again?”

    Spence frowned. “No. It’s fine. The mistake proves the label was handmade not from a factory in China. Relax.”

Mistake by mistake.

Try by try.

Mansfield Park Quilt Label

    Then, on Friday the thirteenth of April, Gail’s barn burned down and set the quilt shop ablaze.

End of Part 1