Reflections - God Made It a Janet Quilt (Part 2)
Daisy Patch
Putting away the blocks Sandi had studied, I listened to the hum of her car engine fade down our dirt road. Of course she praised the colors. She’d helped choose them on our ladies day out. And she didn’t equivocate over whether to remedy the problem by ripping the frames around the daisy fabric to resew. “Don’t! Ripping will ruin too many blocks.”
God wanted me to make a Janet quilt? I had to face reality and let go of my double Irish chain quilt dream. I could finish the quilt for Maggie’s wildflower wedding, but I wouldn’t call it a Janet Quilt. One quilt block had twenty-five fabric patches. The other consisted of framed daisies. I could make a Daisy Patch Quilt.
Around Mother’s Day, Spence’s elementary school friend Eric and his wife Kay visited from Oregon. Always accommodating, they joined whatever activity we did. Chuckling, Eric followed Spence to the south garden potato patch, and Kay climbed to the loft with me.
“Would you help me sort the daisy blocks?” Opening the carton I kept Maggie’s quilt pieces in, I set the stack of thirty-one daisy blocks on the sewing table.
Kay leafed through the pile. “They’re all pretty.” Her forehead scrunched. “Why sort them?”
“I don’t want the same daisy pattern next to each other in the finished quilt.” Searching through the pile, I found two similar daisies. “See? These match and should go in different places.”
“Oh.” Kay nodded indulgently.
Sounds of shovels scraping dirt and rocks floated through the screen door and drifted up to the loft. We sorted quilt blocks ending with stacks of three, two, and one. I sketched a chart and labeled spaces for placement.
The fellas switched to building a trellis for peas beside the deck. Hammer taps and male murmurs floated up to the loft.
Kay and I changed to lay out. She sat on the bed for the overview. I crawled on grouchy knees and laid blocks on the floor according to the chart—a triple here, a double there, and singles scattered everywhere. Finger pointing, Kay said again and again, “Move that one.”
After repositioning more than a dozen, I plopped onto my fanny. “Thanks. They look fine.”
“No.” She whirled her hand. “The second one isn’t right.”
“Why not?”
“The greens are wrong.” Her arm motioned. “The stems and leaves flow in one direction through that section. The block greens flow the other direction.”
Picking up the offending block, I placed it on top of another. “Switch it with this?”
She shook her head no for that and several more before nodding yes.
“Don’t move.” I held my hands up like a traffic officer. Handing Kay slips of paper, I said, “Write L-one.” I collected the first row putting the left block on top. Then I secured the pile with a safety pin and Kay’s label. We repeated the task for eight more rows.
After our Oregon visitors left, I finished sewing the 5 by 5 blocks and attached the first three rows of the quilt.
Pleased with my progress, I clicked into a June 19 Google Meet to discuss Chicken Soup for the Soul submissions with Maggie. I wiped my eyes reading Maggie's heartfelt story about planting tulips in memory of her childhood friend. She aahed through my story of a night bird swooping into the sliding glass door while my cat Gilbert crouched inside.
Invitation
Forcing myself to breathe, I said, “They’re beautiful Maggie.”
She blushed. “Thanks.”
“No gifts?”
She nodded and pressed her lips together.
I’m not sure how I got through the meeting and stumbled into bed. As a former elementary school teacher, I follow rules. I didn’t want to offend my friend, but I’d nearly assembled her Daisy Patch Quilt top.
Sleep evaded me. I fretted. Morning arrived. The room spun so fast I couldn’t get out of bed to fetch my meclizine—a moot point since the tablets wouldn’t work. For years I’d been careful not to trigger dizzy spells. “Spence,” I bleated like a goat.
He came running. “What’s wrong?”
“Vertigo.” I placed my hand on my forehead as if to keep my brains from spinning away. “My meclizine’s out of date. Would you please drive to a pharmacy and get some for me?”
Spence straightened the covers around me. “Stay there. I’ll be right back.”
Pictures on the wall whirled. I faced facts. Getting vertigo wasn’t a coincidence. I’d let the no present request upset me.
Maggie occasionally sent me an Amazon package with a note, “Just because.” Perhaps the quilt could be a “just because” too.
The swirling slowed a tad even before Spence brought me the pill and a glass of water.
In the next five weeks, I attached blocks for all nine rows and added a dark green border, making a top 80 by 100 inches. My small sewing machine can’t fancy stitch through the top, batting, and backing for a quilt that large. I folded the three layers and packed them in a pillowcase for Tracy, who works at Fox’s Sew and Vac in Meadville. Handing her the three layers on July 11, I confessed. “I meant to make a double Irish chain quilt, but I goofed.”
Tracy pulled the quilt top out and waved her hand in dismissal. “It’s beautiful the way it is. What color thread did you want for quilting?”
We chose a green thread and a daisy pattern with swirling lines for the stitches.
“I also need a fat quarter for the label. Do you know someone who embroiders? The shop I used has closed.”
Tracy’s cheeks turned a peachy-rose color. “I can embroider it for you.” She even offered to shrink the fabric so I didn’t have to run home, do the deed, and bring it back.
July 28, returned to Fox’s. Tracy grinned and unfolded the quilt. It was my turn to say, “Beautiful!” Her stitching made the quilt pop.
Daisy Patch Quilt - Whole View
I wanted to give Maggie her guilt before the wedding. Because we’d canceled so many writing sessions for vacations and wedding preparations, I wanted to see her too and catch up. I emailed.
M: Sure we can! Where?
We picked August 14 at Wells Wood. She would drive over after work.
I trimmed the quilt edges, attached the binding, and sewed the label on the back—finished by August 12.
Maggie arrived in her jeep. We took a quick tour of the log house—because she can’t be around the three cats—and walked through the woods with Spence. Spence wandered off. Maggie and I settled on the porch with rooibos ice tea and peanut butter pretzels.
“Wait a minute,” I said when she sat. “I have to get something.”
“No worries.” She pointed her chin toward the evergreen nursery. “I’ll look at the view.”
Hustling inside, I fetched the Amazon box I’d wrapped in a yellow and gold fabric. I plopped the box beside her. “Open it.”
The summer tan drained from her face. “What’s this?”
“Just because.”
Fingers trembling, she slid the gold ribbon off, unfolded the fabric, and lifted the carton flaps. She gasped. “Oh, wow.” Her hand stroked the quilted fabric. “This is beautiful, Janet.”
“There’s a long story behind the quilt,” and everything I’d kept from Maggie for seven months tumbled out—the internet browsing, pattern sketching, fabric shopping, careful sewing, mistake discovering, and Sandi declaring, “God made it a Janet quilt.”
Tears brimmed in Maggie’s eyes. “It’s perfect as it is. It’s one of a kind.” And she told me her story.
“I needed a quilt in our bedroom. After the wedding, we’re replacing the window. It has awful mauve darkening shades.” Maggie wiped at her eyes, keeping her other hand on the quilt. “I was getting frustrated looking online. None of the quilts looked right. I was ready to give up.”
My eyes brimmed with tears. “There’s a reason you couldn’t find a quilt online, Maggie.”
We nodded. Friends. We didn’t need the words, but I spoke them aloud anyway.
“Your quilt was waiting for you here.”
Maggie and the Daisy Patch Quilt
Now that there is a fine Chicken Soup for the Soul story, kid. Beautiful quilt, beautiful bride, and beautiful friendship. :)
ReplyDeleteThanks, Babs. I'll keep that in mind if an appropriate topic comes up.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful quilt. Marilyn
ReplyDeleteThanks, Marilyn.
Delete