Things Didn’t Go As Planned

December 27, 2025December 26, 2025 Elizabeth E.13 Comments

Or, We Stayed Home This Christmas.

It certainly wasn’t intentional. We’d been planning this year-end trip with our son for four months. He and his lovely wife Kim were taking their four daughters (and one new son-in-law) to three European cities and invited us to come. Oh, boy, we were thrilled! However, two days before Thanksgiving the Scooby-Doo muscles in my husband’s shoulders (or whatever they’re called) went on strike and he could hardly move. We cancelled our Thanksgiving plans. I forbade him to get out the Christmas boxes. We visited the ER, our doctor (twice), had an MRI, and now he’s in PT. But still, the Christmas trip was a go, albeit tentative.

Here we are, the pose at the beginning airport.

I had my squircles–I was ready!

Here we are at the connecting airport. Still excited, still ready to go with our little passport pouches and all, posing by a nutcracker. Having stayed out of airports for Christmas for many years, I have to say, it was lovely to see all the nice decorations.

We found our gate, sat down just as the airline cancelled the flight to Amsterdam at the gate next to us, and a whole planeload of people went streaming towards the Help Desk, long lines forming. Glad that’s not us, we said, and of course, after two posted delays (mechanical problems), it was us. We went streaming towards the Help Desk at the far end of the terminal, but that only got you a chance to scan the QR code to see the agent (one of three). We grabbed a cup of soup, and after some more time, we were at the top of the list. The options were not good. Because of the Amsterdam cancellation, flights were already full that were leaving. After some time, I looked at my hurting husband, and we both realized we couldn’t complete the trip, given the new (possible, but certainly not probable) itinerary. So much was up in the air, and three hours later, we were too, returning home.

I spent some time looking out the window, the trip so close, yet so far. The plane trouble was “hydraulic problems,” which of course, would cancel the flight.

We welcomed photos of our son and his family as they hit the sights. We went to church two days later and I wept through the service, so incredibly disappointed in missing out on creating memories with this part of our family. We’ve been to all these cities before, but it was the time and experiences with these lovely four young women we would miss.

I have a great church community. By the time we left Christmas Sunday services, we had three invitations to dinner, to help fill this lonely week.

The first was an outside movie night with lots of friends: The Muppets Christmas Carol, one of my favorites. We stayed for a while, grateful for friends and laughing children and pizza, then I took my husband home.

I found this kit I’d purchased some time ago, and thought: no time like the present. I had lots of time, so started cutting. My sisters and daughter began calling me every day.

One of those days in there, I opened up the 2026 calendar book, and started getting that set up. [After my regular calendar planner stopped publishing, I tried out Golden Coil last year and liked it. I made some tweaks to this year’s layout, but am using it again.] I backed up our photo libraries onto a new drive, doing my squircles while I waited. My husband used the heating pad and tried to get better. We talked out what we went through, only now considering options we couldn’t see that night in the airport.

I left the calendar notice on my Phone, but what you can’t see is the word Cancelled after the Ellipsis. And yes, we went to the Dillman home for dinner one night, for a delicious meal of pork roast and potatoes (I brought rolls) with their two young boys, our “adopted” grandsons since our family lives so far away.

More calendar prep, with stickers from my sister Susan. My old calendar had monthly tabs and this one doesn’t, so I add them (click on the right photo to see the tabs).

I went to Michael’s on Christmas Eve to see the new “JoAnn’s stuff.” Waste of time. I did post about it on Instagram where people definitely have something to say.

We stayed in the rest of this day as the rains arrived — something we’ve needed all fall. I made Creamy Tortellini Soup, and we had a quiet night. I figured if I could make it to Christmas dinner at our friends, I might probably stop being weepy.

We head out on a walk on Christmas morning, our neighborhood washed clean by the rain, where I say hello to the lovely Grevillea ‘Superb’ bush. This is at the halfway mark, and it was about now that I stopped aching, knowing my disappointment was but a small thing. Time and perspective help: we have each other and will have other Christmases.

The Giffords host us, two new faces folded into their family table of children and grandchildren; I’m incredibly grateful for this kindness, and they make us feel welcome: no strangers at this meal. We enjoy the true spirit of Christmas as envisioned by Dickens in his Christmas Carol, and as preached in the gospel of Luke.

I finish up the cutting of the quilt later on that night.

Every night I enjoyed the smiles of my family on their trip.

The day after Christmas, another morning walk, then I’m back in the sewing room. I’d cleaned it up, cleared it up before leaving, but now it was time to mess it up again with scraps of fabric, bits of pattern directions pinned to a quilt over my cutting table. Time to thread the machine, plug the iron back in and fire it up.

Would I ever have a chance like this again?

A chance to say to my husband, you are the most important thing in my life and if we need to stay home, we will? A chance to feel the goodness of our friends as they welcomed me into their homes, living the gospel that the Christ child came down to earth to teach? A chance to take a walk in a freshly-washed world and see the amazing beauties all around me?

I hope so.

So often life is not what we expect, and between you and me, it can be hard to shift gears, especially after thinking and dreaming about something for four months. But thank heaven for angels all around me, for creativity which pulls me forward, for counting my blessings which ground me.

I hope you had a Merry Christmas. In the end, I did too.

Haha. This was in one of the airport gift shops.

Provence, Blues and Sewing Machines

June 12, 2010August 28, 2022 Elizabeth E.1 Comment

The French fabrics have arrived and they are beautiful.

But yesterday’s work was cutting 250-plus 6″ blue squares (5 1/2″ finished). Of course, I was delayed in the forward progress by running off to a couple of quilt shops to see if they had something to add to this melange. That’s something I used to do a lot before Professoring and before the Internet. I used to make the rounds, collecting colors, shades, patterns and I have to say it was a thoroughly enjoyable process. There’s something unique about being involved with the tactile when selecting fabrics–the feel of the cloth, the hand, whether they are a rough texturey linen or a smoothly woven cotton. Heading to a fabric store is also about the hunt: what will I find? In yesterday’s case, not much. That makes me glad that the internet exists, as in the case of the ability to find–and purchase–the French fabrics.

We have our region’s Quilters Run next weekend and both stores were slicked up in their Sunday Best, ready for the hordes. All the bolts were lined up, edges folded in, notions arranged, with a variety of quilts on the wall or artfully draped over the displays. In one corner of one store was a display of Featherweight machines of all kinds, as well as some vintage toy Singer sewing machines.

It reminded me of the toy Singer Sewing Machine machine that my mother used to play with and which she gave it to me a long time ago. This one’s not as shiny or gussied up as the ones in the store but it has nice quality that those don’t others don’t: a remembrance of my mother.

But I did catch a look at the price they wanted for theirs: $145.00. A non-toy Featherweight Singer sewing machine like the one I have (which I purchased at a garage sale) now goes for $495.00. I told Dave that it’s nice to know that some of my treasures accrue in value without me doing anything but hanging out, living, and getting older. I’m going to resist any gags about how they’re gaining in value as opposed to what’s happening to me, as I hang out, live and get older.

Journal Entry · Something to Think About

Deconstructing

May 29, 2010August 28, 2022 Elizabeth E.2 Comments

I made this quilt a couple of years ago, cutting and piecing all in a rush to get it done, working with my collection of fabrics from France. That was my self-imposed structure: only fabrics that I had from France, and that limitation shows in this quilt.

I liked the design, but I had to use oranges instead of yellows, greens instead of navy, brown and purples instead of deep blues in the border. I had finished it, but it wasn’t working. The contrasts were off somehow, betrayed by the color, for sometimes when person looks at a fabric they think they are seeing something different–for a brown does look different from a green–but the lack of strong contrast can betray a quilt; contrast is needed to strengthen this particular design. Although it was finished, it was weak at the core.

Last year at our local quilt show was a new vendor–one who had bolts and bolts of real French indienne fabrics–those little prints that resemble polka dots or men’s ties. I bought two more lengths of yellow, and 8-10 pieces of navy blue, this quilt in the back of my mind.

But who wants to rip up and fix an old quilt? Maybe that’s how some of those quilt tops that are present in other booths at the quilt show came to be: lovely tops but just not quite right, as if the maker put it all together then decided to move on to something else, the top folded away to be taken up at another time.

But now I have the fabrics, the time. It’s a leap of faith, I think, to un-make a quilt. This stack could easily become a pile of blocks put back into a box to be sold some years hence at a quilt show. Or passed down to grandchildren who are learning to sew. Or given away to the thrift store. Or simply chucked in the trash. I took several deep breaths before giving a satisfying tug, pulling it apart at the seams.

It took me the better part of an evening to do this. I listened to the radio show This American Life, streamed down on my computer, listened to sounds my husband was making as he worked and moved through the house, thought about someone I loved who had just announced he was divorcing. I’ve been in that situation–divorcing–and that too, is a leap of faith. Only instead of blocks, there are children, houses, cars and sofas. Instead of threads, there are memories. But sometimes a marriage is just not right, and like a quilt, the problems often don’t show up until the quilt is complete.

I worked steadily, setting the separated blocks in a growing stack. When I finished that night, I had a soft pile of four-by-four squares, and a mess of thread on the carpet. I turned out the light, and went to bed, offering up extra prayers for those who are un-doing, ripping apart things to set lives finally right.

Un-making, I think, is an act of courage.

Journal Entry

Things Remain Undone

April 9, 2010August 28, 2022 Elizabeth E.

On the way to meet my son Chad for lunch, I caught the last of an interview with Ian McEwan on the occasion of his new book, Solar, and heard Mr. McEwan read this snippet:

“He’d been deluded. He’d always assumed that a time would come in adulthood—a kind of plateau—when he would have learned all the tricks of managing, of simply being. All mails and emails answered, all papers in order, books alphabetically on the shelves. Clothes and shoes in good repair in the wardrobes and all his stuff where he could find it. . . the private life settled and serene. In all these years, this settlement, the calm plateau had never appeared. And yet he had continued to assume, without reflecting on the matter, that it was just around the next turn, that he would exert himself and reach it. . . . [About the time his daughter was born] he thought he saw for the first time that on the day he died he would be wearing unmatching socks, there would be unanswered emails, and [at home] there would still be shirts missing cuff buttons, a malfunctioning light in the hall, unpaid bills, uncleared attics, dead flies, friends waiting for a reply. . . “

So Mr. McEwan finally captures the frantic race we all feel to Get Stuff Done, but we rarely achieve that “settlement, that calm plateau” he writes about. That would explain the mess in my study. That would explain why the cracked tiles in my bathroom have not been replaced in three years. That would explain the general overwhelmingness that visits me for for sometimes very lengthy intervals, riding around on my shoulder, a little chirpy voice whispering in my ear while the pen scratches out on paper a list of things that need to be done, no, must be done.

I’ve always had this belief that I can get caught up, and in some places there is a division of labor in my life: the grading will finish, the students will no longer show up in class, the fences will be built, the house will get painted. And then I start believing that this finality will gradually appear in other areas of my life: the quilts all sewn, the closets cleaned out, the floor mopped, the laundry completed.

Obviously, it’s not a belief. It’s a fantasy.