Collage: My Sewing Desk is a Mess!

May 5, 2024August 30, 2025 Elizabeth E.12 Comments

(And some other stuff)

I’m not by nature a terrifically tidy sewer, preferring to let my (ahem) creativity spill all over when I stitch. But doing one of those collage quilts where you iron on the fusible interfacing then layer it up, is a new level of Mess. I will clean it up when I’m finished, but here’s where I am now. I started this because the Utah Valley Quilt Guild (I’m a proud member, just too far away) hosted Emily Taylor, aka the Collage Quilter, as I mentioned in this post.

cherries! BEFORE

Yep, it was a total fail. Because Steam-A-Seam is like working with plastic, I just peeled all that stuff off and started again…with fewer fabrics. Or, as Mies van der Rohe used to say, “less is more.” Boy, howdy, but maybe not in these fruits.

I got the hang of it on these strawberries. It seems like every time I switch to a new fruit, there is a new learning curve.

All the watermelon sections finished. I read all sorts of cautions about not pressing them TOO much before they are on the fabric, so these are sort of tacked down and lightly pressed.

The fabric selection for the center proceeds apace, with the lower three fabrics picked up in Utah, when I went up there for Dad’s memorial. The cross weave pattern on the fabric on top was the right scale, but too burgundy-ish and cream-ish to be right. I like the second one — a bias-printed plaid — a lot (especially the colors) but was worried the scale might be wrong. It’s a good backing or binding fabric, though. Daisies are in the running, but am leaning to the fourth one down: the double-plaid. My brain is on auto-pilot now and that’s what the pattern designer had. Fine. I’ll do whatever’s on the pattern (haha).

Next up are peaches, pears and grapes, and happily my friend Susan of PatchworknPlay sent me her beautiful watercolor so I could figure out pears. Then we’ll see about putting it all together.

We left very early in the morning to fly up to Utah and arrived well before the time the memorial would start. So we spent some time walking around the plaza near Temple Square in Salt Lake City, admiring the flowers (below). While I loved the tulips (multiple varieties and colors), I also loved these little ones at the end, which look like a cross between a daisy and a baby mum. Anyone know what they are?

Since you’ve already seen a photo of my dear aunts, here’s another one of us with my sister Christine, an artist from New York, just after the memorial. My sister Susan talked, as did two of my brothers, Andy and Scott. We also heard from three grandchildren.

After the memorial and the family luncheon arranged by my lovely sister Cynthia, I went to my son’s, where I found my granddaughter deep in T-shirt-quilt construction. She’d watched a YouTube video, gone to JoAnn’s to get interfacing and figured it out. She’s like that. And…after trying to help her cut the strips for the sashing, we went to JoAnn’s to get a new cutting mat, new rotary cutter and a couple of rulers. (I told her to hide them from her family.)

We went in her Tesla and she showed me some of the modes on her screen, including one where you can embarrass your friends. She also used Auto-Drive, or whatever it is called, to get us to JoAnn’s. I was alternately freaked out as well as thinking: this could come in handy when I’m older!

Later, she sent me a photo of her completed first quilt, her voice on the phone full of excitement.

Homeward bound later that night, I took photos out the airplane window, a time-honored practice. I had really struggled all week with getting the layering of shadow and light in the fruits I was making, and in looking at this nighttime scene, I thought it would be good practice to try to figure out where shadows are delineated, and where light glows through the dark.

I thought about the talks at my father’s memorial, the stories from his grandchildren and his children about how his life was — how our lives are — a combination of light and shadow. But the lessons we learn as we travel through these darker places teach us humility, strength, and the power of saying “I’m sorry,” as well as the incalculable blessing of forgiving one another (and ourselves) for failures.

I once titled a quilt: “Shadow Owes Its Life to Light.” We have no shadows that aren’t connected to light. Light, as heard in my granddaughter’s voice, when she finishes her T-shirt quilt top. Light, when watching my niece Brittany cuddle her new baby. Light, when my sister-in-law Julie, who nearly died last year, is sitting at the table, telling us stories about her students. Or my 92-year-old aunt, all of five feet, lighting up a conversation with younger nephews, the young men towering over her.

Oh, how I will my miss my father, just as I have missed my mother!

May their memories be a blessing for life in the world to come–
(from here)

the view from 35,000 feet.

Small Steps: Push-Pull

April 21, 2024August 30, 2025 Elizabeth E.11 Comments

I’ve been thinking a lot about Push, and Pull.

The terms are popularly used when discussing how we interact with the internet. We receive Push Notifications, which means that someone, somewhere is sending us information or things that can be helpful. Or not. We can choose where we go, pulling information to us in terms of blogs (like this one, thank you). We can also pull information from bank sites, news sites, school and medical sites so we can gather information or read for pleasure.

We are familiar with push-pull in our own lives, aside from the internet. For example, when I go to a Guild meeting like I did this week, and have to show up early to set up the book sale, take minutes, make sure the substitute photographer is squared away (because the regular one didn’t show up), serve on the Nominating Committee (hallelujah — we got our President-Elect!), it is a push because NONE of those jobs are what I officially do (I run the website). Some activities in our lives are push-pull: volunteering, for example. Or paying attention to the weeds in the garden because you want to plant flowers.

But if I can plan an appliqué project, take a 3300-mile road trip visiting family (and grandson Alex, below) and enjoy time with my husband, I’d call it mostly a pull.

This idea of push-pull on the internet was discussed in a radio interview of Kyle Chayka with Ezra Klein. During their discussions about the nature of the internet these days, as well as Chayka’s newest book, Filterworld, I became interested in this idea. What is pushed onto me, and how does it affect how I feel about the quality of my life? And what is the effect of all that pushing? Chayka feels like it changes how we view things on the internet, and why — perhaps — our eyes glaze over quickly:

CHAYKA: “I mean, most of the encounters we have with culture online are pretty bad, I think. We do have much more choice in what we consume and all of these other possibilities surround us. But what we lack is that kind of museum-like experience or movie theater-like experience where you do have to sit with something and think about it and puzzle your way through it without flipping to get an answer.”

EZRA KLEIN chimed in: “And the problem with the push internet is it’s not really under your control, right? It’s about what the force pushing is doing. But as that became bigger, people stopped doing the things that allowed the pull internet to exist. There aren’t so many blogs anymore. Not none, but there are fewer. People put their effort — because it’s the easier way to find audience and eventually to make a living — into the algorithmic spaces. And so there’s simply less of this other thing there to explore.”

CHAYKA: “I think a feeling I’ve been having a lot lately is that scarcity is often what creates meaning. When you’re surrounded by infinite possibilities, when you know around the next corner is another video that might be funnier or more to your liking, you’re never going to sit with the thing that’s in front of you. You’re never going to be forced to have the patience, or the fortitude maybe, or the kind of willpower to fight through something and figure out if you truly like it or not.” ~ Kyle Chayka

Sitting with the thing in front of you.
Museum-like experience.
Algorithmic spaces.
Push is not under our control.
Scarcity creates meaning.
Puzzle our way through it.

How much of our life is a “push” experience? How much of our activities and interests are “pull”? Do we value our time at the machine, or with cloth, or with the needle because it is a “scarce” activity? Or because we had the patience and stick-to-it-iveness to finish the stitching, the quilting, the cutting?

I guess it could be both. I guess it could be all.

Final image: Made in the 1600s for one of the popes, this smallish curio cabinet is a classic example of sitting with the thing in front of you until it is finished. Although I have to admit that if I were the cabinet-maker on the other side of the centuries, it might be feeling like a push. And that’s how it goes, right? I saw this in the Getty Museum in March.

Something to Think About

Filling the Days…with Quilting

January 30, 2024August 30, 2025 Elizabeth E.14 Comments

I have treasured all your messages to me, and have read them over and over. Thank you for all your kind words on the occasion of the loss of my father. I will miss him greatly. I was unable to reply to you all individually; however, I appreciate what you said. I thought I would talk about some of the things that I’ve been doing to pass the time, fill the time, mark the time.

About a week before his death we knew the arc of Dad’s life was bending slowly to the earth, but it was Road to California Week, kind of an event around here and I had two classes, one from Lori Kennedy (on the left, above) and one from Annie Smith (right). I won the lottery on my teachers, not only for their classes, but for their humanity. I was pretty quiet on Monday during Lori’s but on Thursday when I walked into Annie’s, I had been crying the whole way there. Both women were sympathetic to this week of pre-grieving, kind souls who recognized a quilter in distress. I am glad to have met them both, and also to learn from them in many ways (yes, we talked death and it didn’t upset either of them). They both just sort of let me be creative on my own, far away from the goals of the class, so I just quilted in Lori’s, and drew a version of an appliqué block (“Citrus Grove”) in Annie’s.

They were kind.

Saturday, I had determined to pose by my quilt, and I did. It was down the aisle from a stupendous quilt so most people just walked by, but that’s the game. That’s my smile when I felt like like I was stuffed with cotton batting, trying to produce a smile, but really wanting to cry, but gosh — it was Road, and I did want to see the quilts. Ever have days like that? (There are lots of YouTube videos of Road 2024, if you can’t wait for me.)

This was in the Cherrywood exhibit and I loved the colors they chose this year: a punch of green and orange together, along with the black. This one is one of my favorites. And I loved Picatso (below), by Nikki Hill. Click on the cat to see the whole mini quilt. A classic.

Because I sewed on a sit-down with the feature of “optical reading” of motion in my class with Lori Kennedy, and because I already had a Sweet Sixteen sit-down machine, I went to the Handiquilter booth to see what they had. This was their newest: the Insight Table. It will help me keep my stitches more even (I hope). There’s now one in my quilting room, and I pinned up Happy Valley to practice on. But I haven’t yet quilted on it.

That next day, just at the end of last week, we had our trees trimmed, something which happens every two or three years. Remember, in California, things never stop growing; we even mow our lawns in the winter. Yes, there is some dormancy, but cutting off excess and grinding it up to get rid of it is something we do. This was also the week that my family was planning/not planning the funeral events for my Dad. In some upset moments, I wish I could have brought a truck like the one on the right and thrown in all my excess feelings and ground them up. Mom was pretty specific with what she wanted for her service, and we did it. Dad was also specific with what he wanted…but we aren’t doing it. I read about this online and this situation can be common with the death of the remaining parent. Siblings can split up over this sort of thing (I have friends who have lost their whole family).

Families are more fragile than trees.

I brought this quilt to the finish line. My husband helped me sort out the borders for this 2023 temperature quilt, and it’s ready to go to my quilter’s.

Remember how I wrote about that local quilt store that closed at the end of the year around here? I put some of that fabric to good use with this backing. If you are doing a Temperature Quilt, buy yourself a tea towel on ETSY with the calendar on it. I also added a stylized image of California and the temperature key I also finished:

I had chatted with Lori about the temperature quilts she and her sister were making in Minnesota, after seeing mine. When we talked later that week, she told me she liked my free pattern, but that I’d made a mistake: the temperatures only went to 36 degrees on the low side. Yeah, she’s right. It’s a California scale. We laughed about it and she said she’d add more. (And, um, don’t judge the embroidery. I don’t know why I can’t do the stem stitch. I do much better when it’s the back stitch.)

Nights this past couple of weeks have been hard. I saw that inscription when we visited Chicago this past September and Isaac Barrow was right. First I was reading Home, by Marilyn Robinson, and the ending of that book echoed what was going on in our family: the family being called home as the father was fading. One of the main characters, Glory, tended to cry — boy, could I identify with her. It was a powerful book of loss, of love, and a nod to the Parable of the Prodigal Son. Then I turned to something completely different: a sheep mystery, Three Bags Full, translated from the German. Both were “effectual comforters”. Three Bags Full was a “cheerful companion,” and Home was a “wholesome counselor.” I decided to read them in real book form, as I needed to hold onto something tangible at night in those evening hours that are hard to pass. We also are enjoying the PBS series All Creatures Great and Small. I’m glad these quiet stories are here.

My friend Charlotte gave me this Amaryllis for Christmas, and everyday we notice changes: from one blossom, to two, and now two more are opening up to make four. She says to plant it in the garden when I’m done with it, and it will come up every year. I’m in this interesting “slowed-down time” — different from than when my mother died — where I take life at a less hectic pace: quiet dramas on television, watching lilies bloom, and reading paper books. The grief is not as profound, I can tell. Just different. Next week I’m grabbing my children who are coming up for the committal and we’ll be clearing out my parent’s apartment. It does make me re-evaluate what I’m hanging on to, and getting rid of.

I’ve been trying to be diligent about keeping up with my morning walks, and today — after I dropped Three Bags Full at the library dropbox downtown — I walked around those streets. I thought the Katarina tile was appropriate to what I’m going through.

If only we could just open a faded red door to get more power for ourselves.

It says: Be Kind to Yourself Today.

Something to Think About

Reverse Course

January 7, 2024August 30, 2025 Elizabeth E.12 Comments

Wait. I thought we had just gotten started on this New Year’s thing, you say, and now you want to reverse course? Yes, because I am saving you from taking on too many things. And saving me, too. In some circles it’s called a “chuck-it list,” the reverse course of a “bucket list,” which we’ve all heard of way too much. I’ve also been reading about a parallel concept to FOMO (Fear of Missing Out), which is JOMO (Joy of Missing Out), another way to not plow full speed ahead into Everything. For this is the week that resolutions get made, lists of quilts get written, projects get detailed. I’ve seen Way.Too.Many quilt-a-longs this week, too. Some new quilt ideas are genuinely tempting, like this one:

Lindlee of Plains and Pine has designed this, and it really looks wonderful. So many are doing it, so your feed will be filled with color and beauty all year long. I must resist the urge just this year. I’ve already made up my list for 2024, and am doubtful I’ll even get those done (one of which is one of my own patterns, long-lingering on every list I’ve written these past few years, but I want to make it in a different colorway).

What is driving this focus? My Index of Quilts: I’ve made 285 quilts. I count only the ones that are completely finished, which slows the pace a bit. But I’m really close to 300 quilts which is where I turn into a pumpkin, or something. (Stay Tuned.) But in order to get to that 300, which probably shouldn’t be a goal, I have to edit My 2024 List pretty tightly, not letting in other great ideas until I’ve reached that number.

I say this with some caution, knowing that “Focusing on pursuing our goals often leaves us running on a treadmill of desire and frustration,” as Valerie Tiberius writes in her article, “Why you should swap your bucket list with a chuck-it list.” She goes on to say, “Discarding goals that we really care about is difficult; failing to complete them can elicit sadness or regret.” Like me, with the above Temperature Quilt.

If I hadn’t just finished this one, there’s no way I wouldn’t be jumping in. (But there is always 2025.)

And I pinned up this appliqué mid-December, and have finished the two sides. Now to tackle the middle, with those vines. The dots were a birthday gift in 2022, and it’s taken me this long to figure out what I wanted to do. Working Title: Twilight Garden. So right there, there are two projects on my New Year’s List, along with seeing the Total Solar Eclipse in Texas (April), a trip to La Jolla, California (end of this month) with my three sisters to celebrate my recent milestone birthday, traveling with my DH this fall, and a list of quilts to be considered.

In days long past, I’d splash those goals up here — a way to keep “myself accountable” — or something like that. But given the tight real estate on the birthday cake (more candles than cake to hold them), I’ll politely decline that course of action. I’ll consider the best days the ones where I can work happy and contented, able to call out across the hallway to my husband, answer a phone call or take a walk, or pause to watch the bees attack the wisteria blossoms with gusto just outside my sewing room window — interrupting all evident progress.

Sometimes reversing course is the best way forward–