Another Woman's Quilt

I'm not sure why repurposing this particular old quilt should have struck such a nerve with me. I've taken "cutters" before and fashioned toys, vests and jackets from them. I've given what many people would have tossed into the trash new life.

But this quilt bothered me. Perhaps it was the detail: small squares, perhaps 1 1/2 inches, hand cut, hand sewn, hand-quilted onto a nondescript beige muslin with real cotton complete with cotton stem bits for batting. In no place was the pattern complete; it was not a show quilt of perfection. Instead it was meant for warmth. I think part of it came from a man's shirt, the pattern had the look of that.

I needed a new insert for my Canton cart. The original black one had torn, its velcro slipping and the whole thing worthy only of the trash. I found this quilt in my stash (she who dies with the most fabric wins). I don't remember where I got it, probably an estate sale for a bargain price. The black squares had deteriorated to the point of shredding and the top and bottom were not even cutter worthy.

So why should I grieve another woman's quilt when I've taken the middle and fashioned a cart insert? When I've given it a second chance? Perhaps it was the smallness of the squares or the fact that I've made six quilts for my grandchildren since I last repurposed a quilt. Perhaps I worry that someday someone will repurpose one of the ones I have so lovingly worked on and presented.

Perhaps.

A day of silence

My iPhone and I are friends. I rely on it (I've never assigned gender, although my car is female and my iPad is, ummm, male, I think) to find me when needed and to get me the people I need when I need them. I don't tax its systems. If I'm home and the call is local, I use the house phone. My iPhone is for contacts and calendars and quick "dialing."

So when I went to Canton Trade Days last Friday and found I had No Service, I wasn't particularly bothered. It was a very busy day. Great weather and people everywhere. Of course, the lines would be busy. But when I consistently had No Service--not even a lonely little bar which would indicate I might not get a call out but I could at least try--I started to feel a bit of anxiety. What if somebody needed me? I couldn't even access my travel partner to confirm our rendezvous. I started to listen to the loud speaker very carefully.

Then I noticed there were fewer people than usual talking on their cell phones. The place is normally a hotbed of cellular conversation, everything from "I'll deal with that when I get home" to "I told you I was going to Canton" to "Where did you say that was located?" Some people were chatting away, but most were not.

There'd been a huge storm in the vicinity a few days earlier. Had a tower gone down? No one mentioned it. I turned on my iPad and it showed a cellular signal, but I couldn't get a play out on Words with Friends. The dial spun and spun and spun and would still be spinning if we were there, I think.

We were halfway home before my friend got a call on her phone, a sure sign that civilization wasn't far away. But it was a lonely day at Canton and I realized just how dependent I am on the idea of always being in touch.

About to be the Season

Has it really been over a week since I last blogged? Egad! Where have I been?

Right here. Not doing anything special. I did go to Canton First Monday trade days on Saturday and that was wonderful, not that I bought much but the weather was so lovely. The trees were changing color and maybe that's what I've been doing: looking instead of blogging, although I did manage to write on my new book.

So, it was an ah-ha oh-no moment when I realized that it was the first of November and my Christmas list had yet to be made. In my younger days, the ones with young children and no computer/Internet, where I actually cooked full meals instead of trying to see if a meat, veggie, and bowl of fruit would satisfy us, I started my Christmas list and therefore, my Christmas shopping, in August. That was even before we exchanged names within the larger half the family or, as we do now, a Chinese gift exchange where I'm responsible for just two presents. (Other than the children of course. Children always get presents.)

So, there was really no excuse for just now getting down to business. As I drove to Dallas Saturday afternoon, my husband pulled out a small notebook and we started taking notes and actually discussing who/what. (This differs from previous years when I'd be asked on Christmas Eve--as we put all the presents into the car--if we had something for everyone and what it was. No comment.)

Once home, I transcribed our notes into something more legible. How did this get away from me? We've a grandson due any day now, so I really need to get cracking on this, as I know where my mind and heart are going to be. My saving grace may be the Internet. My gosh, had we had it 25 years ago, I might have finished by July!