Lost and Found

I have moved a number of times in my life.  These events are usually precedeed by a feeling of panic, where I get rid of a number of items that I would keep on a regular day.  The pre-move garage sale is always a useful purge, but is often followed by regret for years to come. (Just ask my sister about the time we held a garage sale when our parents were moving from Michigan to Arkansas.  We were literally selling the pictures off the walls.  What were we thinking?)

Michael and I held a garage sale right before we moved from Saratoga, Wyoming to Fort Collins.  Granted, most of the items I haven't missed, but for some reason I've been pining for a shadow box that was made especially for me.

Let me back this story up a little bit.  Michael and I lived in Gillette, Wyoming for a year while he was on vicarage.  Gillette will always hold a special place in my heart because it was there that I learned to quilt.  The ladies of the church there welcomed me with a gusto and taught me all the foundations for quilting, many of the skills that I still use today.  When we left, Dianne gave me a shadowbox filled with all kinds of little quilty notions. 

I loved that she had put all those goodies in there just for me, and I had it up in my craft room in Saratoga.  But then when we moved, I just figured I wouldn't have a place for a shadow box, so I sold it to a lady who was going to give it to her daughter who was also sewer.

Oh how I regretted doing that.  I don't know why, but whenever I was sewing that shadow box would pop into my mind.  I remember that Dianne had told me I could take it apart if I wanted to.  Why didn't I do that?  Why?  Why didn't I keep the little scissors and the golden needle?  So I didn't have room for a shadow box.  I certainly had room for some wooden spools and a few buttons.  For some reason the scissors plagued me the most.  I use little thread snipping scissors all the time when I'm sewing, especially because I do a lot of chain piecing.  Whenever my usual pair had wandered away from my sewing machine I would think, "Why didn't I at least keep the scissors?"  This would sometimes be followed up by, "I bet that lady's daughter took the shadow box apart.  I bet she's using the scissors!  Why didn't I think of that!?"

Fast forward a few years.  I was in Saratoga a few weekends ago visiting my friends.  Carol and I decided to go downtown to a thrift store that wasn't even in existence when I lived there.  We had fun wandering around and then I stopped dead in my tracks.  There was my shadow box! The one I had been pining for! There is was, four years later!  I couldn't believe it!  And it was exactly how I remembered it, not a button missing.  There were my little scissors, calling to me.

I would only have to pay $14.50 to get it back. 

Oh my, I had a personal crisis right then and there.  I am super thrifty.  That is WAY too much money for me to spend on an item, especially one I had once owned for free.

I walked away, I came back.  I showed it to Carol, I put it back.  Then I wandered around the store holding it, trying to figure out if they would just let me take the scissors out, and they could still sell the rest.  A saleslady noticed me and said, "I think you want that."  "I do!" I said, and then I told her the WHOLE story.  I even pointed to the little note.  "That's me! I'm Karen!"

She talked to the owner of the store and they told me they would sell me the whole thing for $3.50.  Deal!  Hurray!!!! I almost cried.

I now have all the goodies in my new craft room, where they belong.  And I have a little bit more peace of mind.

P.S.  A few days after I had taken the above picture I was sewing and my usual thread snips had again wandered away.  "Now, where are my little scissors?" I said to myself, and I reached over and grabbed this pair and happily snipped away.

Scrappy Americana

Here is a little story about one of the coolest quilts that I ever made.  It began about eight years ago, when my dear friend Liz and I were both living in St. Louis, Missouri.  We were downtown on the Fourth of July, enjoying all of the fun festivities while we waited for night to descend and the super spectacular fireworks show over the Arch to begin. A lady walked by with a red, white, and blue quilt in her arms and Liz said, "I've always wanted a red, white, and blue quilt." "Really?" I said nonchalantly.  "Yes," said Liz.  I made a mental note right then and there.  Step one: I would learn to quilt.  Step 2: I would make Liz a red, white, and blue quilt.

That was one of those nudging little thoughts that stayed with me for years.  I finally did learn to quilt and the thought never left me, "If I have learned to quilt then I need to make Liz a red, white, and blue quilt, because that is Step 2." When Liz's husband, Rob, joined the army, it seemed even more important to make her a patriotic quilt.

Years later, while I was working at The Sewing Circle, I was helping a woman named Ellen quilt a 4th of July table cloth and it struck me that the time had come to begin Liz's quilt.  I mentioned to my co-worker Diana that I thought I would make a repeat of a quilt I'd already made, but would substitute red and blue for the colors.  It was a relatively simple block pattern.  She told me, "No Karen, you can't make the same quilt twice.  You have to do something new."  Ellen reinforced this by telling me that she would share her scraps with me from her tablecloth.  So that is where I began.  I pieced together Ellen's scraps and recreated a star similar to hers.

Ellen's tablecloth star.

Then I just kept sewing.  I would sew a little here and a little there.  I would often tell people about my project and they would donate red, white, and blue fabric.  It was so fun.  It truly felt like a community quilt.  It was also the first time that I really just sewed fabric together without having a pattern.  It was so exciting and creative.

It took me a couple of years, but I finally finished the quilt.  I literally finished it a night or two before I flew to Tennessee to visit Liz.  I remember as I hand tacked the binding, I was sewing over fabric that was covered in fireworks.  It felt like a celebration to be finally finishing a project that had been years in the making.

Giving Liz the quilt is one of my happiest memories.  We laughed, we cried, we hugged, and shared all kinds of quilty happiness.

Happy Fourth of July, everyone. May it be a celebration of the good things in life.

Little Blondies

I am still at my at my parents' house.  There are so many old pictures everywhere. I've been having fun looking through them.  It makes me realize how strong the genes run through my mom's side of the family.  Take a look at this fun.

Here is my mom as a baby. 

Here is super fat me, rocking the cuteness (in a dress my mom made).

Now check out this bit of fun.  Here is my Aunt Robin. 

Here is me. 

Here is my daughter. 

Whoa! I think we are all definitely related.