Just moments ago I removed this quilt from my dryer. Well, relative moments ago; I’ve since photographed it, and am now writing this post about it. But as I write this post, the quilt in question sits on my sofa, recently finished.
To me, finished for a quilt is laundered. Then a blanket is DONE.
But how much occurs before DONE is achieved; fabrics are purchased, cut, then sometimes they loiter, as other projects emerge. This quilt was cut ages ago, Kona snow and a bunch of vibrant prints, then whiled away much of the latter part of summer in a Baggie, tucked out of sight. I didn’t want the owner, my youngest daughter’s best friend and mum-to-be of Master Z, to find it when she came for her baby shower at our house. The family of quilts kept this one stilled, but last week I put it together, alongside the baby quilts. Finished hand-sewing the binding (light blue Kona that matches the blue on the back) a couple of days ago, then washed it this morning. Stuck it in the dryer, ran some errands, then returned home to a completed quilt.
Oh, if only it were that easy. Toss some squares of fabric into the washing machine, and voila! But it’s far more work than that, steps that lend themselves to whatever fits in my life at that time. For example; this morning I cut fabrics for one of my next projects, with another stack waiting in the wings. After I get back from Dad’s appointment at the doc, I’ll go to town on those quilts, as hopefully I’ll have all (or most) of the fabrics cut. Cutting fabrics is an essential part of the process, but it doesn’t involve the sewing machine. It’s like the plotting stage of writing a novel.
And speaking of books… I’m also hoping to get back into The Hawk when I return. I want to write a post about how much I ache to continue that tale, but quilts get in the way. But writing The Hawk is sort of like making a quilt; contemplating various ideas before I actually start typing. I’ve been thinking about that story as I cut fabrics, wash quilts, heck, even while sewing those comforters.
But I truly don’t need more time in the day. Twenty-four hours is plenty, believe me. All things in their own (darn) good time, that’s my motto.