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Tonight I finally sat down at the sewing machine that I've inherited--Mom's Janome MemoryCraft 6600 Professional. The "professional" simply means, in this case, "more machine than Sandy can handle." It's a little intimidating. My other machine--my former only machine--was also a Janome; I am, after all, Shirley's daughter and she was a Janome girl so I became a Janome girl. But mine was slightly-better-than-purely-functional. It's computerized, it's got a few fancy stitches and nifty do-jobbers and thingies, but it's a pretty straightforward machine. I really like my usual machine; I was quite ready to use it for several more years. At least until we finish paying college tuition, anyway.
But now I've got one of Mom's machines and my former machine has become my portable-take-to-class machine, tucked away in a corner with its dust cover. I guess it's earned a bit of a vacation.
I've had the 6600 installed in my sewing cabinet for about a week now, the new plastic insert in place, the knee lift inserted...but it took me awhile to get up the courage to sit down and start playing. Part of it is emotional, of course. But part of it is also hearing my Mom's voice every time any of us got near her machine when we were kids..."Be careful! That's not a toy!" For years, any time an offspring used her sewing machine, we'd manage to jam it. Mom got understandably a bit gun-shy about us coming within breathing distance of them. Even after I had been quilting for years, I maintained a bit of a fear-factor when it came to Mom's machines. I've known she had some pretty cool new machines for some time, but I never asked her if I could try them out. What if I jammed it???
I read the manual cover-to-cover yesterday over breakfast. I reviewed it again this evening sitting at my desk. Finally, carefully, I approached my sewing cabinet, sat in my chair, opened the manual at my side, and addressed the machine. I began to familiarize myself with all the buttons, toggles, do-jobbers and thingies. Finally, I was off and running--playing with embroidery stitches, writing silly messages with the monogramming features, setting it at high speed and letting it rip just to see what happened. Yes, I could still hear Mom's quick intakes of breath as she nervously watched me messing with buttons and craning my neck to see behind the needle as the patterns developed ("Honey, be careful!"), but I could also see her smile as I figured out all the nifty new tricks this puppy does. "Isn't it great? I was really excited to get that feature when I bought it." And that very satisfying whisk and thunk of the automatic thread-cutter? Our hearts were both pounding with excitement over that one.
As I shut down the 6600 a few minutes later, figuring that I hadn't jammed anything yet and probably ought to quit while I was ahead, I felt a bit sad. This is Mom's machine, and Mom should be using it. But I also felt inspired--challenged--motivated--to work on my technique to be worthy of having it.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Global Warming...Contributing to Climate Change
I'm thinking I'm pretty close to creating a micro-environment in my sewing room with all the steam my iron is kicking out these days. I'm still pressing fabric from Mom's stash, working my way through by color family. Neutrals? Check. Reds? Check. Between all my task lights, the computers that live in the same room, and the steam iron, my sewing room/home office is a good ten degrees warmer than the rest of the house, and my hair takes on a rather unattractive frizzy curl when I walk in the door from the hallway.
Every time someone opens the door to come in, I half expect a tornado to develop in the region of my ceiling light.
Ah, but the visual comparison of sloppy, casually folded stacks of fabric laying in waitful repose next to the regimented, ready-for-action measured fabric soldiers awaiting my next command makes it worth it. I would almost think that there was a light compulsive gene that ran in my family but after going through Mom's stash, I know I'm much more anal about these things than she was. Even my collection of 2 1/2" strips from scraps is neatly folded in a bin. Mom's? Well, not so much. Although we all have our own personal compulsions. Mine is for as scrupulously organized a work space as possible. Mom's was quite clearly for gadgets. I'm not sure those two compulsions play well together.
Mom's quilty-friends came out to the homestead yesterday, at my invitation, to go through Mom's quilty stuff and take whatever they wanted. At first they were hesitant; I don't know if they were worried I'd burst into tears or that I'd leap off my stool and say, "Hey, I didn't see that one before! Mine mine mine!" I reassured them that, as for #1, I found it quite comforting to know that Mom would be so happy that people she'd loved and quilted with for so many years would be using her things; as for #2, although I did ultimately take one additional piece of fabric that everyone else had passed over but still tugged at my aesthetic center, I was very much aware of the stacks and piles awaiting me back home that I had yet to find space for. I already have everything I needed and wanted, and I was glad to be able to share the bounty. As I had suspected, sitting and listening to Mom's long-time compatriots and watching their joy in being able to take physical remembrances of their friendship with Mom was at times healing, at times a hoot. I hope I can someday look back at 30-year-quilty-friendships and know that, in that way as well, I had turned into my mother.
Thankfully, they made a nice dent in what was left after my sister and I both went through it. Now all that remains to be done is to clean out my Mom's summer sewing studio up at our family cottage near the Thousand Islands and combine it with what's at home, and then set up the quilter's garage sale. "All that remains...." A smallish phrase for a rather daunting task.
On the docket for tomorrow night? I do believe I'm feeling a teal mood coming on. Watch the Weather Channel for news about unusual weather patterns forming in Western NY.
Every time someone opens the door to come in, I half expect a tornado to develop in the region of my ceiling light.
Ah, but the visual comparison of sloppy, casually folded stacks of fabric laying in waitful repose next to the regimented, ready-for-action measured fabric soldiers awaiting my next command makes it worth it. I would almost think that there was a light compulsive gene that ran in my family but after going through Mom's stash, I know I'm much more anal about these things than she was. Even my collection of 2 1/2" strips from scraps is neatly folded in a bin. Mom's? Well, not so much. Although we all have our own personal compulsions. Mine is for as scrupulously organized a work space as possible. Mom's was quite clearly for gadgets. I'm not sure those two compulsions play well together.
Mom's quilty-friends came out to the homestead yesterday, at my invitation, to go through Mom's quilty stuff and take whatever they wanted. At first they were hesitant; I don't know if they were worried I'd burst into tears or that I'd leap off my stool and say, "Hey, I didn't see that one before! Mine mine mine!" I reassured them that, as for #1, I found it quite comforting to know that Mom would be so happy that people she'd loved and quilted with for so many years would be using her things; as for #2, although I did ultimately take one additional piece of fabric that everyone else had passed over but still tugged at my aesthetic center, I was very much aware of the stacks and piles awaiting me back home that I had yet to find space for. I already have everything I needed and wanted, and I was glad to be able to share the bounty. As I had suspected, sitting and listening to Mom's long-time compatriots and watching their joy in being able to take physical remembrances of their friendship with Mom was at times healing, at times a hoot. I hope I can someday look back at 30-year-quilty-friendships and know that, in that way as well, I had turned into my mother.
Thankfully, they made a nice dent in what was left after my sister and I both went through it. Now all that remains to be done is to clean out my Mom's summer sewing studio up at our family cottage near the Thousand Islands and combine it with what's at home, and then set up the quilter's garage sale. "All that remains...." A smallish phrase for a rather daunting task.
On the docket for tomorrow night? I do believe I'm feeling a teal mood coming on. Watch the Weather Channel for news about unusual weather patterns forming in Western NY.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Tribute to Mom
I wrote the below for Mom's memorial service (held Monday, May 11). I asked my long-time friend and quilting buddy Kate to read it on my behalf, since I didn't think I'd make it through it. Sure enough, she had just barely finished reading the title when I broke down, so I'm forever grateful for her being willing to "be me" for those few minutes that day!
What I Learned about Life, I Learned from My Mom—
Especially When She Taught Me How to Quilt
Mom taught me that while having perfectly matching points is a nice thing, it’s better to know when good enough is good enough.
Mom taught me that sometimes a little tough love is needed—that something that won’t cooperate often just needs a bunch of pins, a really hot steam iron, and a stack of heavy books. Mom also taught me that, like in quilting where colored markers can be my best friend—it is, indeed, often possible to cover up mistakes so no one is ever the wiser.
Mom taught me to see the possibilities in everyone and everything—that even the most difficult fabric can be a thing of beauty when it’s given the right opportunity.
Mom taught me that, while following the pattern and following the rules can be helpful when it suits my purpose, I should feel free to put my own unique spin on it, tweak the pattern to my own ends, throw out the rules if necessary, and sometimes just make it up as I go along.
Mom taught me that not knowing how something would turn out should never stop me from starting it anyway.
Mom taught me that I can always learn something from other quilters—even if it’s just a little thing. So she taught me to enjoy meeting new people and to be insatiably curious—to always keep my ears, eyes, and mind open.
On the other hand, Mom taught me that the most beautiful quilts are the well-used ones; that while meeting new people is good, making them a part of my life is better; that life-long friendships have a depth and breadth that can’t be matched.
Mom taught me that eclectic is good—fabric, techniques, and styles can come from all over the world and should all be part of my repertoire.
Mom taught me about the importance of hospitality—from making teachers and participants at quilt conferences feel welcome and appreciated, to making anyone who came by the house, expected or unexpected, feel immediately at home. Plus, Mom taught me that one must always have a boatload of Christmas and Easter decorations.
Mom taught me to see the whole as the sum of the parts—that random bits and pieces can be pulled together into a cohesive unit and achieve a single goal. Scrap quilts and committees share a whole lot in common.
Mom taught me—much to my husband’s chagrin—that you can never have too much fabric or too many books. The girl with the most gadgets wins!
Finally, Mom taught me that while striving for show-worthy perfection is admirable, what’s more important is surrounding the people I care for with beauty, warmth, comfort when they’re sick, and love they can wrap themselves up in.
What I Learned about Life, I Learned from My Mom—
Especially When She Taught Me How to Quilt
Mom taught me that while having perfectly matching points is a nice thing, it’s better to know when good enough is good enough.
Mom taught me that sometimes a little tough love is needed—that something that won’t cooperate often just needs a bunch of pins, a really hot steam iron, and a stack of heavy books. Mom also taught me that, like in quilting where colored markers can be my best friend—it is, indeed, often possible to cover up mistakes so no one is ever the wiser.
Mom taught me to see the possibilities in everyone and everything—that even the most difficult fabric can be a thing of beauty when it’s given the right opportunity.
Mom taught me that, while following the pattern and following the rules can be helpful when it suits my purpose, I should feel free to put my own unique spin on it, tweak the pattern to my own ends, throw out the rules if necessary, and sometimes just make it up as I go along.
Mom taught me that not knowing how something would turn out should never stop me from starting it anyway.
Mom taught me that I can always learn something from other quilters—even if it’s just a little thing. So she taught me to enjoy meeting new people and to be insatiably curious—to always keep my ears, eyes, and mind open.
On the other hand, Mom taught me that the most beautiful quilts are the well-used ones; that while meeting new people is good, making them a part of my life is better; that life-long friendships have a depth and breadth that can’t be matched.
Mom taught me that eclectic is good—fabric, techniques, and styles can come from all over the world and should all be part of my repertoire.
Mom taught me about the importance of hospitality—from making teachers and participants at quilt conferences feel welcome and appreciated, to making anyone who came by the house, expected or unexpected, feel immediately at home. Plus, Mom taught me that one must always have a boatload of Christmas and Easter decorations.
Mom taught me to see the whole as the sum of the parts—that random bits and pieces can be pulled together into a cohesive unit and achieve a single goal. Scrap quilts and committees share a whole lot in common.
Mom taught me—much to my husband’s chagrin—that you can never have too much fabric or too many books. The girl with the most gadgets wins!
Finally, Mom taught me that while striving for show-worthy perfection is admirable, what’s more important is surrounding the people I care for with beauty, warmth, comfort when they’re sick, and love they can wrap themselves up in.
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