I Still Sew, But This Post Is About Biking

Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving. –Unknown

I really miss blogging. I miss having this voice to express my thoughts. But working full time and trying to figure out how to fit the rest of the important things in — how to find the right balance — is difficult. If any of you have that down, will you let me in on the secret? You can imagine that the last two years have been filled with the miraculous and the mundane, almost in equal measure. Today I'm jumping right back in, like I haven't missed a beat. I'm not promising to blog again all the time. I may catch up on some of the more interesting bits of the last two years, but then again, I may not. Maybe I'll poke my head in here now and again, when I have something I need to say. And maybe it will be a few years before I post again.

I'll begin with a little (or a lot of) backstory (because there always is one with me) so you know how I ended up on a bicycle. In April of 2016, the kid who is running the show at work burst into my office all excited about challenging everyone in the company to run a marathon. Yes. 26.2 miles. His brother-in-law was training for one and had gotten him excited about it. He'd talked the owner of the company into paying for the race registration for anyone in the company who wanted to join in. His enthusiasm was so infectious that I thought seriously about it. I texted Mr. Bug, who suggested that anyone who wanted to still have all their own joints when they were 70 should probably stick to 10Ks. I decided against running a marathon.

Back in the day, I joined the 9^th grade track team because the cool kids were doing it. I wasn't fast enough to do the short races and I wasn't coordinated enough to do the hurdles. The coach devoted her time to those with potential and the rest of us were sent off to “run” around the neighborhood during practice. I wasn't coached on technique or told how to work my way into it. I was put into the 800 meter for track meets, and with no training, no love for running and no success, ended any desire to run again.

After making his rounds, this young coworker of mine came back and said that half-marathon registrations would also be paid for by the company for any who wanted to. The idea was intriguing. 13.1 miles seemed a lot more reasonable. So, I found a series of apps that worked you into it and signed up for the half-marathon. The first app was called Couch to 5K (3.1 miles). It lived up to its name and took me from the couch to the ability to run for presumably enough time to finish a 5K, only I was slow. I finished all of the training sessions on the app, and although I still hadn't run a 5K, I moved on to the next app, 5K to 10K (6.2 miles). Midway through the app, my plantar fascia flared up and I had to stop running. I think that I told myself one too many times that I couldn't do it, so my body gave me an “out.” In any case, after about a week, I realized that I missed the physical activity, so I dusted off my bike and started riding.

As per usual, I jumped in with both feet. My first ride was about 7 miles. I loved it so much that I rode 27 miles the next day. I was riding a not-really-a-mountain-bike-but-not-a-road-bike-either with 7 gears. I bought it at a box store when the Not-So-Little Bugs were little. It had sat out in the elements and the chain was a bit rusty. It was a little worse for the wear. But I was excited. I did short, more intense rides on weekday mornings, 5 or 6 miles, and searched the interwebs for longer, organized rides on weekends. I rented a road bike and rack a couple of times and did a 47 mile ride and a 35 mile ride. It was awesome. Then the weather changed.

By chance, I came across a nice entry-level road bike at the outdoor shop where I had rented bikes. It was December and I'd been sent on an errand for work to pick up discounted lift tickets to a local ski resort. While the clerk went to the back office to get the tickets, I looked at the bikes on the rack and noticed a great big 40% off sticker on a pretty red one. I calculated the discounted price and the amount I had in my personal cash stash and saw that I had enough for it. I went home and told Mr. Bug about it and we looked up the specs and decided it was a good buy. I can't remember if I went back to get it that afternoon or if I went the next day, but I was soon the proud owner of an honest-to-goodness road bike.

In January of this year, I signed up for a series of organized rides beginning in June. Over the course of 11 weeks I worked my way up to a hundred miles. I started training in May and did yoga and again rode short, hard rides two or three (or four) times during the week. Saturdays were for the long rides. I started out on my first Saturday with 10 miles and added 10 more miles each Saturday. The first organized ride, on the first Saturday in June, was 50 miles and I rode it with my sister-in-law. Two weeks later, we did a 70 mile ride. And three weeks later we did a hundred. It was crazy and awesome and horrible all at once. I learned a lot about myself and what my mental and physical limits are. But that is a story for another day because we have finally arrived at the point where I can start to tell today's story. Well, actually, it was a few weeks ago.

I was out for a long Saturday ride. 60 miles, to be exact. I'd gotten a later start than I'd planned (because who doesn't like to sleep in on a Saturday), and the day was hot. I hit my wall at 37 miles. I was already headed back at that point, but I and considered calling search and rescue (Mr. Bug) to come get me. I was able to regroup and was feeling pretty good about my day's ride. I had three miles to go and came to a construction area. I'd noted it on my way out. The construction was on the opposite side of the road, and I thought to myself that it might be a good idea to cross back over to this side of the road on my way back and ride against traffic, or even up on the sidewalk, which was extra wide and had a yellow dotted line in the center of it indicating that it was a path of sorts. I wasn't 100% certain that bikes were allowed, and I prefer to ride on the road anyway, because unless it is a paved trail (of which there are a few around here), it is a lot bumpier. When I saw the construction cones, I briefly considered turning back and crossing at the light to ride on the other side of the road, but it was a few blocks back and I was ready to be done. I also didn't want to miss out on the segment recorded by GPS in my workout app by crossing to the other side of the road.

The construction cones were on the white line and there was about six feet of concrete shoulder before it was cut away. Curbing was being laid, so I assumed that the cones were there to keep people from driving off the concrete and damaging their cars. When I saw the gap that had been cut away from the shoulder, it was too late to stop. I couldn't swerve out into traffic because I couldn't see what was coming behind me. I hissed a curse through my teeth and closed my eyes.

{view from the other side}

My mom scolded me later about that when I texted my family group chat to tell them about my adventure. My sister thought it was amusing and asked me in code, using movie references, which word I'd said. Fortunately for me, I hadn't used the same word as Ralphie from A Christmas Story when he lost the lug nuts in the snow while changing the tire with his dad, and there was no need to get out the Palmolive. Instead, I echoed Biff Tannen from Back to the Future as he ran his shiny black convertible, top down, into a truck of manure. Really, my mom is right. I have a much better and more creative vocabulary than that.

I was going about 13 or 14 miles an hour when my front tire hit the opposite side of the gap (closest in the picture above). If I had been going just a little bit faster, I could have jumped right over. The impact and the accompanying image in my head of the rim crumpling in caused me to open my eyes for a moment. I would later find that, while the rim was out-of-round, the front tire didn't even pop.

On my first group ride, I was kind of a lost little puppy and I got picked up by a couple of stragglers at the back of the group who had been riding for years. One of them told me everything he knew about riding as we pedaled along. I don't remember much of what he said, but eventually we came around to the subject of riding with your feet clipped in and bike crashes. He told me that your arms aren't strong enough to catch you and it is best to tuck and roll. I thought it was crazy to ride with your feet clipped to your bike, but somehow I ended up with some fancy shoes and pedals that they clip into. Learning to ride with my feet clipped to my pedals afforded me plenty of opportunity to practice my tuck and roll.

My left ankle worked back and forth frantically to unclip. I'm fairly certain that I had unseen help at that point. I tucked my arms in to my chest. While the front tire had stopped, the momentum brought the back end of my bike around to my right. My left foot was unclipped at this point and the sideways motion helped my right foot to come out of its pedal as well. My cycling “tights,” you know the ones with the padding in the seat, are 3/4 length. I don't exactly remember hitting my knees, but both were sorely bruised. There wasn't a mark on my pants when all was said and done.

Free of the bike, I continued forward. I landed on my right shoulder and then my head hit the ground. My eyes were still closed and my mind registered this in single, disconnected words. Shoulder. Head. In all my toppling over, I'd never hit my head before. In the periphery, I wondered what would be the result of that. After, I was so grateful for my helmet — $20 of foam and plastic — that kept me safe from even a concussion. It's now in a landfill somewhere.

I must have rolled a little, because I ended up lying next to my bike, it with the front wheel facing towards the road and me with my feet towards the gap between the shoulder and the new curbing. I laid there for a moment more and then sat up. My first thought was, “nothing is broken.” Then I decided to call Mr. Bug to come get me, after which I would scoot over to the edge of the shoulder, put my feet down in the gravel and just wait patiently there. I dialed the phone and suddenly there was a man there asking me if I was OK. “Nothing is broken,” I said. Mr. Bug answered the phone. “I need you to come get me.” The man was asking me again if I was OK and if there was someone I could call. I was wearing blue-tooth bone conduction ear phones, which sit on your cheeks just in front of your ears, leaving them open and allowing you to hear both your ride workout playlist and the noise around you. He didn't realize that I was already talking to my husband. I explained to him that I had my husband on the phone and then I explained to Mr. Bug where to find me.

The man asked if I would like to sit in his car, where it was cool. It was then that I noticed it was a little warm sitting on the ground. I'd checked the temperature just a few minutes prior, and knew that it was 91˚ out. He offered his hand to help me to my feet and it was then that I noticed that I had gravel embedded in my left thumb, and my right middle, ring and pinky fingers. I later found some gravel in my back jersey pocket. My shoulder stung and my knees throbbed. The man's grandaughter was sitting in the passenger seat of his truck. She introduced herself as I got into the driver's seat. “I'm Tessie,” she said. “My name is Elizabeth,” I replied. Her mother climbed back into the passenger seat. She'd gotten out of the truck to move the driver's seat back and to talk to her father for a moment. She told me that she'd seen me crash and fall and immediately told her dad to pull over to check on me.

I was in 5^th grade when I learned that there are people who actually laugh at someone when they fall. I couldn't fathom it. I still can't. I briefly wondered if Tessie's mom had laughed. And then I wished that someone had recorded my fall. It would be interesting to see. I wondered if I would laugh at the playback. Embarrassment washed over me. Tears were close to the surface. Fear and panic caught up to me. I fought it back. Everything was different now. A bike accident wasn't a possibility anymore. It was a reality. In the cab of the truck, sweaty and sticky, stunned to numbness and hurting at the same time, I continued to exchange pleasantries with this kind woman who had taken time out of her day to stop and make sure I was all right. I thanked her several times. It didn't seem enough. Of course she hadn't laughed.

Mr. Bug pulled up behind us. I got out of the cab of the truck and went to get my bike, which was still lying on the ground. Tessie's grandpa told Mr. Bug to take me to the car and he would get the bike. I thanked the man and his daughter again and climbed into the passenger seat of our car. When Mr. Bug got in, I told him that we needed to go to the InstaCare. “Why?” he wanted to know. “Because that's what you do after a bike wreck. I'm going to cry now.” And I did.

At the InstaCare, the nurse told me that she didn't see many bike accidents in women, and especially women “our age.” She obviously had my birth date on the paperwork. She told me that just yesterday, a woman had come in with a badly broken shoulder from a bike accident. I wondered if I was trying to prove something with the crazy long rides. The doctor came in and asked me to go over what had happened. He ruled out concussion by the fact that I had not lost consciousness and that I could remember pretty clearly everything that had happened. Then he examined my knees and my shoulder. I hadn't looked at either yet, and when I pulled my sleeve off I was glad I hadn't. My shoulder was an angry red color and blood was oozing from the wound. There was no gravel in it though. It looked worse than it felt. Considering how the skin looked underneath, I was surprised that my jersey wasn't even really torn. There was just a small scuff on it. The doctor ordered x-rays on both my shoulder and knee, but there were no breaks. He cleaned the scrapes on my fingers, my right shoulder and right knee, bandaged them and asked if I needed a prescription for pain. I declined.

At home I undressed to shower. There was a bruise on my chest where I must have hit the handlebars. It hadn't hurt before, but now my chest felt heavy. I showered and dressed. I went to the computer to find out what organized rides were going on with the cycling club I belong to and added about 6 to my calendar. Then I took a Tylenol and an Advil and hit the couch to catch up on some TV.

First thing Monday morning, I took my bike to the shop where I bought it to have it looked at. It obviously needed some work.

I picked it up a few days later and took it to a bike fitter. This guy knows his stuff. He helps you position your handlebars, brake levers, pedals and the cleats on your shoes, and your saddle for maximum efficiency and to keep your hands and feet from going numb. The impact had knocked the handlebars out of place and I needed him to help me get them adjusted again properly.

What the guys at the bike shop had missed is that the handlebar was bent and needed replacing. They had also not completely put the front rim back to true. So I left my bike with the fitter. It would take another week. I deleted two rides from my calendar. And I wondered again what I was trying to prove.

I'd been sporting bruises all spring and summer long. Granted, most of them were in places that no one gets to see. But two weeks prior to the crash, I'd lost my balance coming to a stop and tipped in the opposite direction of the foot I had loose from the pedals. The handlebar hit my arm and I got lots of questions about it. Mr. Bug said I should say I got it from kick-boxing.

It was shaped kind of like a peacock and the coloring was spot on. I thought it would be funny to take a Sharpie and draw in the outline. It wasn't the ugliest bruise I'd had from falling off my bike, but it was ugly enough. I wasn't too ashamed to admit that's where I got it. It hadn't entirely faded when I wrecked. My new bruises were not as colorful, but more painful than the one on my arm. My right knee, which hurt the most, was swollen and a little yellow. My shoulder went from red and irritated to peeling like it had been sunburned, to soft pink skin. It was bruised, but only a little yellow around the edges. The bruise on my chest was purple at the center, but was surrounded by a vivid yellow. I asked Dr. Google, and found that when deeper tissues are bruised the skin appears yellow.

Still, I wasn't stiff and sore, as I'd expected to be. I only took Tylenol and Aleve for a few days after the accident. I was down to one band aid after only a week.

Back at the bike fitter's, new handlebars and wraps installed, shoes and brake levers adjusted, front wheel in true, he encouraged me to get back out there and ride. The next day, last Friday morning, I went out at my usual time — zero.dark.thirty. Riding in the dark is no big deal. It is quiet and cool. I usually stay on the roads, which means streetlights but it also means traffic although it is scant. I have lights on my bike (it's the law); a white one in front and a red one in back, and I wear a forehead light as well. I but wanted to do a longer ride, so I rode up to a nice paved trail. A paved trail with no overhead lights. I was jumping at shadows, worried that I would miss seeing something important and have another accident. When I reached the end of the trail, rather than riding it back, I cut through town. And that's when it happened. I was coming to an intersection. A car was coming. I unclipped and slowed down. But I panicked and forgot my left foot was free and tipped to the right. I untangled myself and got back up. Nothing hurt and I was sure there were no new bruises. As I was composing myself, another rider passed me without saying a word. I found it odd. Surely he saw my flashing red light arc to the ground. I shook it off and continued on my way home. 14 miles. And I didn't die. But I did have new bruises.

Saturday morning I had an organized ride with the cycling club on my calendar. I'm a member, but I don't ride with them much because they mostly ride in the next county over. The starting point for the ride that day was 30 minutes away (rather than an hour) and in the same county. They planned to take one of my favorite trails, starting at the far end, and riding the length of the trail to a connector to another trail which runs up the canyon and then back — 50 miles round trip. The group met at the parking lot of a local store, but to get to the trail from there, you have to do a bunch of fiddling around, including carrying your bike through a patch of weeds to get to a connector and then crossing a major highway. There is an intersection with lights, but it isn't the best starting spot because there is a trail head about a mile from where we started, with plenty of parking and immediate access to the trail. Besides all of that, I was anxious about riding in a group. I know my limitations and worry about being the weakest link — the one they all have to wait for and to accommodate. I worried about impeding their joy in riding. In addition, I'd been having problems with my left shoe clipping in and out, so I worried about that and not being able to start and stop, especially when we had to cross at the crazy busy intersection.

We made it across the intersection, but I was still anxious about keeping up with the group. As we headed up the hill on the other side of the highway my chain came off and jammed in the cassette between the guard on the wheel and the inside gear. I managed to put my foot down — I'm not sure if it was clipped in or not since the left shoe has been a problem — and not hit the pavement. I had trouble figuring out the chain and getting it back on. I cut my finger on one of the teeth on the cassette trying to get it unstuck. I didn't have a rag or a bandaid, so I just let the blood pool and dry.

I got the chain back on but something weird was going on, because it came off a second time as I was trying to get going again. The group was out of sight by now so I was just going to turn around and walk back to my car and go home. I thought maybe the derailleur was broken. We were less than half a mile from the starting point. It made me anxious.

There were only six of us in the group; two married couples, another man and me. One of the married couples noticed I was gone and turned around and to help me out. The husband fiddled around with shifting gears and got me set to go, but the chain came off again. He shifted gears some more and finally we were on our way. I was still anxious and wondered if I was going to continue to have problems for the next 49.5 miles.

As we rode, the husband explained to me that you want to avoid having your chain on the outer ring in the front and on the gear closest to the wheel on the back because the angle is hard on the chain. He said it works the same for the inside ring in the front and the outside gear on the back. He explained to me what to avoid and encouraged me to use the inside ring on our ride today. I followed his advice, not wanting to have an accident, but I feel like you have to pedal a lot more on the small ring to get the same results as you get on the bigger ring with less pedaling. I knew there was a bit of a science to it, but I just shift down when my feet start moving slower and up when they start moving faster.

Anyway, I was pedaling along minding my gears when we come to this part along the trail that has a really great (curvy) downhill followed by a corresponding uphill. I've done it a few times before. Still, I felt a little more anxious going down the hill than usual, worried about the riders and runners around me. The uphill is not my favorite, but it is doable. I was using the smaller/inside ring in the front like I was supposed to for climbing and had a few more gears left in the back before I got to the farthest one out. As the hill got steeper and my pedaling got slower, I shifted to a lower gear. The chain must have skipped or something because suddenly I was free-pedaling (if that is a word). There was no traction from the chain on the gears and I was slowing down almost to stopping and falling over speed. I spat that same curse out just as two of the riders from my group passed me. Maybe we do need to get the Palmolive out. I thought for sure that I was going to tip over. Again. More bruises. More pain. What am I trying to prove?

To avoid falling, I would have to put my foot down. To put my foot down, I would have to unclip. To unclip, I would have to stop pedaling. If I stopped pedaling, I certainly couldn't engage the gears. If I couldn't engage the gears I would fall over. All of this passed through my mind in an instant. Not in so many words, but in flashes of thought in pictures. Out of sheer terror, I shifted back into a higher gear and the chain caught hold. I kept pedaling, but didn't dare change gears. And by the time I got to the top of the hill, I was done. My heart was racing, but not because of the climb. I was shaking, in a panic about what had just happened and afraid of riding any further. All the joy that biking brings me was gone. I was ready to sit down on the sidewalk right there and have Mr. Bug come get me.

The ride leader was at the top of the hill waiting. He has to make sure the group stays together. The couple who helped me out earlier had fallen behind, so I stood there collecting myself and trying to decide what to do — continue on or call search and rescue. When the husband got to the top of the hill, he said his wife had broken a spoke and they were turning back. We were about 4.5 miles from the start. I decided to turn back and go with them.

The trail runs north and south through a major portion of the county. It is, therefore, intersected by lots of streets. That means a lot of stopping and starting. If you're cruising along, you'll be in a higher gear. Remembering to downshift so it is easier to start again, unclip, stop and not fall over is a lot for me. Sometimes I forget to downshift. So starting back up again is hard, especially when my left shoe is having trouble. I am goofy-footed, so I keep my right foot clipped in and stop and stand with my left. I didn't want to cross the street in the trail ahead of us to continue on the ride, or any other street along the way and worry about being too slow or too cautious for the rest of the group. Bikers tend to just slow down at intersections and try to avoid stopping and getting off as much as possible. The intersections along the trail are often blind; fences or bushes or curves in the road block the view. Slowing as much as possible to check before crossing and then needing to stop suddenly if a car is coming isn't a safe idea, especially for me. Cars aren't very considerate of pedestrians or bikers sometimes and 10 to 1, if you try to take the right of way on a bike, you'll get hit.

The thought of continuing on for another 45 miles, not knowing if there would be further issues with the chain or shifting or if clipping or unclipping would be a problem, took all the enjoyment out of the day. I've fallen over enough to know it's not the end of the world. I walked away from a crash that should have been much worse than it was. I survived with minor injuries. But, the thought of anything going wrong, major or minor, filled me with fear and dread. I couldn't count on my bike. I couldn't count on myself. Continuing on was definitely out.

Getting on my bike and riding back down the hill I'd just come up and then riding up the hill on the other side didn't sound good either. I was fully prepared to walk the 4.5 miles back to my car. I settled for walking down the hill and then back up. I called Mr. Bug as I walked, just to hear his voice and get a little reassurance. The wife of the couple had gone ahead, walking her bike up the hill. The husband could see that I was rattled, so he waited for me to walk down the hill and then rode very slowly with me as I walked back up. I'm not sure how he managed it. I can't ride that slowly. I fall over.

When we reached level ground, I got back on my bike and had a nice conversation with this kind couple who had taken me under their wing. We took it slow, but I was still afraid of something going wrong. The trail is intersected with a lot of roads, but it is also designed with a few tunnels that go under the roads that intersect it. At these tunnels there are little off-shoots that let you get back to the road. The wife needed to use a restroom. Having never ridden this trail before and not knowing we were coming up on the trail head with restrooms that we should have started at, she opted to go to a Chevron, which required crossing a road rather than going under the tunnel next to it. I got off my bike and walked across the street. When we got back to the crazy busy intersection on the highway, I walked across that too.

As I planned my day, I originally wanted Mr. Bug to drive me up to the starting point and drop me off. I wanted to do the club ride of 50 miles and then ride the 30 more miles home. He really wanted me to stay with the group, so I just drove myself to the starting point. And then I chickened out. So, my ride went from 80 miles to 50 to 9. All throughout the afternoon, I second guessed myself. Away from the panic of the moment, I felt like I could have continued on. But then the thought of having the chain come off, or tipping over on a stop, or crashing into someone pushed me to the edge of that panic again.

I texted the bike fitter this morning. He said that the derailleur lever might be bent. He also said that he'd look at adjusting my shoe and to bring the bike in. I'll take care of it in the next day or two.

Mr. Bug says I should take the clip-in pedals off and put regular ones on for a while. He spent the evening researching different types of bike shoes and pedals.

I am worried that I will never stop being worried about something going wrong when I'm out riding. Mr. Bug is surprised at how afraid these last few events have made me. He doesn't think I've been afraid enough. A few months ago, downhill at 45 mph was exhilarating. Now, riding around the block scares the pants off me. Maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration.

Something bad happened. I came out OK. Nothing was broken, not even a nail. I only had to pick gravel out of a few fingers. I had some bruises, but it was nothing short of a miracle that all I needed was a few band aids. But now my brain really knows what the asphalt feels like and how scary things can get, so it is in overdrive to keep me safe.

I am signed up to ride a hundred miles again this Saturday. Mr. Bug thinks I ought to do the 75 mile option. I kind of think I should just do 35 miles. Hopefully the bike fitter can figure out what is wrong with it and have it fixed in time.

It makes me sad to think of my bike sitting in the shed collecting cobwebs. That gives me hope that next chapter of this story will find me out riding my bike just for the joy of it.

Christine's Flower Garden

Every man desires to live long, but no man wishes to be old.
–Jonathan Swift

When last we left off, we were pretending it was early September. I was hurriedly trying to get a signature quilt finished for a lovely lady I know who was turning 100. This is her graduation {photo of a} photo in 1932. Isn't she beautiful? Nevermind you can see my reflection in the glass and I was too chicken/lazy to call her family and ask for a digital copy, which I know they had. Just ignore the extra head growing out of her right frontal lobe and the extra shoulder over her right ear.

Back to our story. As the deadline for the party drew near {which I might add was 11 days before her birthday. #talkaboutstressful}, I started to collect signatures for this fantastic quilt that I'd dreamt up using 1930's reproduction fabrics to make 100 signature blocks for the lady who had just been coming into her own in the 30's and was now turning 100. That was really, really fun! Families from the neighborhood and many of her long-time friends stopped by to sign a block. It was so interesting to hear what they had to say and how they felt about Christine. It turns out that she is pretty much as amazing as I had suspected.

~time elapse~

Ta, da! Signed and assembled blocks with sashings ready to go. I used Sharpies because they are relatively inexpensive and have infamous non-solubility. Yes, I know they're not archival, but they come in such lovely colors and I'm hoping that the acid will all wash away when/if the quilt gets washed some day.

~time elapse~

All told, there are 338 signatures on this quilt

Christine is just as beautiful as ever, wouldn't you agree? She cried a little bit when I gave the quilt to her at the party. And, actually you can see it wasn't quite finished. Note the binding clips on two of the four sides. I told you they moved the party up 11 days, didn't I? So many people were invested in this quilt that I decided that taking it unfinished to display was the only option. I came back after the party, brought it home to finish the binding and took it to her the next day. We had a nice time looking over all the blocks together.

As I was working on this, I kept praying that I'd be able to get it done in time for her birthday. I wasn't sure if I would be able to pull it off. There were so many people involved that I didn't want to let them, myself, or Christine down {not that she was aware of the quilt, but I feel like it is kind of a let-down to give someone a gift after their birthday}. There is a fellow quilter in my ward {congregation} who has a long-arm and when she came to sign a block, she offered to do the quilting as her gift to Christine. Who am I to turn away the answer to a prayer when it knocks at my front door? It was a no-brainer to take her up on her offer.

I mentioned that it was fun to collect signatures, right? The top right square in the picture above went all the way to Pittsburgh and back to be signed by a family who used to live in our neighborhood. The block under that, in the bottom left corner, is signed by a little Japanese woman who has been friends with Christine for years. That, I think, is my favorite block of all.

The block below in the bottom left corner is a close second. The couple who came to sign this block dropped by at about 9:00 pm, and embarrassingly enough, I still hadn't cleaned the table from dinner. They were very gracious while I cleared away some dishes, wiped the table and pulled out fabric samples so they could pick which they liked best. The wife narrowed it down to three different blocks and then told her husband to choose. He started to choose something that was not in the options she offered. She got him back on track and then she asked him to sign for them because he had better writing. Their kind negotiations and the familiarity of their back-and-forth was very telling of a long marriage of cooperation, mutual respect and love, and friendship. Anyway, I think their birthday wish was rather creative.

Gratuitous artsy smartsy quilt shot. That trumpet vine makes the perfect backdrop for quilts. I wish it were in bloom all year round.

Christine still lives in the house her husband built for their family in the 60's. Her family checks in on her several times throughout the day. When the weather is good, she walks around the block. She was even still driving until just three years ago, when her eyesight became too poor. She still goes out in the early mornings, before the sun comes out {she's very careful to avoid exposure of her skin to the sun} to weed her roses. I thought it fitting to call this quilt Christine's Flower Garden. The finish was really down to the wire and I didn't have time to sew the label into the back like I usually do, so I put it in the corner. I kind of love how it turned out.

More about this quilt:
Working on a plan
Moving forward with a plan
The first half of the blocks
The second half of the blocks

Sabbath Songs: Glorious

There are times when you might feel aimless
You can't see the places where you belong
But you will find that there is a purpose
It's been there within you all along
And when you're near it
You can almost hear it

It's like a symphony just keep listenin'
And pretty soon you'll start to figure out yo part
Everyone plays a piece and there are melodies
In each one of us, oh, it's glorious

–Stephanie Mabey

This beautiful song is featured in Meet the Mormons, which chronicles the day-to-day realities of six members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints living in countries around the world. If you love cutie David Archuleta's voice a free mp3 download of this song is available.



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Girl's Camp Highlights

In the strength of the Lord I can do all things.
He know hows to change the weakness in me,
So I will let His love lift me up.
He believes I can do hard things if I will trust Him,
And walk forward in the strength of the Lord. –Jenny Phillips

Monday, June 2
Waaaayyyyy back at the beginning of June, LadyBug and I went to Girl's Camp.

{Can you believe that 23 teenagers turned up at 7:00 am to go camping?
LadyBug is on the front row, second from the right.
I am on the front row, third from the left.}

I use the term "camping" here very loosely. It was a lot different than when I went to camp as a young woman. We had to sleep in tents, dig latrines, and cook on a number 10 can stove. There were a few similarities. We were definitely up in the mountains, surrounded by trees and deer and nature. But that is where the similarities ended. We slept cabins with bunk beds {there were no mattresses; you had to bring a foam pad, but is definitely better than sleeping on the ground}. We had electricity and running water and flushing toilets and showers {never mind that finding time to take one was a completely different matter}. We still had to cook on propane camp stoves and pot guts ventured into our pavilion area to pick up any food we dropped. But there was a fridge in a pantry area with a door that closed to keep the pot guts from getting into the food storage. On a scale from one to roughing it, I'd say we were only one step down from the Ramada Inn.

The camp is situated on 8,000 acres and about 2,500 girls stay there each week. Over the course of the summer 70,000 young women each spend five days enjoying the best Utah has to offer. We left bright and early Monday morning. We had 23 young women from our ward attend. After we unpacked our gear and settled in, we had several fun activities with the other young women in our stake {around 100 more girls}, including a rousing version of Bazooka Bubble Gum, complete with gum for chewing.

Tuesday, June 3
Tuesday was hike day. There were several different hikes as part of the camp certification, and which hike you went on depended on how many years you'd attended camp. I went with the first-year girls. It was a little short of a 3-mile hike and all of the first-years in the stake went together. It wasn't LadyBug's favorite activity. We went at our own pace, walking at almost the back of the procession, but we made it in the end. The trails were amazing, criss-crossing all over the camp and marked with signs so that you could find your way to and from almost anywhere. We didn't have a particular destination, but just made a loop back around to our campsite. The paths were wide enough for only one person and we were asked to stay on the paths, preserving the foliage. It was incredibly beautiful and very peaceful. Even though there were 2,400 other girls there somewhere on the mountain, aside from the girls in our stake, I felt like we had the place to ourselves.

{Top left: Legacy Lake
Top Right: LadyBug and me at the summit of our hike
I know that hat is dorky, but I wear it anyway
Center: Entire group of first-year campers
Bottom Left: My first year campers - Kenna, LadyBug, Abbey, Me and Jada
Jada just turned 13 and the other girls are 12
Bottom Right: Moving upwards along the trail}

Wednesday, June 4
Wednesday we got to go canoeing on Legacy Lake. It was my favorite day. LadyBug, one of our other girls, and I shared a canoe and had so much fun paddling around.

{The bottom picture is a panorama of about ¼ of the shoreline.
Right click on the photo to open in a new tab so you can zoom in for more details.}

Wednesday, we also provided the camp an hour of service. I was so amazing at how self-sustaining the camp is. It is staffed mostly by volunteers; retired couples serving together. They have their own water treatment plant and everyone who comes and stays at the camp gets an opportunity to give back just a little bit. During our service, we pulled some logs along the trail back to our campsite to be cut into firewood. Prior to that, someone had been into the woods to cut down trees that had died. The trees were cut into manageable size logs and dragged to the trail for us to take back to camp. From there someone else cut it into firewood so that we could use it in the evenings for campfires and s'mores. Anything that wasn't large enough for firewood was run through the wood chipper by someone in our group and then later, another group could take it in wheelbarrows along the trails to keep them from getting too dusty and dry. In one our, we provided the camp 125 man-hours so that the next group could enjoy this beautiful camp.

Thursday, June 5
Thursday was the challenge course. There were five or six {I forget} low challenges and each ward was asked to send one or two leaders to be trained on those so they could help the girls when it was their challenge course day. It had a really fun time helping the girls and the challenge course is one of their favorite activities for the week. The high challenge, of course, is the highlight of the day. LadyBug and I were in separate groups; my group did the high challenge first and then moved on to the low challenge where I was trained. From there they moved on to the other courses and I stayed put. I got to see and help LadyBug and my other girls when they came through my challenge, but didn't get to see any of them on the high course. I was told that LadyBug met the challenge with determination.

You start by climbing a rope ladder. Then you have to move from the rope ladder to a suspension "bridge." At the end of the bridge, you get to go on a zip line. My goal for the week was to enjoy the experience as much as possible, so I didn't think about it, but just put the harness on and climbed the ladder one step at a time. I'm so glad I did.

Friday, June 6
When I was asked to work with the Young Women in my ward January, I knew that I would get to do a lot of fun things. And there would be some hard things, too. Girl's Camp was hard and wonderful. When you throw 23 girls together into two cabins and they spend all week hiking and canoeing and staying up late giggling, there is bound to be some drama. But I have to say, the drama among these girls was minimal.

Aside from all the fun things we did at camp, there were opportunities to feel God's love and guidance and to learn together. We met together as a stake for Family Home Evening on Monday. We had wonderful speakers on Tuesday and Wednesday night. We sang together and prayed together. Thursday night we spent together as a ward talking about our experiences and the things we had learned. And each of us was able to spend some quiet time reflecting, praying and studying. Those private moments I spent seeking guidance from the Lord were well spent and have helped me to make some important decisions.

We were all also given a challenge to complete during the week. There were scriptures to memorize, songs to learn, talks to read, questions to answer. You could complete the challenge at your own pace and every one of the 23 girls in our ward, plus all of the leaders who attended {believe me, there was no way I could have pulled it off by myself. The camp director was spectacular, as were the other two leaders who came up} finished the challenge. As recognition for this, we were given a beautiful silver pendant with a young woman and the Provo City Center Temple {currently under construction, and which is very special to me} etched in gold. These were created just for our stake and I was so thrilled to earn mine!

All too soon, our week at camp was over. We were packed and ready to go by 9:00 am. I was home, unpacked, the braids out of my hair, showered and smelling sweet as ever by about 2:00 Friday afternoon. In the weeks since then, even though I got rid of the camping smell, I haven't forgotten the things that I felt and learned there; most importantly that in the strength of the Lord, I can do all things.

Earthly Father, Heavenly Father

Noble fatherhood gives us a glimpse of the divine. –James E. Faust

From my father I inherited blue eyes, artistic abilities and a keen mind.

From my husband, the father of my children, I have learned patience and grace.

From my Heavenly Father, I have been given faith, hope, strength and forgiveness.



In recognition of all the wonderful men who have shaped my life, my dad and my husband especially, and for all those men who give their all to influence and teach the children around them, to you I wish—

Happy Father's Day!

#aFathersLove

Mormon Messages: The Other Prodigal Son

Someone or something is forever telling us we need to be more handsome or more wealthy, more applauded or more admired than we see ourselves as being. We are told we haven’t collected enough possessions or gone to enough fun places. We are bombarded with the message that on the world’s scale of things we have been weighed in the balance and found wanting.

No one of us is less treasured or cherished of God than another. He loves each of us—insecurities, anxieties, self-image, and all. –Jeffrey R. Holland, The Other Prodigal Son, April 2002

Sabbath Songs: Abide With Me

I need thy presence ev'ry passing hour.
What but thy grace can foil the tempter's pow'r?
Who, like thyself, my gtuide and stay can be?
Thru cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me!

–Abide With Me!

text by Henry F. Lyte, music by William H. Monk

The One Where I Went Rappelling

The difference between a mountain and a molehill is your perspective. –Al Neuharth.

Saturday, May 11, 2014
7:00 am: Why do all adventures have to start so early?

7:52 am: Why am I always late? I was supposed to be there 7 minutes ago. It's a good thing we all run on Mormon Standard Time.

8:16 am: I wasn't the only one who was late. But we are on our way. It is a 2½-ish hour drive. Good thing I took my Dramamine and brought a project to stitch on. And I'm so glad I'm not driving.

{The blue star is our starting point and the blue dot is the destination — Black Dragon Canyon in the San Rafael Swell}

10:48 am: Rest stop. One thing I really dislike about Nature is the lack of flushing toilets. But an outhouse is better than going behind a bush. I guess I'll take it.

I've been working on the labels for my patriotic sampler and have made a lot of progress. I would like to get this quilt finished in time to display this year, but it will be July before we know it.

11:13 am: Girls Camp isn't until June, but we're here to fill the High Adventure certification for the 4^th year girls {age 15}. The activity is for all the 4^th years in the stake, and arranged by the Stake Young Women leaders, but I thought it was important to come and show support to my girls. I'll admit that I was a little hesitant to give up an entire Saturday to go rappelling. I'm not a big fan of dirt. Or heights. Or non-flushing portable toilets {although I have to admit that the set up here is nicer than the pit toilet we stopped at earlier. The girls had some funny name for it, but I can't remember it now}. But it really is beautiful here and I am glad I came.

A kind, grandfatherly gentleman is our host for the day. Oliver has been teaching the girls in our stake to rappel for years. The basics are these: the ropes are certified up to 9000 lbs. but don't step on them, and don't drop the carabiners and figure eights.

This is where we are rappelling from. It's only about 140 feet. No biggie.

11:27 am: In order to get to the rappelling point, we have to scale an only slightly less steep incline than the face we will be rappelling from. I *huff* am *puff* so *wheeze* out *huff* of *wheeze* shape *huff*.

11:49 am: Surely the elevation up here isn't that different from where we were standing on the ground, but I'm feeling a little light-headed. I'm not so sure this is such a good idea.

The girls are starting to gear up. Oliver's granddaughter is helping them get their harnesses on correctly.

12:03 pm: The ropes are tied to hardware anchored in the rock. Oliver's son and grandson are harnessed and the ropes pass through a figure eight attached to their harnesses by carabiners. They serve as a back-up should the anchors fail. At the bottom of each rope is someone on belay who only has to exert about 10 lbs. of pressure to stop your progress down the rope. Good to know.

12:19 pm: These are my girls. Aren't they beautiful?

{Top left: Serina
Middle left: Kali and Oliver
Bottom left: A cactus patch growing in the middle of the sandstone
Bottom center: Kristina
Bottom right: Jehni
Group shot: Kristina, Kali, Serina and Jehni}

12:42 pm: Quote of the day from Cami, a girl from one of the other wards, to Oliver and his family: "you guys do this for fun?"

1:19 pm: It is my turn. I can see what Cami was talking about.

I've been watching Oliver coach each of the girls in turn. Keep your legs straight, keep your feet shoulder-width apart, lean back into the harness, keep your eyes on your feet and where your next step will be but don't look down, breathe, yell "help" if you get into trouble and the men on belay at the bottom will stop you.

Oh, look. There are grooves in the figure eight where the rope passes through. Interesting.

Time to go. *Deep breath* I can do this.

This is what it looks like after you go over the edge. It's really not so bad. Just put one foot behind the other, don't bend your knees, trust the equipment and don't look down. My partner, Lizzie, is from another ward, but I adopted her for the day.

1:31 pm: That was fantastic! What an amazing experience. I'm so glad I didn't chicken out. The hardest part was kicking off the rock as it curved back and letting myself dangle in open space. But when I turned around and looked around, it was awesome. I live in some of God's most beautiful country.

Now for some lunch. I had a hard time deciding what to bring. Eating gluten and diary free on-the-go is a hassle. In the end, I decided on a Jimmy John's unwich. It is a little bit soggy, but not bad.

2:27 pm: Oliver said that you should go twice, because the second time was more fun. It was pretty fun the first time. Maybe I should go again.

2:51 pm: That hill is a doozy to climb. I'm not sure that going a second time is such a good idea. I'm tired. What if I drop myself? They guys on belay at the bottom will stop me, of course, but still. I could get scratched up pretty badly.

3:13 pm: The second time was not as much fun for me. I was too tired. And I looked down. I'll remember that for next year.

3:26 pm: The girls are having so much fun. Jehni has been six or seven times. She rappels down and runs right back up to the top to go again.

4:18 pm: The wind has really picked up. I have sand in between my eyelashes. We're going to pack up and go up the canyon a little further, where there is shelter from the wind to eat.

5:05 pm: Oliver talked for a little bit on his experiences over the years and drew some parallels between having faith in God and having a safe rappelling experience. He gave each of us a carabiner and a bookmark with the comparisons he made on it.
Be Strong
Stay firmly anchored to the mountain (gospel).
Tie the right knots (good friends and family).
Remember, your life hangs in the balance (eternal life).
Only use the best equipment (scriptures and prayer).
Never step on your rope (sacred things).
Go with faith (in the Lord).

5:45 pm: Dinner was good and now we're on our way home.

8:11 pm: It got too dark to work on my stitching project about an hour ago. I have sand in my ears. I am so ready to be done. The drive up didn't seem this long. Just a few more minutes until we are home.

8:21 pm: That last 10 minutes nearly killed me. I can't wait to hit the showers!

It Was Mom

God chose mothers to bear the responsibility of providing physical bodies for His children through the miraculous process of pregnancy and birth. Being a mother means participating in the miracle that is God’s greatest work. Thomas S. Monson, a modern-day prophet, said, “One cannot remember mother and forget God. Why? Because these two sacred persons, God and mother, partners in creation, in love, in sacrifice, in service, are as one.”

The divine role of motherhood is exhibited in all women, whether they’ve born children or not. It is important to remember that the call to nurture is not limited to our own flesh and blood. Whether it’s an aunt, a teacher, a friend, or a community leader, we are all deeply indebted to the moral, steadying influence of good women in our lives. –Mormon.org



With much gratitude in my heart, I wish my mom Happy Mother's Day!

#itwasmom

Sabbath Songs: The Mission/How Great Thou Art

When thru the woods and forest glades I wander,
And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees,
When I look down from lofty mountain grandeur
And hear the brook and feel the gentle breeze,

Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to thee,
How great thou art! How great thou art!
–How Great Thou Art, text by Stuart K. Hine, music arranged by Stuart K Hine from a Swedish folk melody



From The Piano Guys
We've set an ambitious goal to film in front of all Seven Wonders of the World. We started with the Great Wall of China. As our tour of Brazil approached we set our sights on our next Wonder: Christ the Redeemer. This incredible piece of art soars 10 stories in the air, stretches 100 feet wide and weighs 1.4 million pounds (630,000 kg). But even more impressive is that it was built in the 1920's on a peak of a sheer 2,300 ft. (700 meter) cliff overlooking Rio de Janeiro.

Not far from this inspiring statue are the Iguazu Falls — a natural Wonder of the World. Made up of 275 waterfalls that stretch across 1.7 miles (2.7 km), to match the amount of water that flows down these falls you would need 2 million people to each pour a quart of water every second.

As we considered what piece of music would be worthy of such incomparable locations we looked to songs that have been composed or used to praise Jesus Christ, for whom the statue was built and who billions believe created all the natural wonders of this world. We wanted to combine the melody of the heartfelt hymn of praise "How Great Thou Art" with one of the most beautiful melodies ever written — the theme from the movie "The Mission" ("Gabriel's Oboe.") "The Mission" is a movie that powerfully depicts the lives of men that lay down their lives for others. It was also filmed at Iguazu Falls. "How Great Thou Art" praises God and all that He has done for His children on this Earth. The two harmonize so beautifully with each other, both musically and thematically. As we played these pieces in front of the Christ Statue and Iguazu Falls we felt an overwhelming sense of wonder, peace, and joy.

This music video is not meant to exclude anyone that does not believe in God. We hope that it instead promotes spiritual feelings that can be felt by all — gratitude for a beautiful Earth, for life, and for joy.

A wise man once said, "If we thought of life as a gift, we might not demand nearly as much from it. And if we lived more graciously, giving of ourselves more freely to the well-being of others, many of our personal concerns would disappear, and life would become easier for all."

We respect all beliefs and opinions, but we hope that in the comments everyone can set aside religious differences and instead focus on building each other up — through gratitude, inspiration, kindness and mutual respect.

Thank you so much for watching! We are grateful for you!

Credits
"The Mission," also known as "Gabriel's Oboe," (from the soundtrack of the movie "The Mission") written by Ennio Morricone
"How Great Thou Art" is a Christian Hymn based on a Swedish folk song
Arrangement produced by Jon Schmidt
Arrangement written by Al van der Beek, Jon Schmidt & Steven Sharp Nelson
Mixed & mastered by Al van der Beek at TPG Studios in Utah
Performed by
Jon Schmidt: Piano
Steven Sharp Nelson: Cellos
Video produced by Paul Anderson
Video filmed and edited by Shaye Scott & Paul Anderson

Tuesday Tales

The average pencil is seven inches long, with just a half-inch eraser — in case you thought optimism was dead. –Robert Brault

I forgot to post two Personal Progress Totes I finished this month with the bags I posted yesterday. I was planning to put them all together in one post but forgot, so you get to hear from me two days in a row, with is an altogether uncommon occurrence around here these days. We only had one April birthday girl in our ward.

And this second one is for one of my cousin's daughters. I made one for her other daughter earlier, and casually included it into my post with the ones for February and March birthdays, hoping she wouldn't notice her daughter's name. I sent both of them to her a few weeks ago as a surprise and she was tickled to receive them.

For me, that is what it is all about — I love it when someone loves what I have made for them. I put a lot of thought into the things I make and try to use fabrics and colors that suit that person. When I first started working with the Young Women, I had each of the girls fill out a questionnaire so that I could casually find out their favorite colors for the ribbons and their embroidered names. Even though all of the totes are made with the same fabric, I wanted them to be personalized for each girl.

A couple of weeks ago, I was contacted by someone wondering if I would make a Gumnut Baby quilt, like the one I made for one of my Twi-Quilter friends. It was a collaboration quilt and we all made blocks for it. I did the center block, which featured the main characters, Snugglepot and Cuddlepie.

For the most part, I turn down requests for commissions. Honestly, it takes all of the fun out of my "me time." It makes my hobby a job. I'm torn, on this one though. I love needle-turn appliqué. And I'm very flattered that someone liked my work enough to pay me to do it. But that's the sticky part right there. I don't know how much to charge. I'm sure those Gumnut Babies took at least 20 hours. Add to that quilting time and supplies and we're looking at $500+ for a baby quilt. I don't know if I would dare ask that. Another sticky spot is that I tend to procrastinate something I perceive as a chore. Creating for money makes it a chore. The person who wants the quilt doesn't need it until Christmas, but that just means I have lots of time to put it off and then I'll end up stressing myself out trying to pull it together at the last minute. I also don't know if I saved my pattern. I don't even know where to start to look for it. I'm a fool if I threw it out, regardless of whether or not I will ever make this block again. And then there's real life; kids, husband, church stuff, job, summer vacation . . .

Do all of those "cons" outweigh the joy of creating something so individualized? I don't know, but I probably should e-mail the person back to let them know I'm still considering. That is the polite thing to do. And whether or not I make the quilt, I can be polite.

Today's post brought to you by:

P.S. Don't tell, but I think those Gumnut Babies are a little bit creepy.

Amelie x7

Friends are like handbags . . . you can never have too many.
–Unknown

I've been working on a secret project for the last seven or eight weeks. Before we get to that, I have to fill in with a little backstory. In January, I was called to work with the Young Women at church. I decided that I wanted to make a Personal Progress tote for each of them for their birthdays using Deena Rutter's Good Life fabric, which is based on the Young Women program. I also knew that I was going to need a bigger bag to tote back and forth to church and while I was making one, I could make a few more for the women who work with me as leaders over the girls. I've been working on these pretty much every day since I finished my last quilt, but I had to keep it quiet. We're all friends on The Facebook and my blog posts also show up on my timeline there. Naturally, I didn't want to ruin the surprise. But they've all been delivered now and I can finally show them off.

I used Geta Grama's Amelie Purse pattern. The pattern, with the accent fabric in the front pockets, was perfect for the Good Life fabric. The purse is nice and roomy, but I added 2" to the height of the bag, so they'd be tall enough to fit a standard size binder in them.

I think the funnest part of the assembly was installing the magnetic snap closures, which I ordered from Etsy for a really terrific price.The bag has tons of pockets; besides the two really deep pockets on the front, there are two pockets inside, one each on the lining front and back.

I think the back zipper pocket is my favorite because it has polka-dots inside. If you've been hanging around for any amount of time, you know how much I love polka-dots. I really love the zippers, which I also got on Etsy.

On the practical side, I sprayed them all with Scotch Guard, inside and out. Although I debated about spraying them before I put the pieces together, I decided to wait until after they were all finished, in case the heat from the iron did something funny to the Scotch Guard.

This is the only sewing I've done lately and this is the first project I've worked on from start to finish without getting detoured in a long time. Sometimes I wondered if I was ever going to get them done. It was tempting to work on something else. And having my nose up close to them and seeing all the not-so-perfect top-stitching made me wonder if they were going to turn out good enough to give away. But the reaction I got from the women when I took the bags to them really made it all worth while. One of them said, "this means so much," as she ran her finger over her embroidered name. That meant a lot to me and I'm so glad they are finished and delivered. I can't wait to use mine!

Today's post brought to you by:

Because of Him

The sun rises up over the vast cityscape of Jerusalem, lighting the white limestone walls of the old city and creeping over buildings. Just north of the walls, a garden sits undisturbed.

Shortly, a throng of tourists will arrive and take their spots on the benches overlooking the garden. Some will descend the steps to the lowest point in the garden, quietly duck through a door carved in stone, and stare reverently into a hollowed portion of the rock where a body was laid to rest about two thousand years ago. As they leave, they will notice a sign on the door: “He is not here, for He is risen.”

The tourists don’t come to the Garden Tomb because this is where they hope Jesus was buried; they come because they hope this is where Jesus did what had never been done before—He lived again. –The Meaning of Easter, Mormon.org



Jesus is the Son of God, our Savior and Redeemer. Because of Him, death is not the end, and life takes on new meaning. We can change, we can start over—and we can live again with God. This Easter, celebrate His life and discover all that’s possible because of Him.

As part of our lesson today in Young Women, we each took some time to think of how our lives are better because of Him. On this beautiful Easter day, I hope you will take some time to reflect on the good things in your life because of Him.

Back Row, L to R: Sarah, Erica, Elizabeth, Kim
Front Row, L to R: Maddie, Jehni, Sam

#BecauseofHim

The Signature Block Conundrum

A pretty face will always grow old. A nice body will always change with age. However, a good woman will always be a good woman. –Unknown

The other week, I had the day off of work. It was a Friday and I was happy to start the weekend early. My plan was to meet up with my mom in the big city and enjoy some quality time together while the Not-So-Little Bugs were in school. Unfortunately, LadyBug was sick. So, instead I stayed home with her. I decided that while I had some "extra" time on my hands, I'd do a little on-line shopping for fabric for a semi-special project.

The story goes like this: there is this cutest little old lady in my ward {congregation} who is 99½ years old and still sharp as a tack. Although she can no longer see well enough to drive and she's getting a little frail, she still lives alone in her own home, takes care of herself and spreads happiness wherever she goes. As a matter of fact, last fall she asked if Grasshopper would come over and rake up her leaves. By the time we got to her house the next afternoon, she's already gotten the leaf blower out and blown them into a gigantic pile in the back yard. All we had to do was bag them for her.

I have really enjoyed getting to know her over the last nine or ten years. She is truly an amazing woman. Ever since she turned 99, last September, I've been thinking about making her a signature quilt with, wait for it . . . 100 signature blocks. I'm sure that the people she knows and has influenced could fill about 10 hundred-block quilts, so I'm thinking that all the members of a single family could have one block to sign, and we could keep it to a single quilt at a manageable size.

I've always wanted to do something with 1930's reproduction fabrics, and this seemed like the perfect project. This sweet lady would have been 16 in 1930. I want to do something really scrappy. Keepsake Quilting sells 10" pre-cuts in a variety pack of 1930's prints. Several months ago, thinking of this project, I searched the interwebs for signature block quilts and one particular layout that creates a lattice stuck in my brain, but I wanted to have a plan before I ordered fabric so that I could make sure that I liked the layout and that I ordered enough fabric. I started doodling around with the old {Microsoft} Paint box. {This took me forever. Perhaps EQ should be on my Christmas wish list.}

Lattice Layout

I like the looks of this layout. It is made with the simple block below, which I found on-line. When I went back to my original pencil-and-paper doodle on graph paper from several months ago, which was based on allowing for pre-washing of the pre-cuts and then using the maximum amount of fabric with the least amount of waste to get the biggest block possible, I discovered that the white signature area of the block I drew up was bigger than the one below by about ⅞", which would make the white lattice bigger and the scrappy 1930's reproduction fabrics smaller than in the layout above. I'm not sure if that would be too much white lattice and not enough 1930's reproduction fabrics.

While I was doodling, I decided to try out another layout I'd seen in my previous search. I don't like it as much as the first layout, but maybe with larger white signature areas, I'd like it better.

Diamond Layout

While I was thinking and doodling and searching the interwebs for a refresher on the two layouts above, I found this block.

If the block is turned the right way, it makes pretty flowers. I really like the way this looks, but it leaves the least amount of room for a signature. And a pre-washed {a.k.a. pre-shrunk} 10" square could not comfortably make four 5" blocks. I don't think a 10" block that hasn't been pre-washed could do it. I'd need to take a different approach to getting a variety of fabrics with enough of each fabric to make all four blocks for each flower. On the plus side, the signature area is completely finished and there won't be a problem with people signing into the seam allowances.

Flower Layout

My original plan was to do 5" blocks. That makes a 50" square quilt with either the lattice or the diamond layouts, before borders. The flower quilt has 2" sashings, which makes it 62" square before borders. If I bump it to 6" blocks, that pretty much takes using 10" pre-cuts off the table for all of the layouts. The top two layouts would be 60" before borders and the flower layout would be 75" square {I think I'd increase the sashings to 2½" to maintain the same ratio} before borders, which is pretty huge for a lap quilt. If I was going to go big, then I'd do 7" blocks, and with 2¾" sashings, it would be 86½". Slap on some borders and you've got yourself a queen-size quilt. Which really wasn't my plan.

If I'm going to do this, I'd better get a move on. I've only got six months. In the weeks since I doodled these out, I'd almost decided to go with the flower layout. Looking at them again now, I'm kind of back to liking the lattice layout. I've always like the diamond layout least of all, so at least there's one thing I can rule out.

There are pros and cons to every layout and every block size. Ruling things out further, I think that I will stick with 5" blocks to keep the quilt size in check. I'll probably have to find a nice magnifying glass to give with the quilt so this little old lady, whose eyesight is very poor, can read her own signature quilt. In the cons column for the lattice layout, as previously mentioned, the strip of white fabric will be bigger than pictured so I'm worried that will overpower the quilt. Not previously mentioned, I'm also worried about people signing into the seam allowances, even if I provide clear instructions. I've considered using a Frixion pen to mark the boundaries, but you never know. In the cons column for the flower layout, the signature area is tiny in a 5" block. And it will have to be paper pieced in order to come out right at 5".

If you've got an opinion, please share! It always helps me to decide what I want when I hear from other people. Right now, I'm on the fence between the lattice layout and the flower layout. Vote for your favorite in the comments.