quilting

Quilters often take to social media after they’ve discovered some sort of mistake in their work. There’s a confused flying goose headed south instead of north, a strong-willed Sunbonnet Sue facing a different direction from all the others.

And then comes the age-old quilter question: “Should I fix this?”

People respond predictably in one of three ways: yes, no, and it’s up to you.

Truly, this dilemma isn’t unique to quilters. It applies to everyone.

How many times are we involved in projects gone awry? Do I fix it? If I do, how long will it take? Does it matter? Is it worth it? Will anyone other than me ever notice this?

And always the infamous…SHOULD.

What about that word?

I realized a long time ago that “should” refers to things outside myself. “Should” hands my own free will over to someone else.

I should go visit Angry Aunt Bertha (so my mom will stop nagging me).
I should bring banana bread to the bake sale (because all the other moms are bringing something.)
I should redo that renegade Sunbonnet Sue (because the quilt will be judged when I enter it in the county fair.)

When I tell myself I “should,” I take away my own power to make a decision, and what’s even worse, I give that power over to someone else.

When I hear myself say I “should,” I often know exactly what I want to do, but lack the courage of my convictions.

When I think I “should,” I’m choosing to engage in conflict with myself in order to avoid potential conflict with others.

But “should” isn’t written in stone. And getting rid of that language is another way that we can change our behavior and stretch our emotional muscles.

But what happens if we replace the “should I” with a “do I want to” instead?

Changing “should I visit Angry Aunt Bertha” into “do I want to visit Angry Aunt Bertha” may not magically turn the situation into unicorns, hearts, and flowers, but at least I’m directing my own life instead of “being directed by” other people.

Maybe I’ll decide that I don’t want to visit my aunt, but that I am willing to buy a card and write a note reflecting on a good time I shared with her when I was young, and when my mom asks, I can tell her how I did reach out.

Maybe I’ll tell the bake sale committee that I’m not available to bake something, but I would be willing to promote the sale to my friends at work.

Maybe I’ll decide that feisty girl in her sunbonnet looks just fine as she is, and I’ll do what a friend of mine did and title the quilt “She Goes Her Own Way.”

The point is…I’m doing what I really want to do.

I hope you’ll do what you want to do, too.

I’m working on “On Ringo Lake,” a quilt designed by Bonnie Hunter. The classic nine-patches are all pieced together. One flock of brown flying geese and another flock of orange are almost done — quite a gaggle to get sewn together.

I’m doing the whole project by hand, and when it’s done, I’ll hand quilt the thing, too.

Last Sunday I was talking with a friend about it.

She thinks I’m crazy.

She teased me saying, “Look, if you need a sewing machine, I’ll buy you one.”

What can I say? For me, the fun is in the hand work.

When my husband and I were first married, he’d get frustrated with me because I would be busy with embroidery while we watched a movie.

I said I needed to be doing something.

He maintained I was doing something — watching a movie.

Nu-uh. Can’t sit with idle hands and watch a movie. Couldn’t do it then, can’t do it now.

Maybe it’s genetic?

My grandmothers were avid hand quilters, and they also knitted or crocheted, did embroidery work, or tatted. They and thousands of other women over dozens of genterations can’t be wrong.

All those grandmamas, mamas, and aunts stitched their worries away because hand work is oddly therapeutic.

Here are some ways it helps me have a more joyous life:

There’s the sensory nature of handwork. The soft material under my fingers. The fuzzy batting.

The sound of the thread as it pulls through the fabric–making it own kind of music.

Quilting is all about how the needle rocks back and forth through the layers of material.

Up and down. Up and down. Back and forth. Creating nice even stitches.It quiets my mind because I have to focus on it, but I don’t have to think about it.

Hand work also fulfills my need to be productive. When I spend an evening just watching television, at the end of the night I have nothing to show for it. But when I’m watching something and handpiecing at the end of the evening I look down and see there are ten or eleven flying geese that have been paired off with their mates into bigger units.

It’s portable. I carry a little sewing kit with me, and I pull it out in the doctor’s waiting room, so instead of being grumpy about the wait, I’m happy about the stitching.

Handwork is a way better than obsessing about social media, but it is social (in an odd sort of way). People always stop and ask, “What are you doing?” And very often, the conversation that follows is pleasant and rewarding.

In a world that’s moving a bazillion miles an hour, with so many things vying for our attention, give handwork a chance.

Take an adventure with fabric and needles and thread, grow a gift with a crochet hook and yarn, sit with a knife and a block of wood and whittle away at your problems.

Should I Fix It?

Handi Works