Pandora's closet

Actually, not Pandora's closet, just my closet.
It doesn't contain the ills of the world, but it does contain a LOT.

In the corner of my sewing room there is a piece of furniture that was formerly used as a chair. It is now the base of a mountain of fabric, quilt tops & backs, basted quilt sandwiches & more fabric. I was rather hoping to return it to its original function, so I began tidying. I gathered things I was not going to get to any time soon; I pushed towards completion several things that were teetering on the brink of being done. It is very subtle, the uninitiated eye might not see the difference, but I think there is a slight decrease in amount of chaos in the room. (Though the chair is still not a chair.)

When I was rearranging things in the closet, I pulled out a summer, battling-less & backless, quilt that my Mom bought for me many years ago. Sadly, I don't well remember the details of when or where she got it. I have a vague recollection that she found it at a neighborhood garage sale, sometime since Shug & I have been married. I also vaguely remember not being all that pleased with it -- the appliquéd ladies were not my style &, at the time, I was not fond of the fabrics. But I love it now & wish I could thank my Mother for getting it for me.
Thanks, Mom, I love it! And I love you!

Semantics

OK, so I guess if a person wants to be a literal, hair-splitting sort, a project that one has not actually begun cannot be called a "Work in Progress". But I sort of think of this un-begun quilt as a WIP. Maybe because it's a kit? I don't know. Anyway, the back story is this:

In the autumn of 2008, my Mom fell in her house. (She had been falling more. At the time we did not recognize that this was probably an early sign of her dementia.) She hurt her back & had a mild concussion & it was then that I realized that I should be checking on her more often -- so began my daily phone calls. A year later, I called her from Quilt Festival 2009; we chatted, she said she was doing OK, I said I was calling from the Quilt Festival & she told me to buy myself something to be from her. She was always generous & in the years after Dad's death, she was especially so, trying to give us things, writing us big checks (probably another sign of the Alzheimer's). Mostly, I turned her down & I had no intention of getting anything "to be from her" this time either -- then I passed the Den Haan & Wagenmakers booth. This is the Dutch shop that has the beautiful, old-world polished cottons; they had fabric, patterns & quilt kits. I lovingly stroked the beautiful prints & started to pass them by. Then I stopped, went back & bought myself a kit as a gift from my Mom to me. She was so pleased I did!

A few months after that, her physical & mental health nose-dived, she moved into nursing care, then into memory care & now she's gone.

The quilt kit sits untouched. It is a challenging pattern --  a small block with small, odd-shaped triangles. And the instructions are in Dutch! I kept trying to figure out a way to simplify it -- partial paper-piecing was the best I could come up with, but I never got it started. And now I don't really want to make it as instructed -- something simple & spare is more appealing. So I'm going through my Idea Book & making sketches. There are 22 sort of fat quarter meters plus the yardage of the 3 shades of blue (& a few extra prints that I added at the time). 
Flying Geese? Friendship Star? A modern, trendy pattern?
Stay tuned!

One year

It has been one year since my Mom's death.

In my small experience with loss, the first year is the worst -- all the milestones -- a year ago we were doing this or that -- and anniversaries. It is a little different losing a person who had dementia, you've been 'losing' them all along, but the finale is so very, well, Final. I feel a bit changed by her years in memory care, then death, kind of tempered -- stronger I hope, not harder. And it is a strange not having parents anymore. The child in me feels unattended, a little uncared for. The adult in me does not feel ready to shoulder the mantle of being the Senior Generation. I can't be a Matriarch (or Aunt-riarch)! I don't know anything, I'm just a kid!

The last time I saw my Mom was about 6 weeks before she died. During that visit, I went with her to get her hair done. Very often with dementia suffers, if they don't understand what is being asked of them, they'll just answer no. Do you want to go for a walk? Do you want to eat lunch? Do you want to have a bath? Do you want to get your hair done? Saying "no" is easier than trying to understand the question in their plaque-addled brains. My Mom's hair, permed & set all her life, had become long & straight because her permanent had grown out, the only 'do' she had was what the aides did after they gave her her shower. So we went together down the hall to the beauty/barber shop where she got a wash, trim & set. She looked nice. Then I did something I had not done in her 3 years in the nursing home:  I snapped a photo of her. She looked directly at my camera with this heartbreakingly clear, blank, bleak expression. I love this picture, can still see a glimpse of my Mom there. Then a new filter app that let me turn this photo into a 'watercolor; it took a bit of the edge off the original, making it even more beautiful to me.

A very bad day -- and trying to learn from it

I think I've mentioned before that my Mother taught me to sew.

I don't really remember any details of being taught, mostly I remember the products: Pepper's skirt & blouse (I remember learning the lazy daisy embroidery stitch, being fascinated by the name), a dirndl skirt made with Black Watch plaid (another intriguing name). It feels like I've always sewn, the lessons were so easy & effortless that they didn't feel like learning.



I do recall the times I was sewing on my own, when I would hit some "tragic" snag -- a badly done zipper, an eased seam that wouldn't fit, an accidentally snipped hole. I would be ready to ball it up & put it in the trash, probably did this more than once. But my Mom would gather up my project & patiently, methodically fix my failure & return it to me as good as new or nearly so.

She was never a quilter, so I don't know that she would have been able to fix my latest failure.
I finally finished my Denyse Schmit's Florence top, pieced together a back & was ready to sandwich & baste. I usually do this outside but it had threatened rain all day. I usually do this early in the day but by the time I had gotten the top & back ready it was evening. I usually have Shug help me but he was busy with his own stuff so I didn't ask. So I did it on my own, a little tired, in a cramped space & ended up with a bubble-y, pleat-y mess. I wadded it up & walked away. 

 

Had it not been 8:00 Sunday evening, I would have called Goodwill to come get all my fabric & machines because I was FINISHED with quilting.

A new day brought a clearer head. I not-so-patiently (patience: not my strong suit),  methodically & with Shug's help fixed my failure. ('Good as new' remains to be seen.)

 

I miss her like crazy but my Mom is still teaching me.

Going home

My Mom has always been a homebody. She loved her home more than anything. She & my Dad built their house, our home, in the mid-1950s; he lived there until he died in 2003; she lived there until she moved into the nursing home 4 years ago. We had been fearful that her transition out of the house would be difficult, but her mind & body were in such a state that she seemed to forget all about the home she had loved so dearly. Her room in 'memory care' immediately became her home.

When I drove north to visit her this past February, my brother said, for the first time, she was talking about wanting to "go home". We wondered what "home" she meant: her childhood home on the farm? her family home of more than 50 years? where? She wasn't fretful or insistent about it, she would just mention it from time to time then go on with other things.

Well, she's gone home now.

On the 3rd of April, during a very average day, she lay down for a nap from which she did not wake. While her death was not unexpected -- we've been slowly losing her for several years now -- we were very surprised. Her physical health was not great but was stable. We can only suppose that she was just tired & ready to go & the "home" she had been speaking of was not here on Earth.


Spring was just on the brink in the midlands. The forsythia were in bloom, as were the tulip & Bradford pear trees. Daffodils were up & flowering, tulips were up & budding. A warm sunny day or two would bring the redbuds to their full glory.

Measuring my days

For some time I've been trying to remember a quote, I'm pretty sure my Mom read it to me. Not so long ago, I could have called her & asked, "What's that quote? Something about counting days with spoons?" & she would have told me what it was.

No more.

So I typed 'counting days in teaspoons' into an Internet search -- no luck. There was a small ping in my head that said the author of the quote was T.S. Eliot. So I tried 't.s. eliot quotes' & there it was: "I have measured out my life in coffee spoons." (I was kind of close.) I'm not sure of the intended meaning, but I am drawing a parallel with the spools I've emptied this year -- measuring out my life in empty spools.

Home, sweet home

I'm back after a trip north to see my Mom. (Just FYI, her condition is little changed since I was there last, though she seems to be less & less connected to what is going on around her, more inside herself.)

As usual, my trip was bracketed with stays with MIL. It had been in the 90s when I left Houston & while I *meant* to put in things like socks & long-sleeved shirts, they did not actually make it into my suitcase. This wasn't a problem until the last few days of my trip when freezing temps were expected. So she & I had a day of shopping & I got myself a few things to see me through. Then we went to an awesomely brilliant, totally fun shop that I had read about in Generation Q magazine: Fabric Recycles! It is a crafters' resale shop! (Houston entrepeneurs, are you paying attention?!?! We need one here!!!) They have everything: thread, yarn, buttons, zippers, patterns, books, trims & a heaping table labeled "Started, Not Finished"-- exactly what it sounds like -- UFOs finding new homes. Oh, & yes, they have fabric, lots of fabric, all measured & neatly bundled & sorted by color. For some reason, that day I was attracted to these old-school, bright calicos. I am thinking about using them in a trendy, modern pattern like wonky crosses or maybe just squares, or triangles, hmm, right or isoseles? With lots of white I think.....

Happy Birthday, Mom.

No exclamation point.
This is her 3rd birthday in "memory care" & she really doesn't know it is her birthday.



I made this little quilt for her 80th birthday -- just 6 years ago. Most of the fabrics were from my Grandma's -- Mom's Mom -- scraps dating from the 1930s. There are bits from doll dresses, clothing scraps, old lace & ribbon. I added several hankies, silk flowers, lots of buttons (some of them vintage) & lots of love. The little photo is my Mom on her 1st birthday.
I'll be remembering her today by taking my -- *our* -- quilt, "Skirting the Circle" over to the Quilt Festival offices.
Happy Birthday, Mom.