Viva

(I forgot to post this but it preceded our Disney sojourn)
I couldn't resist the old photo-in-the-rear-view-mirror shot, especially with a gorgeous sunset behind and desert all around.  The sunset driving into LA was far more spectacular but I was driving which somewhat precluded the taking of photos.

We left Arizona after a very sweet Thanksgiving with cousins and second cousins (there may have been some third cousins there too), and our nearly-missed-it trip to the Canyon and drove to Vegas.  There was a lot of Elvis being played in the car  (luckily the girls are on board with Elvis, though we discovered Lily has a here-to-fore unknown fear of devils, brought out by Devil in Disguise).  Looming out of nothing suddenly came a sea of lights. Vegas is certainly a surreal experience.  I can see why it might appeal or even inspire some, but it wasn't my cup of tea.  One night was enough.

And speaking of cups of tea, I would be willing to pay quite a bit of money for a decent one.  This is a land of coffee drinkers.  Every hotel room, however basic, is equipped with a coffee maker, and places to purchase coffee abound, but tea drinkers are given short shrift.  In cafes, I'll be given a paper cup with hot (but not quite boiling) water and a selection of teas in bags.  If I'm lucky, one will be good old black tea but frequently it's a selection of weird herbal blends (green tea with pomegranate for example).  Milk is apparently not drunk in tea.  Non dairy creamer (what exactly is it?) or, at best, half and half (half milk half cream I think) is all that's provided.  I've not been able to source loose leaf black tea, even in Boston - surely the one place you'd expect to be able to find a cup of tea.  Perhaps after the taxes on tea the nation swore off the beverage and never went back to it.  I'm aware, even as I type this, that I sound like an old fogey.  Who would have thought that tea would be the thing I miss?

Tiny Dancer

These are not actually dancers, they are tiny dolls, but they look a little as though they are twirling around in their stitched on mary-janes, don't they? I've been sewing these each night and find them strangely addictive. They are very time consuming - each one takes about an hour and a half. It's the shoes, and the hair that take the time mostly. I've made them out of thin strips of 3mm felt - the same felt I used for some of these houses. I am not yet sure what to do with them but they are really very satisfying to make. I never expected I would become a woman who spent her evenings stitching tiny little things that required her to peer over the tops of her glasses to focus. I'm sure a more exotic life was in my plans, but this one suits me well enough.

Things I could not have foreseen.

Stack of quilts - Lily, Nina, Ruby, Grace

I can no longer remember what I thought it would be like to be a mother before I had children. 
In my professional life, many things turn on the notion of foreseeability.  It's a much harder question than you'd think, legally, but in my real life most things are foreseeable: tiredness makes everyone grumpy;  if there is only one pink plate and two three year old girls, there is likely to be a fight; if you sit quietly in a corner and read, small people will gather (good when you're doing parent duty at kinder, not so good when you're trying to finish a book for book club).

However there are a few things that have occurred since becoming a parent that I really never could have foreseen.  I never would have thought that the first poo my offspring did in the potty would get eaten by the dog.  I didn't foresee that whilst inspecting a child's itchy bottom at 2am I'd see a live worm wiggling at me.  I never imagined I would discover first hand that colds spread when someone else's snot drips into your open mouth.  

I am a great one for saying aloud, (or quietly thinking to myself) the things I will never do.  And yet a day, a week, a year later those are often the very things I find I am doing.  And so it was with quilting

I never was particularly fond of quilts. When I began sewing about four years ago I was quite certain that quilting would never interest me.  When a friend's mother took up quilting and told me how much I would love it I smiled politely and silently thought "never in a million years".  I like quick gratification in my craft and quilting is the opposite of quick.  All those little pieces to measure and cut and sew.....

Archie's quilt

Then one day I had a conversation with my friend who was expecting twins.  It was summer and three or four times I had started knitting baby blankets for those twins and three or four times I had unpicked all my knitting because it didn't look right, or the colours were wrong or the wool scratchy.
My friend told me that her obstetrician had advised that the twins were "running out of room" and that she might go into labour at about 33 weeks.  When she told me this, she must have been about 31 weeks pregnant and, to my shame, instead of concern that she might have reasonably premature babies, my first thought was "there is no way I'll be able to knit two baby blankets in 2 weeks".
So I scrambled for an idea and looked through my stash (that was another thing I promised myself I would never have) and thought that a simple strip quilt for each was doable in the time.

I picked out a group of fabrics that seemed to go together and laid them out and sewed them up and I was so completely pleased with myself and my efforts, and so thoroughly in love with the result, that I could hardly sleep. There was nothing particularly fabulous about those quilts, and indeed looking at them now is slightly painful - so many things I would have done differently...

Abby's quilt

Those twins (who were not born at 33 weeks afterall) are about to turn one.  In the year since I made those first little cot quilts I've made a quilt for each of my girls and one of my nieces.  I've acquired a small collection of quilting books.  I've been to a couple of quilting shows.  I've been given a brand spanking new  "Quilter's Edition" Bernina 440 for my fortieth birthday to replace the 1967 Singer on which I have sewn everything in my life (and which features in the header of this blog  - that's Ruby's quilt I'm quilting on it).  I've bought a rotary cutter and mat. I've got quilting pins, and plastic templates.  I surf the net looking at online fabric stores. 

Free motion quilting Grace's quilt

Does all this make me a quilter?  I hesitate to say yes.  "Real" quilters would look at my wonky seams, my uneven cutting, my, umm, individual quilting style and less-than-perfect mitred corners, and would consider me not of their number.  And, to be honest, at those quilting shows I did not feet one little bit like I'd found my tribe.  I look at many quilts and admire only the technical skill.  I think henious crimes against taste have been committed in the name of quilting.
And yet, I leap into that fray.  The Bernina is too good for me (that's it in the corner of this photo). Far superior sewers have far inferior machines.  This makes me feel like the sort of poseur who dons a 'king of the mountain' bike jersey and rides a custom made $5000 bike to Brunetti's for coffee.  Still,  I'm learning.  In ten years I hope the Bernina will not be too good for me. 

In the meantime, my imperfect efforts give me pleasure, brighten our rooms, warm my children and provide a permanent testament to this "woman's work".

Grace's quilt