It's Good to be Home

It's Sunday and we arrived home from a Thanksgiving visit with family in Southern Illinois last evening. As I sat catching up on email, I took a break for a quick visit to my friend Susan's blog The Spice Garden to see what she and her family were up to. That set me to smiling about our own feast and the quirky spin that combining a large family with crafty hobbies brings about. Yes that groaning board is set up on two vintage treadle sewing machines. Never mind that these are just the two prettiest ones kept in the living room for show. The real workhorses, longarm,  and featherweights are elsewhere.
There is so much in this picture that makes me smile and remember a story. Take the stone you can see in the background. It was hauled all the way from Arkansas, where my husband's family has roots. It forms the core of the house with fireplaces on the ground and basement level (quilt studio) in this home his aunt and uncle built on their farm in the 1960s.
On the far wall there is a crazy quilt hanging on a quilt hanger fashioned from an old headboard. This same aunt is the one who I credit (blame?) from getting me back to the sewing machine and invested in quilting. At first I was just going to make one crazy quilt, but I don't think that one was even finished before I had ideas for a dozen more.
Seven years later I have made more quilting projects than I can count and actually made a bit of cash selling patterns for my designs.
Did I mention that we stopped in Paducah, KY on our way to Illinois so that I could visit the National Quilt Museum? I was blown away by the current traveling exhibit from the Manhattan Quilters Guild, "Material Witness". More ideas for more quilts.
Perhaps the best part of the trip is that I had the chance to help Pat get started on a knitting project. She has been wanting to learn to knit for some time and I've bought her books and often said I would help her, but somehow we've never found the time. This year we made the time on Friday afternoon to sit quietly in the kitchen - well as quiet as that kitchen ever is with people and dogs wandering in and out all needing something. Before I left she had completed several rows and I'm optimistic that she is really getting the hang of it. Can't wait to see the finished product and to know that I've finally been able to give back a bit of craftiness to one of the women who set me on this journey as a quilt maker and fiber artist.
It really was a wonderful trip. But now I'm taking stock of all the projects waiting for me in the studio and itching to get back at it. There are ornaments to be made for the annual holiday party, gifts too, and a holiday themed quilt that really must be done quickly. Busy, busy, busy. Hope you all had a wonderful holiday filled with family, friends, food and at least a bit of craft.

Memories of Gramps

I’ve been thinking about Christmas’ past and memories from my childhood lately. It’s funny how an object can become such a token of a time and place. My Dad grew up in a wonderful rambling federal style house on a hill in the Sauquoit Valley of New York State. The place was called Wyndmoor Farm, which always sounded somehow romantic to me – like Wuthering Heights could have been written about a place with that name.

Those two ground floor windows on the left in the picture where in my Gramps’ study. It had a wonderful old cobblestone fireplace in one corner, and a huge oak roll top desk by the window. Because it was also the only room in the house with a TV, we kids spent a lot of time in there when we visited. On the chair at Gramps’ desk was a chair pad made my by Gramma Stephenson. I never gave much thought to it as a child. It was just colorful and soft and always there.

After my Grandfather died (at the ripe age of 97), my Dad and his last surviving brother took a few special mementos to keep, and I was surprised to see that he saved that chair pad. He took it home and put it on the chair in his office/den – the place he paid the bills and watched sports on TV.

In 2006, I lost both my Mom and Dad, and as we were packing things up to sell the house, I found myself drawn to that chair pad. I took a close look and realized that – ever thrifty – my grandmother had knitted that chair pad from little bits of leftover wool, and stuffed the rows with old nylons. What a great way to use up those little bits of yarn at aren’t enough to make anything; how bright and cheerful the clash of colors.

I had recently finished a Christmas ornament project – making a zillion little wet felted ornaments – and had plenty of yarn left over. I decided it would be fun to replicate the chair pad with my own leftovers. Of course, first I had to teach myself how to knit in the round. I tried circular needles, but I couldn’t get the tube small enough for my purpose. I tried the knitting spool from my childhood, and the tube was too small. Finally I bit the bullet and bought a set of five double point needles. I started. It was hard. I set it down. I picked it up. I decided I didn’t like it and ripped it out. I set it down again for a long time. Then one day this year I picked it up again because I needed a some hand work I could do while sitting in meetings, watching TV, etc. Low and behold, it was easy. In short order I had a tube that was over 200 inches long, and after some hemming and hawing about how to assemble the whole thing into a chair pad, here it is.

When I look at the original and mine side by side, I have to concede that I like Gramma’s better. Her yarn was all worsted weight and mine is fingering, so the texture is not so obvious. And, in retrospect, I don’t think she knit a tube after all. I think she used plain old knit stich turning her work at the end of each row, then seamed it when she was done. When you knit in the round, your work is never turned, so the texture is different. 

Live, love and learn. Even though Gramma has been gone since I was six years old, she still was able to teach me something about the crafts that I love. And now I have something special on my desk chair that reminds me of Gramp, Gramma and my Dad.