I got an email recently asking how I “fit it all in.”  Which is funny, because most days, I decidedly do not feel as though I am getting it all done–far from it.  And I’ll say here as I have said before and will no doubt say again: when it comes to Doing It All, I can’t, I shouldn’t, and I don’t.  No one can really do it ALL.  It’s not really possible to achieve a balanced life by doing absolutely everything–and even if you’re able to get it all done, you’re probably not doing it all well.  So let’s take that one off the table.  I don’t think I should do it ALL, anyway.  I want the work I do to be the best work I can do, and more importantly, I want the work I do to be work only I can do–which is to say, why would I spend my time working on something I know someone else can do better?  Let them do it, get the glory and accolades they deserve for doing something they’ve been gifted to do, and then I have more time to focus my talents on the things I am gifted to do.  Toward that end, I don’t do it ALL.  I have a whole host of people in my life who make it possible for me to pursue the things I do and still get a realistic amount done: my husband, who is a great dad and is home for supper and bath time every single night, even though he is also self-employed and could stay at the office for weeks; my oldest child, who does the dishes every single night of her life (mostly without complaining) and relieves me of my most-hated household task; an every-other-week maid who takes care of most of the other non-tidying household chores; the amazing staff at the Whipstitch shop–Diana, Elle, Theresa, Holly, Laura and Melanie–who bust their tails every day making it beautiful and welcoming you and shipping orders and taking care of tasks so that I don’t have to be there seven days a week (or even two days a week); my editor, who keeps my writing in line and on track for publication; the teachers at my children’s schools, who make sure my kids are taken care of and loved and learning while they’re there during the day, which gives me more time to get things done on my end.  There are a whole pile of people I could thank–and so could you, because even if it’s just the dude who bags your groceries each week, if we’re paying attention, we’ll realize that none of us are really alone.  How awesome.

Having said all that, I did do a “day in the life” post way back for Made By Rae.  I’d actually forgotten about it until Rae was in Atlanta recently and mentioned it–and the alarming level of detail I included in my original email to her which she was obligated to edit down to a reasonable size.  Thank heaven she’s a former scientist, too, and realizes that it’s hard to shake the habit of recording every single detail.  That post is a little out of date, since we’ve moved twice since then, so just for fun, I jotted down details about my day last week to share with you–every day around here is a little (and sometimes a lot) different from the next, so it didn’t seem to make sense to do an “average” day.  This is one specific day, with some rambling about what else might have happened.

NB: I have been told that when people hear about my schedule that it makes them tired.  I guess I understand that, and at the same time, I don’t feel that way.  I mean, I go to bed tuckered just like everyone else, but I guess (1) I figure lots and lots of people have busy lives, so mine isn’t really that different outside of the details, and (2) I like my life, so even if I wasn’t doing these things, I’m sure I’d be doing something, and don’t miss the things I don’t do in order to do the things I love.

Read on for a startlingly detailed account of a day in my life.  If you want. Continue reading »

I’ve got three separate HST projects going on at the moment.  Which either means I am a complete, obsessive nutcase or a wild-haired genius. Either way, lots of triangles over here.

It mostly started with Ellen Baker’s Quilt Blocks, which just came in at the shop.  I wanted some yardage, but didn’t really know which prints and how much of each, so I settled on a couple of charm packs (I really wanted a jelly roll, so I could make another one of these, but since I don’t really need another one of them, strictly speaking, I thought I’d leave the jellies for you people–you’re welcome).  With 84 squares five inches to a side, it’s only a hop, skip and a jump to HSTs, to paraphrase my grandfather.  The hop, skip and jump part, not the HSTs.  Unless that’s an engineering term, in which case I suppose he might have said that.  But otherwise, very unlikely, as I don’t believe he ever quilted.

I’m not entirely sure where this is going yet (the quilt or the post, to be honest), only that the background is Kona cactus, because.  I mean, it’s basically my signature color.  Matches Gutermann 712 perfectly, and I think we all know I buy that by the case, literally.  Plus, it goes so nicely with all the colors Ellen chose to put in her collection.  I do think it was sweet of her to create an entire fabric collection in my color palette, don’t you?  These really ALL are my favorite colors.  So no matter what direction I decide to go with these HSTs–I’m really just fiddling now–I have a good feeling about this one.

I’m also playing around with my summer citrus quilt fabrics, inspired by this print.  I was at the shop on Saturday while Holly was there–have you met Holly?  She’s awesome, and the best up-seller on the Whipstitch staff.  For reals.  The lady can convince you to buy “just a couple more yards” of pretty much anything, and I include myself in that statement.  I already loved this citrus print, but when I pulled it out and bemoaned the fact that I didn’t know what to make with it (I SO do not need another skirt that I have no top to go with), her eyes got all huge and she gushed googly happiness all over it, and before you knew what had happened, I’d pulled a bunch of prints to coordinate and was planning a quilt.  It was lovely.

So now I’m three rows into a zigzag quilt.  Can you believe I haven’t made one of these before?  It’s totally about time for me to get on this one.  But I wanted to mix it up, so I’m adding a micro-zag to one side of all the larger zigs, in a really sharp, citrusy yellow that I wouldn’t ordinarily choose (it doesn’t play nice with Kona cactus, for one thing), but that in this case is just the ticket.  I haven’t even trimmed these bits, I was so ready to see how it would all come together–you know that feeling where you’re not quite sure it will work out, but then you roll the dice anyway, and you start to realize it will work out, and you get so excited you’ve done half the work without realizing it?  It was like that.  With snacks.

I still have at least three other fabrics to go, and hope they turn out as well as the ones I’ve begun with.  I especially like that Malka Dubrowsky checkered-picnic print–yummy. The yellow zags really pop against the white, too, and I’m so pleased with them that I don’t even mind that they get cut off a bit in the inner corners when the pieces come together.  That’s what I’m telling myself for now, anyway.

And last but for reals not least, I’m working on a whimsically primary-colored HST quilt using the brand-new Summersville, some Konas, and a cross-hatch print that I adore.  Shock of all surprises, it’s yellow–Whipstitch yellow, to be exact, which I’d like to point out for the thirteen millionth time is the TRUE color of the year, no matter what Pantone says, and was named by Country Living magazine as the “neutral to have these days.”  So there–who’s ahead of the curve now, suckas??

I’m only two blocks into this one, but I am really liking where it’s headed.  The colors in these fabrics are so delicious, and the prints are so light-hearted.  I’m using the Potager block design from Modern Blocks (which we carry at the shop, bee tee dubs), and think the bright colors and very subtly textured background make it feel super mod and somehow updated-kindergarten-y.  If that makes sense.

These two quilts now officially bring my color count of yellow-based quilts to three, if you include this one (and I certainly do).  And while I’m singing the praises of the ladies at the shop, I should mention that Diana pointed out I ought to combine all my yellow scraps into an all-yellow quilt when I’m done.  Yes.  Yes, I should.

I went to a baby shower recently, and as is my apparent habit, liked the gift I gave so much that I came back home and made another for our house!  This was a sweet little bird arrangement that was originally designed as a mobile, but I think it has so much more versatility on the dresser as decor, don’t you?

Each bird is made of small scraps from my scrap basket, then stuffed and stitched shut.  They don’t take much time to sew, but choosing the fabrics to put together, and combining lots of fabrics for a miniature flock, was harder than I would have thought.  Our little girls have a soft, buttery yellow wall color and a pale, pale pink ceiling, and both of them looooove pink–the two-year-old has begin pointing at pink and saying, “Pretty!” because that’s what she thinks that color is called–so lots of pink and purply-violet seemed to be in order.

Probably the biggest challenge was finding just the right stick.  In this case, I had to make do with two separate sticks that I planted next to one another in a crystal glass.  The glass is part of a set that belonged to my husband’s grandmother, and since the dresser was handmade by his grandfather for his mother when she was young, it seemed fitting.  The dresser needs repainting and I am picturing crystal knobs once that happens, so I really love having these pieces together.  I filled the glass with aquarium gravel rather than sand because it gives more stability to the sticks, and more weight to the base.

When I made the version for the baby shower, I thought I would sew each bird to the branch using clear nylon filament thread, but that was a complete disaster–the birds would sit for a tenuous second, then flip upside down and dangle from the branch, wordlessly.  It was really pathetic and a little sick, actually.  So hot glue came to the rescue.  And it was so easy and so quick that now I want to hot glue everything in sight.

The photos framed on the wall behind the birds were taken when our oldest and my husband and I were living in DC before my middle daughter was born.  We went to pretty much every botanical garden in the District and surrounding states and took photos of the prettiest flowers we found, with the plan of framing them when we came home with our new baby girl.  All three of us took photos here and there, but now no one really knows which ones were shot by whom, which is fine.  I am hoping to swap out the black Ikea frames for white ones, but that’s pretty far down the list of priorities when you still don’t have kitchen cabinet doors.

Some of the birds as nestled between two branches to give them a stronger perch; when I did that, I made sure to hot glue on both sides.  I think it makes them look cool, like they’re hanging out after school, waiting for the pretty girls to walk by.  Both of the little girls super love their new bird friends, and it makes a really great impact when you come into their room from the hallway, next to the sweet yellow walls and the pink ceiling and the soft morning light coming through their curtains:

Now if I can just finish their matching postage-stamp quilts, we’ll be in business around here.

image via Threads Magazine

As I’m finishing up writing my new book, the last of the major tasks is to finalize the patterns.  That means taking each pattern that I’ve developed that requires a paper pattern–there are eight of those in this book of 25 projects–and grading them to include multiple sizes.  Patterns are developed in a single size, then modified beyond that to fit a whole range of sizes in addition to that initial one.

It’s a somewhat complicated process, and I don’t mind telling you that this time around, I’ve asked a professional to help me with it, rather than me tackling it all by myself.  There’s still plenty of pattern-testing to be done, minor changes here and there, and the nail-biting that goes along with hoping every dot and every notch is just right, but it takes a load off my mind to know that I won’t be going it alone.

What I’m wondering, though, is what it is that all of us are looking for when it comes to pattern sizing.  I think when I first started sewing what I most wanted was less ease–which is to say, I wanted the patternmakers to stop assuming I was an octogenarian who wanted sixteen extra inches of fabric around my body regardless of the style of the garment.  To a certain degree, I think we’ve seen that happen in patterns over the past ten years: there seem to be more fitted styles and more accuracy in the sizing than there used to be.

What else, though?  Will you guys help me out with this one?  Tell me what it is YOU’RE looking for in pattern sizes when you purchase a sewing pattern.  Are you looking for more sizes per envelope?  Or fewer (less paper to fold back up)?  Do you want a wider range of sizes, from tiny to plus-sized?  For pattern sizes to be closer to off-the-rack sizes (rather than couture sizes, which they usually are, meaning that while you might wear a size 4 in store-bought clothing you wear a size 10/12 in sewing patterns)?  Would you prefer all your patterns to come one-size-per-envelope, or do you really like that you can get multiple sizes in one package?  I’d really love to hear–because I think I know what you’ll say, but I’m not sure, so I’m hoping I’m right.  And if I’m wrong, I’d love to hear that BEFORE these new patterns are published!

About a year ago, I was having a conversation on the phone with a friend of mine, and noticing that I wasn’t feeling as anxious as I usually did.  For months up until that day, I had been battling a low-lying but constant nagging sense of worry, of something left undone, unattended-to, like a pot of water had been abandoned while boiling on the stove, like I’d left the house while the hose was running in the backyard.  It had gotten to where I didn’t even really notice it anymore, but it was a small stone lodged above my heart, and when my mouth would open, the poison in the stone would be the first thing to pour out.  My heart would beat faster, but without purpose, and my mind would whir and skip and jump without progress, and my lips would flap and the pitch of my voice would rise and rise and rise, all with no destination.

When she and I would speak, which was a couple of times a week, she was just checking in, being a good friend.  And what would come out of my mouth was wave after wave of anxiety and frustration and fear.  Just fear.  About my business and my life and my worries and…I mean, seriously, I would worry about worrying, it was so bad.  I hated it, hated the sound of it in my voice, hated the sticky feeling it left behind me once the conversation was over, hated the way I felt so lost and undirected for the rest of the day, as if the anxiety had stolen that moment of friendly concern, that moment of human connection, and then wanted to take the rest of my day and my evening from me, too.

Until I heard myself one afternoon, saying something different.  It was spring, and the sunlight was filtering through the window in my studio, making a skewed-square block on the floor at my feet.  I opened the door and let the air brush past me, carrying the sound of a red metal wagon scraping across the lawn as the children harvested rocks.  And the words out of my mouth surprised even me:  “You know, I’m feeling really good.  I think it’s because I found some time to sit down and sew today.”

And it was that moment when you turn the kaleidoscope just the right way, and the tiles all fall into alignment, and what was a mess of chaos and translucent confusion becomes clarity and geometric logic.  I knew that I had hit upon a clue–not the answer, but a clue–as to what had been missing, what had been allowing this cistern of worry to fill to overflowing inside me: I had forgotten to sew.

When I am at a sewing machine, at MY sewing machine, I focus in a way that few other things in this world can call me to do.  My vision is limited, in the best way, to only that which is directly in front of me.  I am not worried about what I will make for dinner, or when I will get the oil changed, or even how I will pay the bills and cover the rent and appease the IRS.  I am not worried.  The task in front of me is enough.  I have spent untold hours of my life wanting to be enough, and in this one place, I always, always am.  Enough for the task, enough for the machine, enough for the fabric–not because they ask so little, but because they meet me halfway.

Sewing can be about control, and I am not above admitting that for me this is true.  We live in a chaotic, broken world that brings me to tears and breaks my heart on a regular basis.  Taking an idea, birthing it and shaping it and seeing it clearly in my imagination, and then tackling the raw materials and making it tangible and beautiful, and even scientifically reproducible–it gives me a space where I can be in charge for a moment, where I am reminded that as ugly as the world can be, it is also a thousand times more beautiful, and as hateful and broken as some of us are, we are also priceless miracles.  I am in charge at the machine, I can conquer, I can make order out of chaos, and when that is done, when the project is complete and before me, I can face the rest of the world with a steadier breath.

I learned to sew from my mother, in the way that many of us learned from our mother: by watching, and in bits and pieces between the frustration that comes from learning to sew with someone who knows you left and right.  I’d been watching so closely, even when I didn’t know I was watching, that I was pretty sure I already knew what I was doing.  So the lessons didn’t go that well–at least, not in the way either of us expected.  I took a sewing class in college, as part of my undergraduate degree, and it was better, but I still wasn’t sewing much.  My step-mother gave me her old Singer sewing machine, and I made an enormous pair of pants out of cheap, flimsy fabric.  They fit so poorly that for years after, I bought fabric and patterns and matched and re-matched them but never sewed anything for fear that it wouldn’t turn out.

I finally got to really sewing in graduate school.  I’d made things for my home and clothing for my daughter, flower girl dresses for a friend’s wedding, some simple skirts for myself, but these were all small projects spaced months apart.  In between them, the machine would sit dormant.  In graduate school, that all changed.  Maybe it was a control thing again, because I didn’t want to face the mountains of research necessary to write my thesis.  But partly I believe it was because my life was full of so many names and dates and documents and pages and files that I ached for another way to view the world, another lens to focus the light.  Sewing really gave me that: I made friends I wouldn’t have made otherwise, I learned things about myself I would have ignored or denied, and I got balance.

I get a lot of satisfaction out of sewing.  It appeals to the frugal home-maker in me: making it for less, building a lovely place to return to at the end of the day, providing for my husband and children, stitching a legacy for those who come after me.  My family sews, they always have.  It really never occurred to me NOT to sew, because that’s just what the ladies I’d grown up around always did.  My grandmother still does cross-stitch and embroidery, at the ripe age of 87.  My mother owned her own design and manufacturing company for fifteen years, sewing out of our basement.  I have very few photos from when I was young that don’t involve at least one person wearing a handmade garment.  We were craftsy before craftsy was cool.  So there is no doubt that there is an element of connectedness that I get out of sewing, an element of domestic satisfaction, an aesthetic pleasure that comes from making just what I’d pictured in my head, a sense of satisfaction and contentedness and rightness that goes beyond a need to control.

I think there is something in all of us that wants to MAKE.  Like there is something in all of us that just knows there is good and evil in the world, that there is right and wrong, that love is better than hate.  There is a part of us, across cultures and climates and economic boundaries, that wants to leave a mark–one that we have made, unique to us, a creative seed that we have planted.  And somewhere in that seed are all those other things: the connection to our families and our past; the satisfaction that comes from simple beauty; the contentment that comes from a well-run home; the relief that comes when we find a moment where we don’t fight to be in control of everything, but can manage just this one small thing.

That is why I sew: because my head is filled with ideas, and each of them meets a need in me that I didn’t know was there.  I don’t want to wake up twenty years from now and look back on conversations that were filled with my own anxious voice, sounding unfamiliar to me.  I think as I get older–even though I shudder when that particular old-lady phrase crosses my lips–I am less worried about what’s in it for me and more hoping that I’m putting enough in it.  And when I sew, I can see the progress, right there in my hands.  I can hear the alleviation of my anxiety, I can see the smiles that my labor produces.  And every day is a new start, a new chance to get it right.  That is why I sew.