Letting Her Play... Or How I'm Learning to Let Go of my Fabric

It was like a floodgate. So much just pushing on the doors, screaming to bust through and wreak havoc on anything in its path. I let her in, I really let her in the sewing room and now I can't keep her out. No longer content to arrange and make a mess of my jars of scraps she is now turning to me stash. She pulls out her favourite colours, determines just the right combination, then grabs my embroidery scissors, and hacks away. She's discovered fabric glue and fabric markers. With no input from me, and little regard for my fabric she is churning out butterflies and more.

It was one thing to let her pick and play when making her quilt. I still had some margin of control over that. Now? All I can manage to keep her from doing is hacking through some favourite fabrics with random cuts down the middle. But it rips at my quilter's gut and every now and then my heart, the heart that is tied to obsessions with fabric gets broken. She listens to me when I vehemently insist that she leave THAT fabric alone, then turns around and insists herself that she knows what she is doing and won't wreck my fabric because she is making something more beautiful.

She does this while I sew, while I write, while I cut fabric for her sister's quilt, while I play around on the internet. She won't touch my scraps, preferring to attack the bins of fabric in my stash. Did I mention the heart palpitations? Then I remember what Amanda said, It's All Just Fabric.

So we've had repeated discussions about cutting from the corner, not the middle, and how Mama gets final say on whether she can use that particular fabric. And when she wanted a big piece on which to attach a swarm on butterflies I let go and said that it would make a perfect garden.

Friday Favourite - The Family

Seems rather silly, after the week the world is having, to post something about a favourite tool or gadget or pretty thing. I know we all need those things and they are a welcome distraction.

I also know that many of us create in times of stress and distress. We take comfort in our pretty things in progress and made. They give us hugs right back when we embrace their beauty, their imperfections. They are the shoulder when no other shoulder is available for the cry. They are the moments in time where peace - even when there was a struggle to make it - is readily available.

After last week and this one, both ups and downs I am sharing my ultimate  favourite thing today. My family. These 4 people make me smile more than anyone else can, while also infuriating me more than anyone else can. And I wouldn't trade them for the world. So, I'm holding them close.

We are likely to be found under a quilt. Send popcorn and scotch.

Friday Favourite: Dido's Salsa

My Dad was world famous for his salsa. Well, locally famous. As in, all of our family and friends would beg for jars of his usually just the right amount of spicy and a bit smoky salsa. In a family such as ours it is no surprise that the recipe for pyrohy dough is a treasured possession. We'd be bad Ukrainians without it. But the salsa is what we all were afraid would get lost when he died.

As the end was becoming abundantly clear in my father's lung cancer we all gathered at my parent's house. I sat and spoke to my Dad about his salsa. We started with the first recipe, the first batch he ever made. He told me where he got his tomatoes and peppers. I photographed each ingredient as it was chopped so we would always know just how fine or chunky it should be. I photographed my Dad as he  stirred, sipped, and stammered through making salsa.

A week later he was admitted to the hospital and 6 weeks later he died.

Two weeks ago my Mom and I gathered to make a batch of salsa, only the second time we've done it since his death. Somehow it's fallen to me to be the guardian of the recipe. I don't mind at all. We do a good job with it, but of course it isn't the same. It lacks the smokiness - maybe that infiltrated from him and his nasty smoking habit. And I chopped things a bit finer this time because I wasn't paying as much attention. I could hear his criticism in my head as I stirred the peppers into the tomatoes. But we came out with jars and jars of salsa that we still call Dido's Salsa. I still top my scrambled eggs with it, my daughter fills her tortilla with it, it sits beside a plate of nachos when friends come over and they ask where we got it. It will always be Dido's Salsa, even when I chop the onions too fine.

Today is the 2nd anniversary of his death. The 4 am phone call from my brother. The sobs of my Mom as I woke her, the stupid red car stuck in a giant puddle on the way to the hospital, making tea while I called the funeral home, telling the girls in the midst of a date, the washing machine repairman who came and had no clue what had happened. It's all so vivid. Perhaps even more so this year as last year I was focused on the new baby.

My Dad was a man with many faults and our relationship was far, far, from perfect or even good. But he had a story and a heart in there somewhere. And damn, he made fine salsa.

Big's Quilt - Part 1

A couple of months ago my little girl asked if we could make a quilt together. We usually have quiet mornings together a few times a week when her brother is napping and her sister is in school. Personally, I think it was more about playing on the design wall than the finished project. And that's just fine.

She spent a happy morning pulling every single bin of mine out of the closet to pick fabrics. The only thing I encouraged her to do was perhaps select a favourite fabric to start or a colour combination. Being the little girl that she is, the pinks and purples came out first. At the beginning it was going to be all pink, then purple was allowed in. Then yellow, then some green, and finally red. I'm pretty sure this fabric play took her a few mornings.

Once she'd settled on her fabrics I set to cutting them for her. She specifically requested squares all mixed up. I went with 6 1/2'' squares simply because it was an easy size to cut. As I cut she placed them on the design wall. And then she'd go harass her brother, come back, and change a square. This went on for a few weeks.

Her first layout was all the same fabrics grouped together, with a random interloper breaking things up. I let her sit on this, then encouraged her to play. She was hesitant at first, but I took a picture of what she had and promised to return to that layout if she hated it after we played. But we never went back.

She would come in every morning and rearrange a few blocks. I snapped this photo when I realized her  PJs matched her quilt. So maybe she did have an inspiration after all?!

Then the blocks sat. I got busy with other projects and she had more playdates than quiet with Mama. I kept asking her to sew with me but she wanted to play catch instead. No amount of urging from me and pleas from her sister (who wants the design wall for her own quilt) could get her motivated.

With it being spring break this week and my need for the design wall I simply told her we were going to start. She didn't have to help, but I did sew a good portion of the quilt with her on my lap.

One last rearrangement before I took all the columns down and set to sewing. I changed nothing in her layout. Of course, as we were sewing she changed her mind on some blocks. So it ended up with a little more improv. The only thing I did was make sure we had no two blocks the same next to each other.

This has been a glorious experience for me. I've watched her excitement over the fabric and layout. She got such a kick out of making HER quilt layout just the right way. It took a lot of my energy to stand back and let it all happen. A lot. Sure, I did the heavy lifting, but this will most certainly be her quilt.

(The top is together and she's picked the backing fabric, but she asks that we wait for a big reveal!)