Material Girls

Once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away some women, barely women, girls really, met to cut fabric up into tiny pieces and proceed to sew it all back together again in different configurations. This was our art and we called it ‘quilting’ and we called ourselves ‘the material girls’. We met every Wednesday at one our homes and slepped our sewing machines, buckets of fabric, cutting mats and blades in an attempt to make time to engage in this antique craft of sewing and sisterhood.
Because we were all interested and devoted to this bonding craft (pun intended) we tended to have the same taste in food, décor and clothing. We were all a little bit country and ranchy so we were quite comfortable in our surroundings wherever we were meeting that week. We were home.
Some of us were more creative than others and some of us were more experienced sewers than others, some of us had a better eye for fabric but we all had expertise in some area and we gleaned from each other. We found our common ground in this wholesome practice. We were young enough to have littles that we often dragged along. The hostess would always make something delectable to eat. We were a group of bakers and cooks that loved to feed the 5000. We devoured fresh cinnamon buns, chocolatey brownies, decadent soups and stews, picnic sandwiches, flakey scones with strawberries and cream, quiche, hot chocolate, coffee, tea, hot apple cider. Wednesday was my favorite day of the week. That was another era, another life. A life and a practice that I miss greatly but feel privileged to have been a part of.
By noon, all of our fabrics, scissors, irons and ironing boards, cutting mats, thread, quilting magazines and patterns were strewn across the hostesses’ home. We spread ourselves throughout the kitchen, living room, bedrooms, basement. Wherever we could to find a niche for the day and focus on whatever project we were working on. We oohed and awed over everyone’s glorious new fabrics and patterns. We debated whether to use cotton thread or polyester threads, whether to use cotton batting or fiberfill, whether to use flannel or not (we were definitely a flannel loving group). Our love of flannel surpassed only by our love of plaid. We were stitching love into every quilt that we poured over for months in anticipation of gifting one of our children or siblings or parents. There is just something about making a covering for a loved one. We like to equate ourselves with the Proverbs 31 woman – She selects wool and flax and works with eager hands…. She sets about her work vigorously;… When it snows, she has no fear for her household; for all of them are clothed in scarlet…. She makes coverings for her bed;… We felt dignified and purposeful as we planned projects for the future and engaged in them in the present.
Sitting around the living room stitching or chain piecing we talked about all the problems of the world and our own circle of lives. We encouraged each other, prayed with each other, laughed with each other, we often gave and received sage advice (a couple of our mother’s belonged to the group so they were much like the Titus women of the group). We learned much more than how to sew cute little squares of fabric together to form an artistic design. At about 3:30pm we would all rush off to pick our kids up from school and get home to make dinner for the hubs.
Approximately once a year, we would plan a retreat, a weekend away at someone’s cottage or mountain condo or often,  a quaint little bed and breakfast and we would slepp all of our tools of the trade to this destination and we would quilt from sunrise until the wee hours of the morning. At the end of the weekend we would display our quilts and take pictures of them for posterity. These were wonderful times of sisterhood. Truly. We would usually go for a walk in the middle of the day just to get the blood in our legs flowing again. When we met at someone’s cottage we would all chip in and be responsible for one meal. The food we ate was so delicious and healing – it was definitely a part of the experience. When we met at the bed and breakfast our food was made for us and it was such a decadent treat to have someone else provide us with down home fresh farm cooking and baking.
I remember one such weekend, travelling through a blizzard in subzero temperatures to get to our retreat. We knew what was waiting for us at the other end. Lovely beds made of willow, covered with flannel quilts and garlands of mini lights illuminating the windows so we could lay in bed and watch the falling snow. A large farm table laden with homemade bread, soup and stew and lovely fruit pie for dessert. A heated concrete floor in the workshop area. Ducks to greet us on the path each morning. I happened to be driving my van that particularly stormy weekend and it was no small relief when we finally pulled up in front of the Inn. (I would never make that drive in those conditions now). The next morning none of our cars would start. Not that we needed to go anywhere but we thought we would start them due to the bitter cold. The owner of the Inn got each car going, an added blessing for no extra charge.

The material girls will never let me forget the weekend we drove out to a cottage at Sylvan Lake and I was responsible for breakfast so I brought my bread machine along so we could have fresh cinnamon buns but when it came down to piecing I realized I had left my sewing machine at home. Everyone howled. Luckily there are many aspects to quilting that don’t involve a sewing machine.
The girls like to tease me about my propensity for making quilt tops. That’s as far as I would get. My joy was in choosing the fabrics and getting the design together and the rest of process was just tedious. They suggested I open a store called Toppers for those that don’t feel adequate to make tops but can do the rest of the process. I still have quilt tops buried in Rubbermaids in the basement. To be fair, I taught myself to stipple (a process where you use the sewing machine to meander your quilt together) so I did manage to bring quite a few quilts to fruition.
As life evolved I ended up working in a charming little quilt shop for 6 years. I was in my element. My task was to choose fabrics for Block of the Month quilts. These were quilts that usually had 12 blocks to complete and quilters would order these BOM quilts from all over the globe and I would choose the fabrics and cut out the pieces the size that they would need for that block. Then they would be packaged up and mailed out. The buyer would receive one block each month and at the end of the year she’d have a quilt.  Very often I was the only staff member at the shop on a Monday morning and I would let myself in and wander the shop before customers would arrive and marvel at the racks of gorgeous cotton fabrics and dream about my next project. I wanted to make everything in sight. This phase of my life was such a blessing. I am so glad that it was my experience. Those were simpler days when we weren’t so caught up in social media and the demise of our world.
Another running joke was when one of us was making a quilt as a wedding gift. Inevitably it would be the day of the wedding and the quilt was not finished. So we would give a card explaining that these things take time and its coming. We found a singer who wrote all her songs about quilting. One of her songs was about the imfamous ‘wedding quilt’. It was called ‘It Aint Finished Yet’. Even now, I have a wedding quilt sitting in my studio that I put together for a wedding 10 years ago and it still isn’t finished. I could easily have hand quilted it by now.

I long for those leisurely days of engaging in a craft that was healing and fulfilling. I still have buckets of quilt fabric stashed in my basement. When we last moved, I was wondering if I should get rid of it now that I was immersed in the corporate world but I felt a voice in my spirit telling me to keep the fabric because I would be making good use of it in the future. So I kept it and it’s been calling my name lately.
Those were the days my friend, I wished they’d never end. Since then our kids have grown and dispersed and we have taken on new responsibilities and the days of playing Little House on the Prairie are over as we have entered a season of busyness, stress and exhaustion and we long for a simpler, more wholesome era. I’ve got my memories…. and my quilts.