One very weird thing about not working is being here when my husband and daughter leave for work.  Usually I was the first one to open the garage door in the wee hours of the morning while the house was dark and everyone was still asleep but now, Im standing here in my housecoat waving goodbye to them and encouraging them to have a great day.  I walk back into the kitchen and wonder “What now?”

The sun streamed across the rumpled  quilt as I reached to silence my annoying alarm, on  this particular Saturday morning in March.  I had forgotten I made a 9:00 appointment until I was setting my alarm the previous night.  I stumbled to the closet to find the easiest most comfortable thing that was ok to wear in public. I decided on the same thing I wore yesterday. I mean who cares? sometimes I just get tired of pretending I’m being followed by the fashion paparazzi for ‘on the street’ fashion.

As I drove the length of  our sun saturated street it became apparent that a glorious day was emerging. It was good to be up at the crack of dawn while most others were still shaking off the fatigue of the past week in deep Saturday morning slumber.  By now I definitely knew this was a Father of the bride morning.

Anything I prefix with “Father of the Bride” fits under the description:  perfectly unperfect, joyful, homey, wholesome, all is well with the world (and my soul). everything is as it should be and that’s a great feeling because it doesn’t happen very often these days.

I drove to the bank to make a withdrawal for some items I needed cash for. It’s always a good day when you go to make a withdrawal and money comes out. How blessed am I ?

As I drove to my appointment, I crested a hill in the road that allowed me to see the entire city skyline in the distance, underlined by rows of rooftops and evergreen trees.  It was a travel postcard sight.  Arriving at my destination, I hopped out of the car to hear, for the first time this spring, birds chirping in chorus.  A ‘glad to be alive’ day for sure.

Following my appointment, I stopped off at the market before returning home for the day.  My plans involved donning my apron and proceeding to to some baking for a birthday party I was hosting the following day.  As I have mentioned before,  one of my favorite pastimes is working in my kitchen. I turned on some music and grabbed a chilled bottle of perrier and proceeded to fire up my Kitchen Aid and get down to some culinary tasks.  As I am methodically enjoying my time in the kitchen, my husband is out in the garage, power washing the floor.  We have one of those epoxy garage floors that cleans up nicely. And while he was at it he decided to clean out the shed and the clean up the back deck as well.

I had such a sense of well being as I considered myself in the house doing women’s work and he outside doing men’s work.  I’m good with that.  I am more than good with that.  In my way of thinking – that’s the way it should be.  Even though I was in and he was out, I felt like we were doing life together and a wave of happiness and joy washed over me.  This has always been what I wanted out of life and here I was experiencing it.  This moment was not lost on me.  Nor do I want any moments like this to be lost on me.

No – everything in life is not perfect…not by a long shot.  But I must remind myself to appreciate and cherish moments and days like these when just for a breeze all is well in my world.

Alarm buzzes, hit snooze.  Fifteen minutes later alarm buzzes again, hit snooze.  Crack screen on iPhone. Five minutes later jump out of bed in a panicked frenzy because now I am late to get to the gym by 5:30am to work out for an hour and be in the gym shower by 6:30 am to make myself presentable for the day and be at my desk by 7:30am.  Eat my homemade breakfast and make my days TO-DO list.  Proceed to complete the tasks. Lunchtime – eat my homemade lunch and then fight to stay awake for the rest of the afternoon and accomplish anything significant (which is hard to do when your company morale is low due to lack of work and disappearing staff.  Am I next?)  Drive home and choose between many options –  clean house, cook food, clean fridge, mend clothes, iron sheets, do laundry, read, journal, study, paint, sew…OK…spend 3 hours on Pinterest in front of the fire listening to Josh Groban.  (Productivity is overrated.) Pack lunch and gym bag for next day and be in bed by 9:30 latest. Try to sleep through the night without getting up to work out a painful cramp or go to the loo.    REPEAT and REPEAT and Repeat and Repeat and repeat and repeat.

Who remembers the Indian (Native/First Nations) Chief head that showed up after midnight on TV when the days programing was done and you were lying on the couch alone with the glow of this screen (which was white and bright) and the low siren that hummed until you physically got off the couch and turned off the TV and went to bed?   There are days when it feels like that screen is my constant companion. Hummmmmm – Drummmmmmm.

Is this all there is?  How about a nice surprise?  How about a positive deviation?  How about an undeserved break from reality?  How about a vacation?  How about a raise?  How about winning a lottery?  How about no terrorism?  How about I wake up and certain political leaders and contenders are ditch diggers that nobody has ever heard off? How about all my problems dissolving –  leaving me to lounge on a sail boat gazing at the ocean with ombre blue as far as the eye can see, with the heat penetrating my skin and waif-like body while  the rocking of the waves lulls me into a catatonic slumber only to wake periodically to my husband sitting by my side peeling grapes and plopping them into my mouth?  Full, ripe, juicy, sweet, green seedless grapes…..

Some friends leave for their second home in Phoenix and other friends leave for their first home in Hawaii. Mother leaves for New Zealand and brother leaves to follow a diamond trader around the world for a reality show.  Sister leaving for Cinque Terre in a couple of weeks, another friend just left for Israel.  Friends offspring  getting married and having babies continually making them grandparents (never to be seen again in social circles). So and so loses 50 pounds and another so and so writes a best seller.  And the world keeps turning on its axis as I repeat the first paragraph until I can do it in my sleep (and usually do).  I must not walk through this life in a mundane trance.  My life DOES have meaning even if it’s the same old, same old.

To tell you the truth – I rather like the same old, same old.  The familiar, the safe, the routine – I know how to do that.  After 58 years I’ve pretty much got it down pat.  It’s the unexpected – be it good or bad – that throws me off my course.  And then of course there is my thought life. Sometimes I just have to tell it to SHUT-UP!  I’ve often accused my son of being an over thinker because he has the IQ of Albert Einstein. But me, with no IQ at all, still manages to overthink every little think (I mean thing).

Here’s the deal….Even when life seems mundane and boring and repetitive and exhausting and overwhelming, I DO have so much to be grateful for and I actually cherish and treasure this life that has been assigned to me.  Along with the difficult, painful, scary events that have transpired in the past there have been triple the amount of rich, rewarding, fulfilling, meaningful, joyous, miraculous and memorable life experiences that I can revisit when I’m stuck in REPEAT.  And it is in these everyday rote patterns that God speaks to me profoundly and undeservedly.  He shows me that HE is in every little detail of my life and that HE has it all planned out and every moment, every event, every heartache, every joy, every relationship has a purpose and it’s for my good.  Often He has to tone my life way down in order for me to hear His still voice speaking to me and instructing me on what’s next or how to cope and make the most of what’s now.  The lessons and wisdom that I glean in these ‘boring’ moments of life far surpass what I gain in the exciting and easy chapters.

I’m at a place in my life where my job is precarious, finances are a challenge, kids living in another city trying to find their way (life is tough) therefore, constant prayer (which is a good thing), mother needs a new place to live, sleep is elusive and staying healthy is a fulltime job, energy is lower, tolerance isn’t what is used to be, watching the news is well…I just don’t.  But this IS life…the circle of life and really all is as it should be.  God has me right where he wants me – for such a time as this (echoes of Esther). And even when it doesn’t feel like it, He has a purpose for me in this same old, same old Repeat pattern.

And so I continue to love my husband (rather than find fault) and I continue to pray for my kids (rather than interfere) and I continue to be kind to whomever crosses my path (rather than judge) and I continue to be grateful to the Father (rather than complain) and I continue to see the glory in the sunrises and the peace in the sunsets and I continue to walk the narrow, straight , disciplined and purposeful path (rather than chase after the exciting mirage of the world) and I put one foot in front of the other and remind myself to breathe and look up.

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.