We might say that I'm no better person than before. Time still is a concept that escapes me. Completely. I underestimated the time it takes to quilt a queensize by about a week.
Now that I think about it, I like time in a historical sense. The time you can name. In ... Julius Cesar had a bad stomach ache because Brutus... . The time I need to do something is a kind I don't manage well and which thus has it's threatening sides.
I managed to finish Hanna's birthday quilt while she was already preparing desert for her birthday barbecue.
After sewing straight through a couple of nights and more than one entire day. Quilting it took so much longer than I anticipated. Very very veeeeeery long.
Scary, too. The last night before my sister's birthday I got home later than I wanted to and decided to sew a little bit before going to bed. At around three in the wee morning hours I went into the kitchen (may I mention that I was alone at home and that my parents live in a rather big house...) and saw two glass bottles in a place I was sure I hadn't put them in. Really absolutely sure. Because when we were little, putting glass bottles into that space would have meant certain death. Death by housekeeper.
Oh yes, that lady sure had rules.
So there was no doubt I had put the bottles there and had forgotten. It was impossible.
But nobody else had been in the house the entire day, I was sure.
Immediately I started sweating and my illustrator's fantasy got to working overtime.
You know the drill: 'What about those ghosts and monsters' and the likes.
Cellar - check. First floor - check. Second floor - check. Third floor, nobody either. Neither monster nor chainsaw murderer to be found anywhere, not even under the beds (God, am I glad nobody was at home to see me peek underneath the beds and behind every door.It's the stuff family legends and family jokes are made of.).
I got myself another beer to assure better sleeping, switched on the alarm and told myself there was no way anybody could get into the house or move downstairs without me knowing.
Which is the absolute truth by daylight.
Only at night I continued hearing noises from the kitchen. Glass making 'clink' against glass. Ghosts putting bottles where they're not supposed to be put.
At five thirty I fell asleep like a stone. Put out by the last beer and sewing straight lines across a quilt for hours.
To wake up at eight because the housekeeper (the one with the strict rules who still works with my parents) made the alarm go 'iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii' and didn't know how to turn it off. Which might have been a good thing because I didn't really go back to sleep and started sewing again earlier than I would have otherwise, finishing the quilt just in time.
Oh, and about the housekeeper with the strict rules ? Turns out she was in the house the night before, while I was still at a friend's house. She came to take in the milk and yoghurt left on our doorstep by the milkman and she seems to have taken to putting glass bottles into no-glass-bottle places.
So what about death by misplacing bottles and breaking the rules, I wonder. The world is coming to pieces if you ask me.
But the quilt is fabulous. Absolutely worth it scares and work. When my sister unwrapped it (got the cheesiest wrapping paper, too. Silly circus scenes on dark blue. After all my parent's house is in a village of 8000 people and an estimated six ghosts per person. One can't expect to find anything super fancy there.) she uttered 'oh my...'. And something about a lot of work.
I quilted each circle circly and every square separately with straight lines. One with a larger space between seams, the next with minimal space between them, and the result is something very lively. The back is white, made of old cotton sheets that still show my grandmother's and great grandmother's monograms.
Thank you, Amy, for sharing the roundabout design.