Scrappy Sundays - Father's Day Edition

We don't live in a vacuum. We don't create in a vacuum. No, we are surrounded by school schedules, sports, travelling partners, family drama, and that pesky housework. When it came to writing Sunday Morning Quilts it was no different.

My Dad was diagnosed with lung cancer in March 2008. There were a few years of treatment and, ironically, better health as he quit smoking and got his blood pressure under control. But the winter of 2010/2011 showed us that the cancer was taking over and his decline was quick. This coincided with the first winter I was home full time and was writing the book.

Amanda and I spent a week together in March, hammering out the final text and taking photos. I tried not to think about my family, but things were obviously bad with my Dad. I waffled between guilt for being away to work on my pet project and elation at doing so. I talked to my Mom and my husband about the reality of the situation. I talked to Amanda about our Dads.

It seemed like the writing and my Dad's health were in direct contrast. One giving me so much happiness and excitement, the other giving me pause, sadness, and challenge. Over a year later I can't think of these two things exclusively.

When I came back from Amanda's we more or less moved to be with my family. My Dad was admitted to a Palliative unit. My days became a combination of hospital visits, keeping the girls busy, and finding the time to finish the manuscript. I sat in the old, old recliner in my Dad's home office with a cable snaking across the room making sure all the Us were removed from colour and favourite and our images were numbered properly.

I'm not sure my Dad ever really understood the book writing process, or even why I was doing it. He was the kind of man who expected 100% every single time you did something - both in effort and result. He never said, but I'm sure there was a lot of head shaking on his part when after going to university and grad school I quit my job to be home with my kids and write. Then again, he was an old fashioned Eastern European, maybe he thought that's where I should be? But he never said anything negative to me about it. Never shot me down. This, if you knew my father, was shocking.

When he finally let us tell people he was sick and dying he was inundated with visitors. Old friends and colleagues flocked to the hospital with sweet treats and old stories. One of us kids was usually there and we were inevitably introduced to a crusty plumber or painter who remembered us as kids or unruly teenagers. My Dad would show off his grandkids, or complain about their behaviour. And when it came to me he always mentioned that I was writing a book. He might laugh that it was about quilting, but he always brought it up.

This is as close as he would get to saying he was proud of me.

I didn't need my Dad to say these words, nor did I need him to say anything else. Actions always spoke louder than words with him. Every day when I arrived at the hospital my Dad would ask me how the book was going. Was I done yet? The day that I finished everything I was quite proud to finally answer in the positive.

We had only a few weeks left after I hit send. The book was submitted on April 1, he died April 12. He never saw the final product, never slept under one of the quilts. 

Writing a book, or any other creative process really, happens while life happens. But when we make the commitment to that process we often have to work through difficult times. It isn't all sunshiny studios, cups of tea, and quiet afternoons. It's hard to get up early, working at odd hours and in snippets to bang out the work. It might have been easier to put the project aside and devote everything to my family. But that would have mean letting down Amanda, myself, and violating my contract. I know that people would have understood, but I was committed to my commitment. That was something my Dad would and could support.

The book is out there now and doing well. When it came to the book I think my Dad would have kept it on the bar at home, next to his worn out deck of cards so he could show it to a buddy that came over for a drink. He might have flipped through it in between TV shows. Maybe he would have asked me how long it took to make a certain quilt. He may not have understood my goals or the world of quilts, but I'm pretty sure he would have been proud. 

Working on Sunday Morning Quilts was indeed work, but it was a respite from what was going on in my life. Sometimes the daily activities of life are evident in the final product, sometimes they are not. My father and my family life are not in this book, but they are still a part of it. The stories thread together in my existence, in the story of my family.

Don't forget to check out Amanda Jean's post about the men in her life.

Slow Down

Stop it! Stop growing so fast!

I say that in my head very frequently, whether I'm looking at my chunky monkey baby, Death Wish Arkison trying yet something new and scary, or the depth of my conversations with The Monster. I wish they would stay teeny and innocent and full of natural curiosity. And not talk back to me.

The Monster turned six this week and Death Wish was four last month. I would be lying if I didn't admit I was thankful that Nikolai keeps me grounded in babyness.

Case in point. The Monster lost her first tooth last week. It was wiggly, oh so wiggly. We were chilling out watching Swamp People when she became very insistent that Daddy pull her tooth. Oddly, she frowned upon a solid punch to knock it out. Instead, we got some embroidery floss. Wrapping it and a quick tug and we had a tooth in hand.

That, of course, meant we need a safe spot for the tooth to rest until the Tooth Fairy showed up. A couple of carefully chosen (Tiger inspired) fabrics, cut into 3'' squares, sewn back to back with a little Red Light Green Light. She was clear that there be no closure of any kind - to make it easier for The Tooth Fairy.

What about making it easy for Mama as she grows up too fast?

Many Thanks

In the life of a quilter one gets very used to the reactions of people when you give them a quilt. They are either blase about it and you wonder why you bothered OR they are blown away by your kindness, let alone the awesomeness of the quilt itself. But very rarely does the quilter get to be on the other side of that relationship.

I've been there once before, when my SIL gave The Monster's baby quilt. It's pretty cool (the feeling and the quilt).

At Quilt Market, however, I got that feeling twice. And even though I'm friends with quilters I hardly expected it. To be fair, the quilts weren't for me. They are Nikolai's quilts.

The first one came from Rashida. Amanda and I ran into her on the show floor. We were on our way to the Generation Q booth, to say hi to the folks there. Rashida joined us for the chat. There we were in the booth, chatting away and admiring the ever rotating display of quilts when I was handed a quilt. Made with linen, some solids, and Cloud 9's Monsterz line, it's the sweetest baby quilt. I was admiring it when Rashida told me it was for Nicky. I'll admit it, I lost it and was gushing like a total geek. So, so sweet.

(BTW, more details on the quilt in the premiere print issue of Generation Q.)

We kept trying to get a picture of Rashida with Nicky. It turns out someone was always crying...

Then, on our last night together Amanda and I retreated to the hotel room. We sat chatting as I nursed the baby and we signed bookplates. After the energy and crowds of Market it was nice to finally have some time to reflect and be together. It was, after all, only the second time we'd been together. And she presented Nikolai with an awesome quilt. She knows me so well that the design was perfect, beyond it being a slab quilt. In writing the book we always pushed each other and always responded. Maybe she didn't mean the symbolism, but she put purple in it and it is all solids. That accounts for one push from me and one from her.

And now, my beautiful crazy boy has some gorgeous love to cuddle with that come from dear friends. He's got no choice, that kid, he's the son of a quilter, surrounded by quilters, and buried in quilts.

Reflections

I'm feeling a bit reflective, bear with me.

Being a quilter, for me, is intrinsically tied to being a mother. Sure, I quilted before I had my first baby. It wasn't until I had The Monster, however, that I became a quilter. As I became a mother, so I became a quilter.

It wasn't a SHAZAM! kind of moment where birthing a child suddenly gave me colour clarity or sewing skills. Nor was it a direct result of sewing cute little baby things. Rather, it was a gradual development of an inevitable compulsion.

This is why I say inevitable.

Long before I had kids I won the 8th grade Home Ec Award. All this really means is that I was the quickest to sew together my sweat pants and I'd mastered granola. The next year I lost out and suffered the indignity of crimped hair for the school fashion show. At the time I though I'd come a long, long way from the tube dresses I made for my Barbie dolls.

My first quilt was for my boyfriend's (now husband), first nephew. A simple yellow, white, and grey Irish Chain. I got bruises carrying the heavy old machine of my mom's to and from the train station. The bruises aren't my only injuries. I sliced my finger with a rotary cutter once - I'm now missing a tip. And my wrists and hands have more than a few iron burns. All for the love of quilting.

I shudder to think what I've spent in all my years of quilting. My stash is large, but not the biggest you'll ever see. It certainly doesn't reflect the fact that I've made about 100 quilts since that first quilt 14 years ago.

All that money and those injuries are fine. That's because I'm a quilter. Just like the sleepless nights, heartache, and stress of being a mother - it comes with the job. Hmm, those things come with being a quilter too.

In the first year of The Monster's life I found myself with a lot of time on my hands. She was an amazing napper and our house is only so big. It stayed as clean as it could and I was left with hours of free time every day. In time my two or three quilts a year became one a month.

That full year of mat leave produced about 10 quilts and a profound change in my being. I find it hard to describe it adequately, but becoming a mother led me to accept my true self.

After junior high I put away the sewing machine and laid down the pen I used to write stories. The focus for me was on training for swimming, then rowing. Once those were gone it was all about boys and beer. I tried to resurrect my creativity by going to journalism school, but it didn't stick. But the creative nature was there, lurking, but never gone.

That year after The Monster's birth changed all that. If I was going to be a good mama I needed full honesty with her and with myself. Not only did I have to put aside my hang-ups about my physical and creative self, I had to put my compulsions at the fore. I needed to create and I needed to embrace that. Complete honesty gave me the confidence to do that. Doing so made me a better mother, I have no doubt about that.

Now, another daughter and our son later, there is no less confidence and the compulsion grows. That's why it feels right to sew on the dining room table, to sketch quilts with the girls, to take my son to Quilt Market.

Without becoming a mother I would not be a quilter. And because I am both I am fiercely proud of it. No one will ever take that away, no matter how hard they try.

I am Cheryl Arkison, Mama to her babies and quilter to all.