LESSON FIVE

Why Every Woman Needs a Needle

Lesson 5: My mother was a strong woman, running my childhood home with a stern hand. For some reason I did not grow up to be like her. I had no confidence. I’ll never forget the time when I was a grown woman with children of my own and standing in Mom’s kitchen stirring a pan of gravy. As we were preparing Sunday dinner, she said to me that she didn’t understand women who had no self confidence. She then took the spoon from my hand and told me to stir the gravy “like this.” It was after years of being on my own, and attending quilting classes and socializing with my quilting friends that I realized I had gained confidence.

It’s funny how your mind works sometimes. I put orphan blocks onto my design wall because I was afraid that out of sight out of mind, and my intention is to do something with them someday. When you go into my sewing room the design wall is the first thing you see. One day it dawned on me that two dissimilar blocks on the design wall went together nicely. I started fiddling around and darn if the bright fabrics and the 30’s fabrics didn’t look okay together. So I took the plunge and made a quilt of my own design. What confidence it gave me. What did I learn from this: to paraphrase a cartoon character: “It’s okay to be me!”
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Anyone who stops learning is old, whether at twenty or eighty. ~Henry Ford

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I hope you’ve liked my Why Every Woman Needs a Needle lessons. I’ve enjoyed sharing with you.
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Until next time: Happy Quilting

Caroll

LESSON FOUR

Why Every Woman Needs a Needle

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Lesson 4: A woman with a needle needs patience.

Like mother like child, they say. I think my mother invented the prayer for God to give her patience RIGHT NOW. Like her, I’ve never been a very patient person. Before I was married I was a reporter for our local daily newspaper. I think that’s when I got the writing bug. After marriage, I wrote short stories while raising my family and managed to sell a couple to national magazines. As the children grew older and I had more free time, I decided I would write the great American novel. After several years of trying to wrap my mind around such a large project (I thought I could just sit at the typewriter and bang out a novel from beginning to end with no effort at all), I finally decided that I just didn’t have the patience for that sort of thing. What I really think the problem was, is that I didn't understand the process. As the saying goes, age gives you wisdom. It was when I started quilting in my later years that I realized how much writing a novel is like making a quilt. Quilts (like novels) are made up of one block (chapter) at a time. Sometimes you throw in a little sashing (secondary plot line), and maybe a color that makes your quilt really pop (could be a secondary quirky character), and then you wrap it all up with the border (the ending). Quilting has given me the understanding and the patience to do that. Now, in this chapter of my life I’ve decided I’d rather be quilting than sitting at the computer typing that great American novel. However, the facts don’t change. Quilting, like life, is made up of one block at a time. Make your life beautiful by adding thought, color, and a little quirkiness, so that in the end it will be wrapped in something beautiful, something you are proud of so you can say it was a beautiful trip.
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The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new lands, but in seeing with new eyes. - Marcel Proust, French novelist

LESSON THREE

Why Every Woman Needs a Needle

I’ve heard it said (and believe) that tools make a man sexy. I was wondering the aisles of Home Depot with my list from Karen’s Tool Time Tuesday blog. My 90 year old mother was by my side. I like to take her on outings with me. She gets along quite well (no walker, no cane) and she enjoys the outings.

We were in one of the aisles looking for the first item on the list when I noticed a man standing there with an orange bucket in one hand and pawing through some long plastic tubes. He looked like he’d trained with Special Forces. Biceps bulged from beneath his white tee shirt. Strong tanned legs sprung beneath his khaki Bermuda shorts. A tool belt hung from his narrow waist. Even took my breath away there for a minute. My mother, the biggest flirt of all time, sashayed right up to him, placed her hand on his broad shoulder and said, “Could you tell me where you got that bucket? My daughter is looking for one.”

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He flashed my mother a million watt smile and said, “Follow me.” (Smile at me like that and I’ll follow you anywhere.) He turned a corner and then handed me an orange bucket. “Like this? “
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“Where’s the insert?” My mother I asked. “She needs the insert too.”
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He gave me a questioning look. “Insert?”
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“I…uh…” Imagine that, me tongue tied. “Uh..you know; the canvas kind with all those pockets.”
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“Oh, for your cleaning products.”
“Now there, young man,” my mother said as she inched herself closer to him. “Let’s not get

hasty with our thinking. It’s for quilting.”
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“Quilting?” He gave me a questioning look.
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I was on known territory here and said, “Those pockets are great for holding my rotary cutter, scissors, iron, templates, ruler, etc.”
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Amusement danced in big brown eyes. He then reached over my head and grabbed a small cellophane package. “Blue all right?”
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“She needs an eyeball too,” my mother said.
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“Uh, she mans eye bolt,” I explained. “Would you happen to know where they are?”
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“Just one?” he asked.
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I nodded.
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“It’s for holding her bobbins,” my mother announced.
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He rubbed his hand over his mouth as if trying to hide his grin, nodded and lead us down the aisle to a lot of bins holding all kinds of interesting things.
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After he handed me the eye bolt, I scanned the bins. “Are there any washers here?”
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He pointed to a bunch of boxes to the left. “Which size?”
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“One of each,” I said.
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The corners of his mouth twitched. “One of each size?”
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“They are for making circles for appliqué.” I looked around. “And I need a little hookie thing to keep them on. I think it’s called an eye ring…or is it an o ring. I don’t know. It’s like a key ring.“
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He scratched his head and thought for a minute. “How about we get a package of shower curtain pins.” he said, and headed for another aisle with us in tow.
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After scanning a wall holding another bunch of interesting things, he snatched a package and handed it to me. “Anything else?”
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My mother was standing off to one side clearly giving Mr. I-Know-Where-Things-Are the once over. Before she could say anything else, I said, “Thank you so much for all your help. I think we need to go to the paint department now. It’s over that way isn’t it?”
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He shook his head. “I gotta ask. What are you using the paint for?”
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“Oh, I just want to pick up a couple of those free paint sticks,” I said and almost added that they make my quilts lay flatter, but decided to withhold that information. “Thanks again for all your help.”
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His flashed a big grin, as though his perspective of me had changed. Maybe he wasn’t used to being thanked. “No problem,” he said. “I really should be thanking you. You taught me a lot today.”
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My mother stood and stared at him as he walked away. I took her by the arm and turned her toward the paint department. “He has a cute butt,” she said. “He caught me staring.” She giggled. “He has nice legs too.”
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After nearly choking on my surprise I nodded in agreement. I smiled at my mother, thinking about the things I have learned from her and all the things I had learned that day. Most importantly I learned that people are nice and helpful and that I felt empowered. Home Depot isn’t just a man’s world. It’s a great place for women too. (I wonder if a man thinks a woman with a needle is sexy.)
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“The art of teaching is the art of assisting discovery”. - Mark Van Doren, poet

LESSON TWO

Why Every Woman Needs a Needle

Lesson 2: Quilting is a group sport (we already knew that). Around the world quilters gather to socialize and sew. Books are written about them. Movies are made. The world is full of wonderful quilters who are eager to share their knowledge. If there is something you need to know how to accomplish a quilter will eagerly help you whether it is quilting, child rearing, recipes, etc. They are there in sickness and in health. When my 90 year old mother moved in with me, my quilting friends were emotionally supportive. They helped me to laugh about things I might otherwise cry about. Sometimes my conversation with my mother could be depressing. Like the day I came home from work and our conversation went like this:

Mom: That man said he'd be here for breakfast in the morning.
Me: What man?
Mom: I don't know. The man on the phone.
Me: You answered the phone? (she’s hard of hearing and usually doesn’t even hear the phone ring, much less answer it)
Mom: Yes
Me: Who did you talk to?
Mom: That man.
Me: Who was it?
Mom: I don't know.
Me: I thought you didn't answer the phone.
Mom: Well I did and he said he'd be here for breakfast in the morning.
Me: I wish when you answered the phone you would find out who you are talking to.
Mom: Well, I'll just stay in bed in the morning and you can entertain your men friend on your own.

Later when I shared the experience with my quilting friends they laughed. And I found I could laugh too. Not at her, but at me for being so impatient, so wanting my mother to be the strong, capable woman I remembered her to be when I was a child. They helped me to look at things differently and love my mother for who she is now.

“You cannot control what happens to you, but you can control your attitude to what happens to you.” Brian Tracy

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Tomorrow: Men with tools are sexy.

LESSON ONE

The other day when I opened my e-mail from Oprah’s Home and Decorating Newsletter, an article caught my eye. Why Every Woman Needs a Hammer. Well and good. Hammers are nice. But this got me to thinking. What every woman really needs is a needle. So I’ve created my 5 lessons on life as to Why Every Woman Needs a Needle. Each time I post I will add the next lesson. Here is Lesson One.
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A needle is the constant that carries the thread through life. I’ve been sewing since I was a young child, so young I don’t remember running the treadle sewing machine needle through my finger but my mother tells me I did. I used to sew doll clothes and as I grew older, graduated into making my own school clothes. When I took Home Ec class I made a blue corduroy dress and wore it for my class picture. I still remember how the collar flared up in a way I thought so sophisticated (I was in the 7th grade). Then when I had children of my own I made their clothes. Mothers didn’t work back then. I even sewed my husband a suit once. Only once. I think that once was probably how many times he wore it too. I sewed later in life when I went into the work world, hurrying home to sew up a seam or two during lunch hour. Then the time finally came when I could afford to buy my clothes, but the need for a needle continued. That’s when I took up quilting and happily sewed small patches together to create works of art. Even after retirement and when my 91 year old mother came to live with me, my needle continues to be my friend. The steady rocking motion of sewing helps me remain calm, maintain my sanity, and see the beauty in the world.

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As a wise man (Aristotle) once said, “Happiness belongs to the self sufficient. “ Are you a self sufficient needler?

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Tomorrow: Quilting is a Group Sport