Millions of Peaches

Dear parents and friends:

My job is completed. And on the eve of the Red Ball, I can't help but begin to get nervous.

So I have a humble request: if you haven't yet read the blog, please do so from beginning to end. There are 31 posts that tell the story of what your child accomplished. It says so much about the spirit of our quilt.

Also, if I can be so brazen as to ask for one small, teeny-tiny favor (it's not that much of an effort, really):  if you attend the auction, please bid on the quilt.

Even if you don't want it, please bid--at the beginning, of course. After all, don't we all love to feel our pulse quicken at the thought of a gamble gone awry?

And if you do want Peaches, please bid again and again. I'll run the numbers for you:

It cost $94.42 to make Peaches, however, when the in-kind donations are included, Peaches' value goes way up. The quilt is actually worth $2,389.32. That's a nice tax write-off.

And if you're wondering how a quilt might fit into your home, the photos below might help.

Peaches on a chair:

Peaches on a basket:

Peaches on a couch:

Peaches on a king:

(will work on a queen-sized bed, too)

Peaches on a twin:

(folded in half, of course)

And finally...

Peaches with our kids.

We did it!

10:08

When I was in college working at a local television station, I showed one of the creative types a blouse I had made. He was a New Yorker who had a late-night music show on the station, and when he saw my blouse, he pulled me aside and said, "Don't tell anyone, but I sew."

His grandmother was an "Italian babe" who taught him how to work the machine. In high school, he made and sold vests that became popular among his classmates, and he was able to buy his first guitar. Later, when he was engaged to his "red-headed babe," he spent much of his time hunched over the sewing machine--thick muscles and long, curly hair in a ponytail--buried in yards and yards of peach taffeta. He pulled out his wedding photo and pointed to the six bridesmaids in peach gowns. "I made 'em all," he said.

Recently, I was at the sewing center having my vintage machine looked over by the repairman. He wore a stained rock shirt, and his belly hung over his Levis, and when he bent over, I could see the faded outline of his chew container in his back pocket. When I told him about the quilt, he pulled out a piece of fabric and began to stipple on my machine. He held it up for me to see and said, "I'm not that great at the free-motion thing." He sounded embarrassed. He also refused payment for his time, and went into the back room to retrieve his sewing kit. "This is my personal stash," he said throwing several packs of machine needles on the table. "You're gonna need them."

Do what you love. Like a secret club, we end up sniffing each other out. My hope is that this quilt exposed your children to a new and interesting skill. While we reminisce about our quilting grandmothers, it would be nice to someday to have our great grandchildren talk about the quilts made by their grandfathers. As for me, I've been bitten hard. I've already put down the date of the NW Quilter's 39th Annual Quilt Show on my calendar, and I'm going to attend the next Portland Modern Quilt Guild meeting.

And so, at 10:08 on the day after Valentine's Day, my thumb pushed the needle through the final hand-stitch in the quilt. The work was over.

To celebrate, I reached into the pantry and cracked open a jar of last summer's peaches. I took a long swig of the juice and surveyed the quilt. Even though it's a modern take on a very old style (the crazy quilt), to me, it still looks vintage. It's 50's Americana with a touch of Rockabilly. It's about teenagers wearing capris and rolled denim cuffs. Seersucker shirts and the summer sun. And even though this carefree joy and innocence is only imagined through old photographs and filmy videos, what's very real is our children's energy and love poured into every fiber.

As I bit into my fruit, I had a thought that can hopefully be forgiven. It's small gesture that means so much, and although I wanted to get the kids involved, I was tapped-out. It symbolizes the sun on our faces, the sweetness of memories and lasting innocence.

It's a name.

Introducing...   Peaches.

Thanking Our Donors

In the beginning, two kids created thank you posters...

...and each kid signed their name on pieces of scrap paper...

...and when the time came, those thirty pieces of paper were taped onto each poster and given to our donors.

And here is the message from one of them:


"Thank you for your thank you. It was completely delightful. I can't tell you how much it means to us to get acknowledgement back from something we've done. We give donations very regularly, and we rarely hear back from people, so it's extra special to hear back from the kids. Thank you so much."


Our kids did well. Let yours know.

We filled it with...

As I've mentioned, the class wanted to fill our quilt with love, joy and happiness. In reality, our quilt  was filled with so much more. It became a silent partner, a witness to our children's daily lives.

And so, we filled it with...

...disco on the couch and breakdancing on the coffee table.

We filled it with...

...piles of blocks and dominoes...

...six slices of apple pie...

...and the energy and excitement of 30 kids.

(All of which look very much like the crazy patchwork theme.)

We filled it with...

...one boy surrounded by four girls...

...and his insistence that those girls complete the obstacle course he built for them.

There was also the time when one girl was with two boys. And in the middle of the project, she yanked off her ponytail with the sequined ribbon, threw her kitten sweater to the side, and said, "Let's wrestle!" (You go girl!) And in the middle of that wrestling match, she leaned against those boys, pinning them down to the couch with crossed arms and a big smile. (YOU GO GIRL!!!)

We filled it with...

...a meaningful fall time story...

...and gray winter mornings...

...and the many celebrations inbetween.

And a little too much goofing-off on the couch when there was work to be done.

But laughter was never far away.

We also filled it with a reckless injury while repurposing old socks: the machine sewed through my finger. And while it recovered, the quilt had to be set aside for two weeks.

Zombies 1; Quilt 0

We filled it with our children's imagination...

...of quilts as castles...

...and monsters...

...and parachutes.

We also filled it with curious locks of long, curly hair discovered while sweeping the floor...

...and the recognition of the culprit months later after reviewing the photos.

(The thread snippers always attract kids.)

We also filled it with the hope that our hard work and dedication will pay off.

And after all was done and nothing remained but some of the cotton batting that was clipped from around the quilt's edges...

...the quilt gave us repurposed stuffing...

...for five Valentine's Day hearts...

...of both kinds...

...and one with a clear message for those sock zombies.

Quilt 5; Zombies 1

Welcome to the Machine(s)

Behind the scenes, you might be surprised to learn there were three machines that built this quilt of ours.

The first machine is the modern-day Pfaff. It's the one with which you see all the kids sewing.

The second machine, quite by chance, made it's entrance for the denim border. The Pfaff, exhausted by the excitement and vigor of those many little hands, suddenly gave up. While it was in the repair shop, I pull out this beauty, a 1940's Singer:

(Check out the Art Deco detail)

(Okay, now check out these nails in the instruction manual; useless for me since it's in German.)

Built to perform like an industrial sewing machine, the Singer cuts through leather and thick fabrics like buddah (and, no, it's definitely not for kids).

The final machine made it's entrance for the quilting. It's a mid-century Stradivaro that's so rare, I call it The Yeti:

(Unlike the Singer, this one was made in Japan.)

(The Yeti, poised at the end of our kitchen table, ready to quilt.)

I collect sewing machines like other people collect sports cars. And believe me, these machines were very fun drives. I'm grateful that the the quilt gave me the opportunity to use them.

The Homestretch

My son and I made the bias tape for the binding...

...and I'm handstitching as fast as my fingers can go.

And I've discovered that Levis 501's are very durable.

(Blasted Levis.)

Tomorrow, quilt supermodel will be laundered twice at the laundromat before heading out to its photoshoot.

More to come...

Beast Sandwich

Finally--finally--the moment had arrived to quilt the layers of our creation. There was the front crazy patchwork, the organic cotton batting and the backing with the heart. This sandwich would require patience and time, and I was ready for the challenge.

Originally, I had other ideas for how to quilt the beast, but since I had never quilted before, free-motion seemed to be the logical choice. It's simple. It's quaint. And more importantly, there's lots of room for error.

Basically, free-motion quilting is one giant scribble of thread. However, I didn't realize that scribbling with different thicknesses of fabric would burn through needles. I constantly adjusted the thread tension, but I still busted needles. I busted so many, I considered wearing goggles to protect my eyes from the flying metal pieces, some as small as glitter. I busted so many, it became ridiculous. And when things became desperate, I pulled needles off my other machines. And then when things became really desperate, I rifled through my stash of vintage machine parts and found a blessed stash in an unopened packet:

I busted so many needles, I decided to keep a tally. Our quilt burned through:

20 quilting needles
5 leather needles
13 denim needles
11 universal needles
4 vintage needles

That's a lot of needles. Thankfully, many of them were donated by a man at the machine repair shop who might have felt sorry for me.

But you can't feel sorry about this:

(my feet for scale)

The front? Be patient, we're still not done...