This has absolutely nothing to do with the virus. Seriously. Not one thing.
My neighbor is pregnant with her first child. A nice young couple, they have the rare party that ends by midnight, throw a bash for the neighborhood every summer, keep to themselves, and are pretty much the definition of good neighbors. The lapse in judgement that caused them to get a “mini Goldendoodle” has been forgiven because Willow is spoiled almost as much as Maverick, and although her parentage is sketchy, she’s a good dog who doesn’t cat about. (See what I did there?)
I decided to make a quilt for the baby. Every baby should have a quilt. My mother taught me this – I realized the other day that my mother taught me as much by her actions as by her word – took me long enough to figure that out. Anyway. This quilt has been a trial. I wanted baby prints – and couldn’t find cotton. Flannel substituted, and I thought that would be fun, snugglier than cotton, softer, too.
Flannel is a bitch to quilt by hand. I don’t quilt by machine, that’s not a quilt, according to the aforementioned sainted mother, that’s a comforter. A quilt is hand quilted, and that’s that. Thank you, Fons and Porter, for something called a needle puller.
Tonight I finished the quilting part. Thank you, Sweet Baby Jesus in your fluffy golden diapers!
Party for a minute and then realization hits.
I have to do the binding.
Only spiders scare me as much as binding a quilt.
Dare I take a chance and do this on the machine? (That’s a bit sketchy as far as Mother’s rules, but if I get it done, I’ll take a chance on her smiting me. She’ll probably haunt me but she loves me so it won’t last long)
The first step is actually cutting off the excess fabric on the quilt. I’ll do that tomorrow. Then I’ll have to have a shot of Irish Mist and sit down.
Next I’ll cut the strips for the binding. I can do it, I have a rotary cutter and I’m one of the cool kids – I know how to use that baby!
I can handle sewing the strips together. It’s the next part – where I actually attach those strips to the quilt, that will make me freeze.
If you don’t hear from me for a few days, send booze. I’ll be staring at the quilt, and the binding, crying, muttering, “why, why, why did I do this? What was I thinking!?” It will be a terrible mess, I just know it.
Pictures will probably not follow. I hate documenting disasters.