This is my grandson Eamon. He’s five, the youngest of the Magnificent Seven.
I’m sure you will remember simply because I’ve said it so often that when I retired I announced I would make a bed-size quilt for each grandchild.This is his. Aren’t the colors pretty? His mother picked the fabrics and the quilt coordinates with—though does not match—his brother’s.
Look at the quilting. My friend Carolyn Moon does it on her long-arm machine and I am amazed every time at how perfect it is. I spend more time looking at the backs of the finished products than I do the fronts.
The quilt’s not finished. I have to put the binding on. This takes me a long time. While the binding is attached with the sewing machine, it’s finished out by hand. I’m not all that arthritic, but an hour of working with tiny needles leaves my hands looking like claws and it takes me many hours to finish a quilt. I whine, Duane rolls his eyes, and I thread more needles.
God, I love it.
I have several
for the quilt not being done. I haven’t had time. I can’t face the whole sore
hands scenario. I haven’t had ti—oops, already used that one. I may as well
fess up that I’m reluctant to finish it because it is the last grandchild quilt
and there is such bittersweetness in the finishing of anything that matters.
Whole lot like books, isn’t it? I’m doing revisions on one project now, am half-finished with another, and the third is formatted and will be available for pre-order on June 29. Here's that one, in case you've forgotten.
I’m reluctant to finish the revisions because then the second round will begin and I’m at that “God, I’m tired of this story” point. I always get afraid the reader will be tired of it, too. I tend to forget that the reader will only have read it once—or maybe twice if I’m lucky—whereas I have read it 746 times at last count.
I’m dragging my feet on the next project because I don’t know yet how it’s going to go. It’s only my second novella and I don’t think I’ve mastered the shorter format yet, though I like it. I like it a lot.
Then there is the third. It’s my very first venture into indie-publishing and I’m nervous. It’s all ready to go now and even though I’m excited, there’s some angst and some...crap, there’s an error! Right there! See it?
When I finish the quilt, I have to accept that there are errors in it; it will never be perfect. Even worse is the feeling that I’m letting go of the last grandboy’s childhood, and it’s not like I have the excitement of starting a new book waiting there at the writing of The End. Nope, he’s the last one. It’s the last grandchild quilt.
But, you know, they’ll probably all set up housekeeping one day, maybe get married and have families. If I started now, I could make them all “you’re all grown up!” quilts. Hmm...Mari’s first...she loves purple and...
What was I thinking? There’s nothing any better than a new story—or a new quilt. Just let me get that binding on.