The Quilt That Wouldn't Make Itself

Growing up I had a plethora of experiences to shape me, entertain me and develop useful skills.

I took tap dance, gymnastics, pottery, drawing, hair braiding (which was more for my Mom to learn and me to display), piano, pottery, and quilting.

In high school my best friend, Lindsey, and I decided to participate in a Mystery Quilt Night in Van Alstyne. Sounds like a thrilling Friday night doesn't it?

We received our packets in the mail, purchased the correct yardage of the desired fabrics, packed up our mom's sewing machines and headed out for a night of pizza and conversation with women 20+ years our senior.

Mystery Quilt nights work like this: You show up with your fabric cut and ready to sew. Everyone starts off with the same step to follow and the whirring of sewing machines takes off. As soon as you finish one step you ask for the next step in the quilt.

Some women handled their sewing machines like race car drivers - Lindsey and I muddled along more like we were driving a Big Wheel. But that's okay, we had all the candy and conversation and giggling we could ask for.

Somewhere around midnight, after six hours of sewing, someone finished their entire quilt top and the mystery quilt was no longer a mystery.

And, just like that women started packing up their supplies, no matter where they were in the process, to get home to bed. Lindsey and went home not even half-way done.

Some summer break at Texas A&M, when I was taking all kinds of summer courses and was the only roommate in town, I set up my quilt shop in the empty bedroom. I made significant progress that summer while listening to Adventures in Odyssey and eating peanut butter M&Ms.

Since that day the pieces to my mystery quilt have sat in a box and moved from apartment to apartment. Occasionally, during a move I'll take out the pieces of fabric and stair longingly at the disjointed colors thinking, "One day . . ."

Now, some have mocked the idea of quilting. Why would you buy a bunch of fabric, cut it all apart, only to sew it back together again? Couldn't you just leave it together in the first place and save yourself the time and energy?

Therein lies the deeper mystery of quilting. There is something cathartic about systematically piecing together little shapes that show no potential and hold no value by themselves. But, beautifully they come together to make an intricate design.


So, this week, on my week off, I dusted off the sewing machine, shook out the crinkled fabric and with my own hands finished what I started almost 10 years ago.