Wow, seriously. I spent the entire day quilting. Not a sentence I ever thought I would type. I've always done flowy, fluid curves, long seams, and pedal to the metal sewing. This is nothing like that. I have lost count of how many short seams I've done, four and seven eighths on the straight sides, six and a half on the hypotenuses. Sew, clip, stack, sew, clip, stack. Press until all the blocks for the rows are done. Stop for a meal and start it all over again. Soothing monotony. I have had enough time to notice the sound of my machine. My old workhorse was all metal, and clacked and sang when I sewed. This one sounds electronic and soft, like watching the sewing shows they used to show on PBS, or HGTV when it was much less sophisticated than it is now. That sound is very important to me. Ask the guy who tunes the engines for Harley Davidson how much the pitch of an engine matters. This feels very grown up to me, somehow more legitimate, as if I were merely faking it on the old machine I got in seventh grade.
A few rows of quilt blocks are the only things that were accomplished today. I neither assembled the Christmas crafts I settled on, nor set foot outside the house. I also have yet to hear the news I have been anxiously awaiting. At best, we might know by Monday. I foresee another forty-eight hours of compulsive quilting between now and then, to keep my mind off of the decision that is completely out of my control. The good news is I still like it. I think I even like it more, after staring at my fabric choices all day.
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