I’ve been thinking about a fambly projeck. [WARNING: Utter lack of knitting content follows. Frolic and Detour into Completely Different Fiber Arts Category. If you’re looking for dishcloths, keep a-moving.]
As you know, I have spent the past few months helping sort things out at my late father-in-law’s house. In between intermittent bouts of sorrow at the emptying out of that most friendly of houses (“Omigod they saved every postcard we sent them from our honeymoon–BOOhooooo” and “I met your mom in this very kitchen–booHOOOOO”), I have had lots of time to remember Herb and the things that made him special to us. Anybody who knew Herb would tell you he was a dapper dresser. Few could tell you that he had about 200 shirts in his closet.
And about four other closets of clothes, too. The decision was made to give it all to Goodwill, but I could not let those shirts go. Oxford cloth, windowpane checks, stripes, plaids, every shade of blue–fantastic. And the madras shirts: fifty of them, a lifetime of holiday trips in there. I think men’s shirts were to Herb what shoes are to women: collectible! Here’s what’s in the back of the Mom Bomb these days:
You know where I’m heading with this: Quiltville. I want to have quilts made for Hubbo, his brother, and sister. My question to you and everybody out there: who could make these quilts for me?
If I had girls, I’d sit them down with a rotary cutter and teach them (and me) the age-old art of quilting. But I don’t, and the fellas would probably end up rotary-cutting each other. A new project like this would cut mightily into my knitting time, too. Can’t have that. So. I’m hoping you have a dear quilty friend who’s run out of ideas. Or, if any of our Amish/pioneer/overeducated East Coast readers are looking for a project, I have a very fine one. Just give a holler.
And it’s supposed to be a surprise, so whatever you do, don’t tell my brother-in-law.
PS When the movers came the other day to take out the furniture, their packing blankets looked for all the world like Gee’s Bend quilts. Pieces of different fabrics stitched together willynilly, big colorblocks with that wavy quilting all over them. Didn’t have the Anncam with me, alas–too busy BooHOOOing about the lumpy head-shaped ashtray Hubbo made when he was six. And I’m sure the movers would have been thrilled to hold up a packing blanket so I could get the proper light on it.