My latest Quilt Scout column (v. briefly) traces the history of the iron. Truly, I say unto thee: There has never been a better time to make a quilt. So, after you read column No. 58 of the ol’ Scout, start sewing!
And pressing.
xo,
Mary
Speeding home in a taxi this evening, I gave in and opened the news app on my phone. Reading the news more than once a day is bad for a person’s health and I checked the blasted thing this morning already.
But if I hadn’t looked, I might not have seen the hot-off-the-fashion-presses story about Kim Kardashian West and her latest ad campaign for Calvin Klein. Kim is evidently now selling jeans for the company, and the ad campaign features Kim hanging out with her sisters, all of them in jeans and looking dewy/rich, talking about babies or boys or themselves, which is fine. It’s the Kardashian Way.
What is rather surprising, however, is that the girls are spread out on or coquettishly clutching … patchwork quilts.
Red and white quilts, specifically, and the quilts are the only visual cue on set. The girls are in a barn-like space (as evidenced by the wooden beams overhead, sort of) but this is way-in-the-back-backdrop.
In this ad, the quilts are very, very much the thing. Well, the quilts and the boobs.
Much will be said about this ad campaign. The fashion people will freak out about how daring and koo-koo bananas fabulous it is for Kim & Co. to use quilts of all things to sell tight jeans. How anachronistic! How gauche/glam! Old/new! Gag, gag, gag. (“Gag” is a good thing in this context.) Some fashion people will think it’s a misfire, I suppose, but haters will hate and the Kardashians are used to it.
I’d wager that way, way more quilters are going to be talking about this campaign than the fashion world people, though. And to offer the second surprise of the evening: I’ll bet most quilters will be excited about it.
Seriously. Quilters love quilts. We’re excited when we see them featured in mainstream media. Ken Burns was just interviewed in the New York Times about his exhibition at the International Quilt Study Center & Museum, in Lincoln, Nebraska, and whatever you think about the New York Times, that was awesome. That article got shared like crazy among quilters. We like it when the other half notices what we know all day: Quilts matter, they are great, they have never gone anywhere, and they aren’t going anywhere, either.
And when a major celebrity puts a quilt in her photo shoot, we’re down. Sure, some ladies will tsk-tsk about Kim’s underpants and someone(s) somewhere will get their applique twisted that the quilts are on the floor. The haters will hate. People have different opinions about how we do all this. Quilters are used to it.
The Kim Kardashian/Calvin Klein quilt ad campaign is a good thing. Quilts are indelible, enduring symbols of domesticity and comfort, of home and care. They’re also kind of associated with women, if you haven’t noticed. And while you might not approve of the Kardashian cult of celebrity, or the annual monies spent by their empire on manicures/private jets, etc., you gotta admit: These folks are all about family and home. They’re about kids. Legacy. Tradition. Sounds like a quilt family to me. What do their extensions have to do with anything?
It’s a heck of a thing when a celebrity on the Kim Kardashian scale puts a quilt front and center in an ad campaign or a photo shoot. In fact, the Kim ads are so surprising precisely because this never really happens. Madonna has never done a quilt thing. Julia Roberts was never photographed for InStyle magazine with a quilt on her lap. Oprah hasn’t taken up sewing hexies at her ranch house. The only other big-time celebrity I can think of who really pushed the quilt into pop culture was Gloria Vanderbilt, and that was 40 years ago! In the 1980s! She was super into crazy quilts and had fashion designer Adolfo make robes for her to wear around her Log Cabin-decorated house.
But Gloria doesn’t have a reality show, y’all, and she ain’t married to Kanye West. This is probably a good move on Gloria’s part, no disrespect to Kanye. I’m thinking of the age difference.
Anyway, this post has been dashed off pretty fast; maybe too fast. I try to ruminate on things before I start typing. But by the time the taxi dropped me off at my building, I had gone through a (hopefully) robust thought process on all this and I’m okay if there’s more to say later. For now, I feel confident that quilters, on balance, are going to cheer about Kim and the red-and-whites.
They may not buy the jeans.
Hey, gang! The Quilt Scout is IN!
And guess what else? The column has been renewed for another year, so all throughout 2018, I’ll be buzzing around twice a month with my friends over at Quilts, Inc. to bring you sparkly content that benefits your brain, your quilting practice, your life!
Yeah! Your whole life!
I’ve been writing the Scout for four years, now. Isn’t that something? It’s one of my very favorite things to do.
Here’s the first of three columns for January. (January has a bonus column this year, since the Scout drops every two weeks and January is kind of long. Long and cold.) This column is about history and love, essentially, and I think it turned out pretty good.
Just like you.
Pals:
Tonight, I take you back to a post I found while looking for something else. Things turn up that way, as you know: You’re looking for your socks, you find your keys. You’re looking for your keys, you find your soul.
Lost and found.
Yours,
Mary
Before I discuss my love of White-Out, Liquid Paper, and other corrective fluids*, I would like to remind you that it’s not all Wite-Out and dryer lint around here. I write about serious things, too.
I’ve been thinking about Wite-Out because I have been dipping often (and dippin’ hard) into my 2017 paper planner, aka, my “papecal.” Nothing new, of course: My paper planner has long been an extension of my brain, more vital, I feel, to my life and mental health than my dumb ol’ phone. Yes, if I had to lose either my phone or my papecal, I’d hand over my phone without a second thought. Phones can be replaced. But papecals, with all their small notes, non-deleteable content, and margin doodles? Papecals are unique and special. Just like my family, each of whom holds his or her papecal close.
At any rate, it’s the end of the year, and because there is a lot going on in work and life, there has been more papecal’in around in my life lately. Which means there is more Wite-Out. Why? Because there are corrections to be made. There are adjustments to incorporate. Things shift. Appointments change. Meetings are moved.
“But Mary,” you say, taking a chocolate from the festively-decorated box of chocolates on the table between us, “Why do you need Wite-Out for changes in your papecal? Just write things in pencil and erase them like a normal person.”
“I don’t do pencil,” I say, and I realize I have just taken a bite of a chocolate-covered cherry. I don’t do chocolate-covered cherries, either. I put the half-eaten chocolate on my napkin and then I try a different chocolate and this time it’s a caramel, thank goodness. I continue:
“I only do pen. I’m a pen-to-papecal kind of gal.”
You don’t really get it, but you have spotted a mellowcreme-shaped chocolate (milk, not dark) in the box and you’re going for it, so you don’t press me. Have I mentioned you have a few bits of stray tinsel in your hair? It’s really adorable.
I don’t know, there’s just something about Wite-Out. I love its chalky ways. I love its opaqueness. I love that it erases in white. Like, it’s a color, but it deletes. This is zen stuff, this correction fluid.* And I recently discovered there is off-white Wite-Out, for legal documents or illuminated manuscripts or something. The shade is the exact shade of the paper in my papecal! I bought three bottles, one for my purse, one for my desk. One for my other desk.
Back to work.
p.s. Wait! Did you know a lady invented Liquid Paper? Yes, Ms. Bettie Nesmith Graham is who we have to thank! I think there must be a Part II to this post all about Bettie.
*gross
Gang, it’s Quilt Scout time.
“Mary, it’s always Quilt Scout time,” you say, looking ravishing in your Christmas sweater.
I beam at you and open up my arms and, in a loud, Southern-accented voice in the style of my quilter friend Margaret down in Baker, Florida, “Honey, git in these arms! Git! C’mon and just git in these arms, sugar! You ’bout as sweet as they come.”
Anywhoo, the second December Quilt Scout column focuses on pictorial quilts; specifically, how I am (v. slowly) making one of my own, and how much I love them and have always loved them. I can’t be the only person around here who feels this way, can I? Surely not, except that a person doesn’t see them a lot being made these days, does a person? This person doesn’t, but maybe I’m not looking hard enough.
Enough of the lead up. You can read the column right here and thank you, everyone, for seeming to give a lick* about the things I write.
*another Margaret-ism
As most of you know, I have been teaching writing workshops and short-term classes at the University of Chicago’s Writers’ Studio for a couple years, now. My popular 4-week course in blogging wrapped up a few weeks ago and a group of my students are taking me out to lunch next week, which I take as a sign that they enjoyed themselves and learned stuff!
About a year ago, I was asked to pitch a new class for the winter term and I knew just what I wanted to teach. Here’s what I pitched and, indeed, what I’ll be teaching in a matter of weeks:
Humor Writing Survey — 6 weeks
Mondays, 10:00 – 12:30 p.m.
Jan. 8 – Feb. 19, 2018
Q: What do SNL writers, standups, New Yorker cartoonists, Thurber, Lebowitz, and Freud all have in common?
A: They’ve all spent a lot of time thinking about what makes people laugh. Now it’s our turn.
In this seminar/survey course, we will read humorous writing and respond to it: everything from TV scripts to stage monologues, from essays to short stories (and much more) in order to better understand the how of humor. You needn’t be a comedy-writing hopeful to take this class! This is a survey for anyone wishing to better appreciate — or emulate — the greats.
Expect guests: Chicago improv artists, standups, and other humorists with experience. You’ll generate work, too, and we may take a field trip.
Would someone pinch me? I get to hang out with a classroom of people interested in reading funny writing and talking about that writing? I get to assign homework to people willing to try and write, say, a piece of satire or burlesque? Yes! I do! I get to do that! And I also get to share all I’ve been learning about the history of humor writing over the ages. There’s a lot to say about it, I won’t be able to get to absolutely everything (and it is a new class, after all) but my interest and excitement is hard to measure.
The good news is that the class is already half full; the bad news is that the slots will go quickly. What if you miss it??
If you’re in Chicago and you can manage a six-week course on Monday mornings for a couple hours, you will not regret it. Because it’s going to be amazing. What a way to start the year, right?? Reading P.G. Wodehouse and excerpts from The American Bystander and talking about the difference between parody and irony?? Sounds like a good idea to me.
You can find info about the course right here.
I’ll see you downtown.
My friends, you have a task today. So do I.
We have to, have to call our members of congress and tell them to save Net Neutrality. As your favorite blogger, as your buddy, as Pendennis’s mom, I beg you to read this and make that call.
Right away, you must understand that saving Net Neutrality is not a political issue. Saving Net Neutrality has nothing to do with who you voted for for president. It’s got nothing to do with tax cuts, gun control, or the election in Alabama today.
Saving Net Neutrality is about saving ourselves from very, very big businesses that do not care about us. They do not care about me. They do not care about you. The only thing these fat cats care about is making money — all the money — and we have to stop them. At least on this, at least today.
“Mary,” you say — and you’re so annoyed because I promised to talk about the shampoo I found for my wimpy hair — “I’ve heard about this Net Neutrality thing but I’m sorry, I don’t totally get what it is or why it’s a big deal.”
I know. I totally know. This stuff is so complicated. I didn’t get it at first, either. Let me try to break it down in my own words.
Net Neutrality (sometimes called “network neutrality” or “net equality”) is the principle that internet service providers like Verizon or AT&T — governments, too — should treat all data on the internet equally. It means that pages/content won’t load faster or slower because someone decides it should. The neutrality of the net also means that if you want to find information, you’ll find it eventually. No one is blocking you from seeking and finding things if you really want to find them. We all take this access for granted because it’s always just been like this. The internet was designed to be free to roam. Think buffalo.
Let me make it practical. You don’t have to pay more to load Facebook than you do to load PaperGirl. Me n’ Zuckerberg, we load at the same speed. That’s important. All websites, like people, are created equal — or they should be.
Let’s get more detailed, though, with a different example. Let’s say BigCrafty decides to offer longarming services. Well, right now, BigCrafty can’t pay Verizon to load faster than your friend’s longarming website, because — wait for it — the net is neutral like that. It’s a level playing field. Yeah, BigCrafty can buy ads and do pop-ups, but you know you’re being advertised to and you know how big BigCraffty is, that they can afford to get all up in your bidness. A neutral, level playing field means is that your friend can, in theory, compete with BigCrafty because this is a great country. This freedom your friend has to make her longarming business a success (from her freakin’ basement!) is what makes this country great, again and again, every day.
Last week, the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) announced plans to dismantle Net Neutrality. What that means is that powerful, huge, “too big to fail” internet providers like Comcast, Verizon, AT&T will have free reign to slow down sites they don’t like. Just because. They will be able to totally and completely block stuff out of your google searches, just like that. Zap. It means that these icky-poo companies that do not care about us will be able to slice and dice the internet into slow and fast lanes. Why? Because that would make them so, so, so much money. Because we would then have to pay to play, like we do with cable. And your friend’s longarming business? Forget it. It’ll load slower and slower and people will just go with BigCrafty because BigCrafty loads instantly. Because BigCrafty’s in bed with Verizon. Because a guy knows a guy at the FCC. Because the more little guys they squish, the more people see BigCraftsy, faster, and then the fat cats get their bonuses because the bottom line starts looking terrific. Better than ever.
You and I won’t make that money. Verizon will make it all. They will not share. Do not, under any circumstances, get that twisted. Not now. The stakes are too high on this.
I hope I explained it okay. There’s a lot more to it, I know, in terms of ramifications and how it all works. But these are the basics and you know — you know — I have come to you with “issues” so rarely. So this must be really important, right? Right. It is. I care about the internet because the internet is how you and I know each other, day in, day out on the ol’ PG. It’s just a blog. But it’s us. I don’t want Comcast’s grubby fingers all over my monkey, you guys, and I don’t want them getting in the way of what we have.
Find out who your representative is with this great little website: https://callyourrep.co and get their phone number. Then call them. Today. They’re supposed to vote on this thing on Thursday. We gotta get ahead of it. When the office of your rep picks up the phone, just tell them “Save Net Neutrality” or “stop the FCC from dismantling Net Neutrality,” or, “Save Net Neutrality or the monkey dies.”
Anything. Say anything. Whatever you do, save the internet — now.
We interrupt the trotting out of holiday traditions for a special announcement: My latest Quilt Scout column is up! And I really do need to let you know that because I forgot to do it last week.
You’ll soon see that the column is sober in tone; that’s by design. In the piece, I examine how hard it is to learn things that challenge what we think — even what we love. It happened to me recently while I was doing quilt history research and writing it out for the ol’ Scout helped me cope. Maybe it’ll get you thinking, too.
Anywhoop, I’ll be back tomorrow with Holiday Tradition No. 2.
(It involves ‘tockins.)
Greetings from Portland!
But I’ll tell you more about that later. For now, the first Quilt Scout of the month is so silly, you just have to read it. It’s your very own quilt horoscope, so obviously it’s very important.
Enjoy the Scout; I’ll see you tomorrow, probably with wet shoes and Voodoo Doughnut in my hand. I’m in Portland, after all.
Love,
Mary
Wonderful things are happening in the quilt world.
All around us, quilters and the people who love them are creating new places for us to learn, grow, be inspired, and gain new perspective on this thing we love so much. Every once in awhile, I’ll hear a quilter grumble how “the quilt world isn’t what it used to be” and I actually agree, though as far as I’m concerned, it’s better than ever.
There’s a new publication out on stands now called Curated Quilts and you should get a copy. It’s true that not long ago, I entreated you to investigate another quarterly publication I felt worthy of your time and resources. That I’m coming to you with another suggestion is proof that what I said above is true: Good stuff is happening in print, people, and I refuse to withhold my praise!
Curated Quilts (CQ) is a 90+ page, advertisement-free publication brought to you by Christine Ricks, (graphic designer and creative director of Missouri Star Quilt Company’s publishing division), and my pal Amy Ellis, who was a terrific guest on Love of Quilting some years ago and who I tapped to write a column on domestic machine quilting for the original Quilty magazine. These girls are legit, is what I’m saying.
Christine and Amy have done something wonderful with their brand-new magazine: They’re organizing each issue of CQ by quilt type. Issue 01 is “Linear Quilts,” for example, which means that the strippy quilt, the bar quilt, the however-you-call-it quilt with lots of vertical or horizontal lines is the focus of the issue. (Issue 02 is “Log Cabin,” so you get the idea.)
While Curated Quilts is geared primarily for the modern quilter, the fact that they hired me to write historical perspectives on each issue’s chosen quilt style shows Amy and Christine are thinking broadly and thinking big. And, as I have said before, even if you don’t make modern quilts per se, there is so much to learn from this ever-widening corner of the quilt world. The moderns are a force, and watching what they do gets more exciting every passing year. I think I’ve made exactly .5 quilts that could be considered “modern” — I put an asymmetrical back on a quilt, once! — but that has no bearing on my ability to glean much from my modern sisters and brothers. It’s surely the same with you, too, or it could be: As quilters, we’re all people who make useful covers for others out of cloth and generosity. Style is secondary.
Curated Quilts is available at the website, though I’d love it if you’d ask your local quilt shop to order it for you; we gotta support our shops.
A heads-up regarding the price, which is higher than your typical quilt magazine: Like Quiltfolk, Curated Quilts doesn’t include any advertising whatsoever — and make no mistake, advertisements are what fund magazines. Without ads, you have to structure a publication’s business plan differently, i.e., rely on a higher sticker price and hope for a healthy subscription list. What the reader gets in return for her money and her good faith is nothing short of a zen-like reading experience, a magazine that is more like a beautiful book (but cheaper!), a magazine that will look so pretty on your coffee table, your sewing table, and then on your bookshelf, lined up with all the other issues to come, that you will quickly get used to the difference.
That I get to write about quilts for these exciting, emerging, game-changing publications is a dream come true. Heck, I never even dreamed of it, exactly, but I’m so grateful. We should all be very excited when these kinds of projects are launched because it proves the health of quilting in America.
But you don’t need to pick up a copy of Curated Quilts on principle. Pick it up because gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous.
Way to go, girls!
Tonight, I sleep in Big Rapids, Michigan — but I’m not supposed to be here.
I’m supposed to be sleeping in Atlanta, Michigan, but it ain’t gonna happen. You see, I have a gig tomorrow in Atlanta, Michigan, and don’t worry: I’ll get to the church/quilting retreat on time. But I had no choice but to stop and sleep.
See, I left Chicago at 4 p.m. with six hours of driving ahead of me. (Trust me, it worked out to be quicker than flying and driving.) I knew it would be a long haul, but I felt good about things when I got the car all packed up. I had a book on tape. I had a falafel sandwich. But things didn’t go well getting out of the city. I didn’t get free of the traffic snarls until it was going on 6:00 p.m. or so and then my toll pass thing didn’t work and I wasted more time at two different toll booths and — ugh!
As I did and redid the math to see when I would finally get to my destination, I watched my good night’s sleep slip, slip away. I started to feel true panic and dread.
When I don’t get at least six hours of sleep, I feel ill. As in nauseated. You know that feeling? Most people do. And to have to be “on” for a day of teaching and lecturing? Heck no. That’s like operating heavy machinery under the influence. People can get hurt out there, including me.
So when I realized I’d be getting to my hotel after one in the morning because of the time change, instead of crying (more) I called a Holiday Inn Express a little over an hour from the McDonald’s parking lot where I had parked for a minute to figure out my life. I got a room. I booked the room.
After I got off the phone, I had one pang of buyer’s remorse: Couldn’t I make it, though? Was I just being a baby? I mean, this $149 + tax is gonna come out of my pocket; the organizers shouldn’t have to pay for this travel snafu, I figure.
But then I thought about safety (my own and others’) on the road. I thought about putting my head on a pillow. The choice to stop and sleep was the right one, that seems clear.
And I know I’m a lucky gal to have such options.
Goodnight, Big Rapids,
Mary
What in the world does Marcel “Ol’ French-Fry” Proust have to do with patchwork? You’d be surprised. Find out all about it on my latest Quilt Scout column for my friends over at Quilts, Inc.
Also: I have 348 pages of Remembrance left to read before Tuesday night. See ya!
xo
Mary “The Quilt Scout” Fons
Do you ever have those days when you just cannot sew? As in, nothing you cut, stitch, or otherwise patch or quilt goes the way it should? Oh, me neither! But if you have a friend who has ever felt that way (cough, cough), you might want to show them this.
😉
Mary
p.s. Much love to all my new pals in Kentucky. Today was so, so great.
The First-Ever PaperGirl Essay Contest proved what I already knew: There are writers among us.
For those of you who are anxiously awaiting the Second-Ever PaperGirl Essay Contest, you shall have your chance soon; I’m thinking I’ll announce the next topic around Thanksgiving. But I’ll bet that some of you have dreams bigger than a one-time essay, hm? I’ll bet some of you wonder if you might like to start a blog.
Oh yeah, baby.
It’s a cool thing, having a blog. In fact, the ol’ PG is one of the best things in my life and has been one of the best things in my life for many years. Look how dedicated I am! I post 4-5 times a week, most weeks, and that’s while I’m in school and doing All The Things. Writing a blog must be pretty great, right? You bet it’s great, and you should start one of your own if you have been thinking about that. But there are things to know before you start, trust me on that.
Well, if you’ve been thinking about writing a blog — or writing, period, no blog necessary — and if you live in Chicago or can get here without too much trouble, you’re in luck: I’m teaching blogging for the University of Chicago Writer’s Studio again in November! The class meets once a week for four weeks, Tuesday mornings from 10 a.m. – 12:30 p.m.; we’ve got a cozy classroom downtown, right off Michigan Avenue at the Gleacher Center at Cityfront Plaza.
Doesn’t that just sound great? You, me, classmates, blog writing exercises, reading homework, quick lessons in WordPress, and workshop time? By that date on the calendar it’ll be peak chai latte season, too, and my oversize sweater/cowboy boot/skinny jean game will be on point, y’all. Boom. Fall + writing class + sweater + chai latte = heaven itself.
Here’s the link to the info page. Sign up. Learn from someone who really loves this stuff and — yep, I’m going to say it — learn about yourself along the way.
There’s so much pain right now. All over. On our shores. In our backyard. Buy a quilt and send your love and energy to a place where it’s darker than where you are now, maybe. And if it’s dark where you are, hang in there.
All the info you need should be in the auction, but I’ll do my very best to answer questions.
Have Fun + Spread the Word,
Mary
It’s hard to know how to help.
Texas. Florida. Mexico. The Virgin Islands. Puerto Rico. There have been so many devastating weather events lately, I spend a good deal of time feeling depressed and frightened and useless when these reports come in. And I feel guilty, too, because what can I do? Does $25 to the Red Cross really help? Should I go to Texas, to Mexico and try to sandbag or something? But how does that even work and won’t I just be in the way? What if I make everything worse and what if I put myself in danger on top of everything else? You probably recognize at least some of this unhappy thinking which, sadly, is 100% ineffective in all directions.
This morning, after clicking through the (more bad) news, my brow furrowed and I sank onto the couch with a groan. Our countrymen and countrywomen in Puerto Rico find themselves facing a humanitarian crisis that could threaten the stability of the region for a long, long time. It’s chaos down there and can you just imagine being a little kid down there right now? How scary it must be? All of a sudden, thinking about that, I just got fed up. I decided that nope, not today, no more stewing, no more gnashing of teeth and groaning and doing nothing. Today, I decided, today I would act, I would do an actionable thing to help someone out there on that island. That’s a U.S. territory, dammit, and more needs to be done.
I have come to understand that what is very helpful in a crisis situation like the one in Puerto Rico, the best thing for me to do is to send money — but I simply do not have extra right now. So I thought, “How could I raise some money?” Walking to and fro on my carpet, sipping my tea (I’m back on tea, coffee’s for the birds, at least in the morning), I remembered that I’ve been needing to make good on something I say to hundreds of people all over the country: Quilters who make lots of quilts should give lots of quilts away. “Don’t keep your quilts in a stack in a closet,” I say, sometimes even shaking my fist. “Give your quilts to people who want or need them! Go make more quilts! You will, anyway! Give it away, people!”
“Mary, Mary, wait a second,” you say. “Calm down.” And then, scratching your attractive head, you ask me why I’m on about quilts when I said I wanted to send money to Puerto Rico.
Wait for it!
Despite my fervent “Give away your quilts” message, which I do stand by — fervently! — I find myself with a quilt surplus right now. Some of these quilts are from my book, Make + Love Quilts, available at fine quilt shops everywhere; some are from the days of Quilty magazine; one or two were “just-for-funs”; one is a sample I made for the fabric line. I’ve given away other quilts over the years but somehow I haven’t yet given these quilts away and you know what? It’s time to turn them into money for people in need.
I’m going to auction off ten (10) quilts tomorrow, October 1st, 2017, and all the money will go to Americares to benefit victims of Hurricane Maria. This is going to be fun and awesome. Ten people will get their very own Mary Fons quilt and hundreds of people will get at least a little bit of help down in the Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico! And I’ll have more room in my house! This is great!
All of this will go down tomorrow. No, I don’t know exactly what time. I have homework to do and I have to set up this online silent auction thing. All will be revealed, don’t get antsy. Actually, no: Do get antsy! Be excited to buy a quilt from me and help so many people! But because I know there are burning questions, here are a few details for now:
HOT TIP: If you don’t subscribe to this blog, I highly, highly recommend doing that now. Because when you subscribe, you get an email in your email box whenever I post a post. Like, instantly, you get an email when there’s a new PaperGirl and that means you’ll instantly know when this whole thing goes live tomorrow. Your email is safe with me; even if I wanted to “sell” your name, I wouldn’t have the first idea about how to do that. Sell what? To whom?
See you on PaperGirl tomorrow!
It’s been hard the past few days to touch base because I can’t tell you where I am!
It’s true: I’ve been in [REDACTED] for the past couple few days because I’m on assignment for this magazine and I can’t let the cat out of the bag about which state Quiltfolk’s Issue 05 will spotlight. Not me, Satie! No way, Monet!
And while it’s fun to be a lil’ ninja and fly under the radar, it’s also the pits: I can’t write to you about all the things and I can’t even do any Instagram stuff! Believe me, I’m in a very cool place with crazy-good photo opportunities. The Instagram stuff can wait, but it’s torture to not write up what I’ve seen and the things I’ve experienced since getting here yesterday morning. I just need you to help me download things, you know? Downloads of the mental variety. This is something you help me with.
Agh! Okay, one thing:
It’s been so horribly hot in Chicago; we broke records all week last week with temperatures in the low- to mid-90s. I hate a summer that stretches into October, and of course it’s all just very anxiety-provoking and confusing and frightening, all this extreme weather.
Anyway, I experienced a fall moment today and it took my breath away, honestly. There was a quicksilver chill in the air and when it whistled through me, my entire life-in-autumn flashed before my eyes. Autumns of my childhood (the sharpened pencils, the trick-o-treats); the autumns of my young adulthood (the cigarettes outside the bars, the late-night rehearsals); the autumns more recent (the leaves downtown, the frost on the windows of the cabs in the morning.) But in that moment when you first feel the fall air, all the autumns blend together and it’s just your life, in technicolor, in a sweater.
You will love Issue 05 of Quiltfolk.
To the generous, gifted, and winsome quilters I spent Friday and Saturday with in Pennsylvania: Thank you.
Not only were you fun to hang with, you were particularly fearless in your workings of the patch (patchwork) and you geeked out right along with me with the quilt history stuff. Really, thank you for being so Good.
I’ve been thinking about my Pennsylvania experience since I left, but right before I sat down to write, something I said the other night suddenly hit me as being true in another respect: I told you that even though much of my time is spent writing about quilts, talking to quilters, teaching patchwork, lecturing on quilt history, reading and thinking about quilts in America, etc. — after all that, when I get home in the evening, what do I want to do? Sew.
Of course, it isn’t always the case; sometimes I’m so pooped when I get home, “sewing” looks more like “eatin’ chips”. But it’s generally true that making quilts is still, always something I want to do; indeed, if I didn’t have pages to turn in for workshop tomorrow, articles to write for the paper, and TV wardrobe to select, I’d be sewing right now.
I thought about that sentiment when I sat down because I have been writing all day. I worked on an essay; I edited an article; I drafted a number of delicate emails; I wrote up pitches; I researched things and made notes — and that was just the four hours between 5:30 and 9:30 a.m. I left the house a little after that and the rest of the day had me writing, too, just in different locations.
And what do I do when I get home? Exactly. Because it never fails me. Now, I fail at writing, that’s for sure. But it doesn’t fail me, just as needles and thread don’t fail me or anyone else.
“Mary,” you ask me, and you cock your head to the side. (You look adorable when you do that.)
“Yes?” I reply, reclining in my patchwork kimono, eatin’ chips. “What can I do ya for?” I say, and I think this is hysterical, so I laugh, which causes me to inhale some chip dust. I’m good, though.
“You gave this post a title that, as far as I can tell, has nothing to do with anything.”
“Au contraire,” I say, and I wipe my chippy fingers on my sock.
“When I get home from a long day of quilts, I want to sew. When I get home from a long day of writing, I want to write. Well,” I say, licking a tiny chip from the corner of my mouth, “I have been traveling and lot and will continue to in the next months, but I still want more trips.”
“Ohhhh,” you say, ” — and you want to go to Europe.”
I tell you yes, that’s it, exactly: I would be so excited if I could visit quilting people across the pond. Maybe I have to put it out there to move the ball forward; I am definitely not too proud to beg.
And that’s it. That’s what I wanted to say.
Goodnight!
Tomorrow morning, pre-dawn, I leave Philly and return to Chicago.
I’m there for three days of class and working in the newspaper office and then it’s to Iowa to tape episodes of Love of Quilting with Mom. After we wrap TV, I go back to Chicago, and then I go to New England on assignment.
School began last week, and I love everything. I’m reading Mann’s Dr. Faustus; I’m polishing up an essay I worked on this summer so that I can fork it over in workshop next week; I’m preparing for a newspaper staff retreat tomorrow and an open meeting for writers on Monday.
It does feel sometimes that I do not know how to do less than this.
I’m not beleaguered. I’m not complaining. I’ve chosen all these activities, all these tasks. I’m the one who can stay put. Only I can say “later”, or say “no”. But I don’t. I never do. Not unless I’m forced to, and whatever tries to force me has to get past me first. I’m not competitive with other people, but I try to best myself every day. Is it a fair fight? Me against me?
Absolutely.
I met so many incredible quilters these past two days in the Philly area. No matter where I go, no matter how tired I might be or how many other things are weighing down on me, quilters bolster me, build me up. It happens every time and it’s real.
Goodnight.
I think the idea for Taco Tape® first came to me when I was in junior high school. I was probably eating a taco when it happened.
The concept — which I’ll get to in a second — didn’t truly come into focus until a high school Econ class, however. Teach split us into small groups and tasked us with dreaming up a new product, then creating a marketing plan for it. Pretty standard-issue high school Economics assignment, but from humble beginnings, great things can come.
Our teacher may have chalked some product ideas up on the chalkboard. There might have been some discussion once we were divided into groups. But I had no use for these brainstorms. I needed no idea bank. I already had a brilliant product idea from years before! This was my moment! I politely informed my group that our product would be Taco Tape® . They shrugged and said it sounded like a good idea — because it is.
In short, Taco Tape® is an edible taco repair system.
Think about it. When you are eating a taco, a burrito — a tortilla-wrapped item of any kind, really — nine times out of ten, you’re going to run into problems. Because tacos fall apart! Juices from pico de gallo or chicken or sauce will compromise your snack. It’s not a matter of if; it’s a matter of when. Am I wrong? Do you not reach the end of your burrito or taco and find yourself regressing into some simian version of yourself, poking at your plate, scooping up the orts, lamely fashioning numerous other, tiny burritos by pinching shreds of your tortilla around a bean here, a chunk of carnitas there? Sad!
With Taco Tape®, all your burritos and tacos stay together — all the way down to the last delicious bite. Taco Tape® is made from 100% organic wheat and corn and comes off a Taco Tape® dispenser at your table, right next to the salt, pepper, and hot sauce! The secret to Taco Tape® is the invisible, flavorless, 100% natural, edible adhesive on the underside of the tortilla strip. Just pull off a piece of tape, bandage up your taco or burrito — and enjoy every perfect bite.
Right?? Wouldn’t Taco Tape® be great?
This isn’t the first time I’ve written about Taco Tape®, actually; I wrote about it years ago when the ol’ PG was very new and on a different website/server thing, both of which have been lost to time. But the coolest thing happened a couple years ago: A high school class somewhere here in the U.S. contacted me about using Taco Tape® as their product in their own Econ class! Someone else had the idea for an edible taco repair system! They googled it and the internet did produce my name in relation to it, so these darling teenagers emailed me to ask me if they could play around with the idea. Sometimes, you realize the world is gonna be okay.
My name was connected with Taco Tape®! On the internet! And now it is again. Seriously, can someone get to work on this? The world’s burritos need you. And I may or may not have the proprietary edible glue formula. Hm.
P.S. I am thinking about all my Florida friends and family and all of your friends and family anywhere in the path of Irma or The Next Big One. It’s frightening. We’re with you in the ways we can be.
I’m a busy gal. A few of the things on my list:
So that’s a lot — and we both know I could keep going. But instead of listing all the rest of the stuff I get to do/want to do/have to do, I’d really like to list a few projects that I really, really want to do but can’t, for lack of bandwidth. After all, actually doing things is hard and taxing, while dreaming about doing other things is fun; everybody knows that.
So, here’s a list of projects that I want to do but just totally cannot prioritize just this second:
This last one, man … I’m telling you. That book will be so cool when I finally am able to do it — and I really want to do it. Because I have a big file of awesome pictures and illos from years of writing this blog. When I go looking for a picture of gooey butter cake or a man crossing the street with an enormous bouquet of roses, you won’t believe what I come across.
Sometimes, I’ll just click through the images in a folder I have marked “Everything Has To Be Moved”, the working title for this photo book. I don’t know that I’d make up a fictional narrative for each photo; I like the idea of these disparate photographs and illustrations simply living together, selected by me, for their beauty or uniqueness, or their quality, or their subject(s), or all of that.
I traffic in words more than images, of course, but visual language is real and I reckon I’m semi-bilingual.
I never meant to be a quilter and I never meant to work in the quilt industry.
I was working as a freelance writer and performer in Chicago and then, not knowing what I was doing (in so many respects!), I made a quilt that I loved fiercely, a quilt that helped me heal from illness and heartsickness and that was it: My life in quilts began.
Those who know the American quilt landscape know why I stay. It’s the same reason we all stay: for the people.
Fine, we stay for the fabric, too.
But you know and I know we’d throw all the fabric bundles in the world into the sea if it meant we couldn’t keep the friends we’ve made in this quilt culture of ours. Some of the quilters and quilt industry people I’ve met are among my very best friends; many are people I’ve met at events. I’m happy to state the obvious: Quilters are remarkable people. When I think I stumbled into this thing sorta-kinda by mistake, I get quiet, because I might’ve missed it entirely if I wasn’t paying attention (and if I had given up on that first, awful quilt.)
There’s a publication out now called Quiltfolk. It’s not exactly a magazine; it’s not quite a book. The creators call it “a keepsake quarterly” and they’ve got it exactly. Quiltfolk put out its first issue last yaer; when Mom came across it, she said, “Mary, you gotta see this.” And so do you: Quiltfolk is unlike any quilt magazine you’ve seen, I assure you.
There are no ads. There is photography that will make you drool, except you’d better get it together because the paper Quiltfolk is printed on is way too nice to get wet. And, as you’ve probably guessed, the content is all about quilters. Quilt people. You, and me, and us.
Each issue focuses on quilt culture in a state or region of America, and that is a very, very groovy way to shape a thing. This is not a pattern magazine. There are a lot of fine magazines for that and we definitely want those patterns. But Quiltfolk offers a window on the world, each issue an investigation of the quilters who live in a particular area. The first issue was Oregon. Then came Iowa (there may or may not be a Fons person or two in there.) Issue 03, out now, takes you to flippin’ Hawaii.
Then, late last spring, I got a call from Mike McCormick, co-founder of Quiltfolk, about doing some writing for them. I said I’d think about it. (I’m kidding. I pinched myself and muted the phone so I could yip and jump and not scare the poor guy.)
In June, I met up with Mike, Rebekah, and Leah in Nashville, because Issue 04…is Tennessee.
We went to Tennesee! To investigate the rich quilt culture of Tennessee and write about it and take pictures of it! Could you die?? I just about did. This assignment was bliss for a quilt history nerd like me. You might remember when I was down there. I was vague about my trip because fans of Quiltfolk — a growing army at this point — know that when the publication’s next state or region is announced, it’s like Christmas.
Being able to write for Quiltfolk is an honor. I met Merikay Waldvogel, y’all. This woman is a legend. A quilt historian whose work over the decades has strengthened the roots of our world in incalculable ways. She’s a personal hero and she’s just one of the people we interviewed for Issue 04 — there’s so much more.
So I’m breaking my rule about outside links in the ol’ PG. Get Quiltfolk in your life and don’t wait too long: Issue 01: Oregon sold out long ago and Issue 02: Iowa is dwindling. Get ‘Hawaii’ and sign up for Tennessee. You know I don’t promote too much stuff around here; when I do, I mean it. Yes, this magazine is more expensive than your others; but to make this collectible object, a publication without ads, with deep reporting, and lush photography by a woman who has shot photos for National Geographic for Lord’s sake… You will never regret it. I promise you that.
My only regret about this whole Quiltfolk thing is that I didn’t come on as a writer one issue earlier. I missed freaking Hawaii. You owe me one, McCormick. I’ll forgive you if you slate Issue 10 for Alaska.
The media frenzy continues! Quilts are in the news again — and I promise you, no PR agents were hired in the making of this big, juicy article. People just dig quilts, man. That’s a fact.
Two weeks ago, legendary Chicago reporter, radio personality, and consummate gentleman Rick Kogan came over to my place from the Chicago Tribune with a photographer. I offered them a beverage, Rick pulled out a notebook, and we all hung out and talked quilts. They put together a groovy video and Rick wrote a terrific piece all about a certain quilter, ahem. It’s a terrific thing for quilters and quilts when quilters and quilts can be in the news — thank you, Rick.
Part of what’s exciting about all this is that I got to tell the Trib/the world how I’ll be heading to Iowa in a few weeks to be a guest on Love of Quilting! The show is in such good hands with the beautiful and talented Sara Gallegos, of course, but Sara will be able to kick back her heels for a minute while I’m in Iowa to tape three episodes with Mom. Oh, how I do miss TV! I can’t wait to get in there, hang with the crew, and make some work with my favorite sewing pal: my awesome Mother Unit.
That quilt in the background, by the way? That’s one of the projects for the fall taping! So you can say you saw it here first.
Catch you later on the small screen, folks. You don’t even need to change out of your pajamas.
Love,
Mary
p.s. I did share the article/video on my Facebook page the other day when it hit the web, but I discovered the story was also a full feature in the Sunday print edition this week. And anyway, who says you can only celebrate a neat thing once??
Remember that time that car drove into a crowd of people in Berlin? It was Christmas.
It was awful. A terrorist drove a van into a market in Berlin and I thought of Claus, of course, because Claus lives in Berlin. What I never got around to mentioning is that when I went to visit Claus in January, my hotel was practically on top of the site where that man did that. It was just a few weeks later, when I walked past for the first time. There were still many lit candles. There were still framed pictures of people who died, pictures of those injured irrevocably.
Ruin and death.
Last night, I had dinner with Heather in River North. We had tacos. Afterward, I walked her to the bus stop at Watertower Place. I blew a kiss to my friend as she boarded the bus north and after we waved to each other through the window, I turned to walk the 1.8 miles home, straight down Michigan Avenue. It was obvious that’s what I’d do; I had seen the news. I needed to be around other people. The air was fine, I was physically fine, and I was wearing my hat.
Baby, you should’ve been there. The world was out there. Families. Couples in love. Teenagers. Older folks. Babies in strollers. All of us, on a mild summer night in one of the greatest cities in the world, walking along the sidewalk to get across the great Chicago River, all of us together there on the DuSable Bridge.
It would’ve been be so easy to plow a car through us all.
Michigan Avenue is a sitting duck, really. So many people to hate, and for endless reasons. All it would take is a head start, maybe followed by throwing the car into reverse to catch a few more of us. You know I’m on that bridge all the time. I’m on Michigan Avenue probably 300 days out of the year. So are many children, young lovers, old folks. Last night, we got across.
As I approached Polk Street, almost home, I heard music. My heart leaped when I realized Summerdance was going on.
Summerdance is this sublime summer series in Grant Park, right here in my neighborhood. Every week, pretty signs are stuck into the grass and a modest stage is set up in the clearing for a band or DJ. And every night, Summerdance celebrates a different kind of music. Like, one week it’ll be salsa, the next week it might be swing, or Calypso — really, any and every kind of music you can dance to gets its turn from summer to summer. There’s more: Professional dance teachers come and teach you steps from the stage! Some folks who come to Summerdance are incredible dancers and some people have two left feet, but you have never seen so many smiling people together in your life.
After the lesson, for a couple hours, the band or the DJ plays music so people can dance their news steps, under the trees, under the stars, together. There are usually about 400 people there. There is no racial demographic. All are welcome. All come.
Here is what is true:
I’m not doing enough to help protect the people on the bridge on Michigan Avenue. I’m not doing enough to keep Summerdance safe. It’s good to write to you, my friends, about how beautiful it is to be among all of my American brothers and sisters. But the internet is not enough.
If I don’t do more than I’m doing right now, the bridges will burn. The music will stop. And that’s just not gonna work for me.
If you’re new to this blog, and the Google people tell me there are, you should probably read this.