Hello!
Remember that blogging class I talked about?
We’re in it right now!
I’m showing the class — which is made up of attractive, attentive, excellent people, I’ll have you know — how to publish a post. And this is that post.
Any questions?
Ever had times in your life when you looked longingly at your sewing machine and sighed a deep sigh because you knew there wasn’t a bobbin’s chance in you-know-where that you were going to sit down and sew anytime soon?
Ever unplugged your machine so that you could vacuum real good around the table only to realize, two weeks later, you never plugged it back in because you have not even been over to that side of the room in two weeks?
Yeah, me, same.
Hey, man. There are seasons in our lives. There are seasons when we reap, and there are seasons when we — wait for it — sew. For me, it’s just not a “sewing” season and I have to be okay with that.*
Sometimes, when I don’t get any exercise for awhile, I get very dramatic about it in my mind and think, “That’s it! It’s over! I’ll never have what I used to have, which was a somewhat regular exercise regimen!” The same goes with quiltmaking. I look back at my output over the past six or nine months and, if it looks like it looks now, which is bad, I feel like, “Whelp! That’s it! I’m a phony! How can I even call myself a quilter?? I’m all talk!”
But of course, this is ridiculous.
Sometimes, I just can’t exercise because I’m flying all over the country, for Lord’s sake. Sometimes, I can’t make a big quilt (or five) because I’m in grad school and more or less working full time. It’s okay, I tell myself. It’ll smooth out because I like exercising. I like making quilts. These things are going to be there for me when I get done with this other stuff — and I’ll be there for them, too, ready and excited to pick up where I left off, hopefully.
Yes, the “I’ll get to it when I have more time” mentality can be a problem. It can lead to inertia and self-sabotage.
But sometimes, it’s just true that you’ll do it later. Sometimes, when you have to choose between sleep and a round of cardio boxing, you gotta go with sleep. When you have to choose between getting the reading done and working on something that does not currently have a deadline attached to it (aka, your latest-greatest quilt), the reading has to win. For you, you might have to choose the kids, the needs of the spouse, the upcoming move, the divorce, the second job — any of that, over the other stuff. For now.
When school is over in May, I swear, the rest of my life is going to feel like a vacation. I’m going be in very good shape and I will make two quilts every single week.
*You get the joke, right? Sow/sew? I had to make sure!
When my mom and my sister Rebecca Fons embarked on the project of the movie theater renovation in our hometown, I knew a few things for sure.
I knew they would do it “right,” aesthetically-speaking. I knew they would deal fairly in all business matters. I knew they would work hard. And I knew they would complete the project. None of this was ever in question.
And though I anticipated that, due to their approach, this non-profit movie theater/performance space would be financially viable, and though I hoped the whole project would be a success, I couldn’t know for sure if those things would come to pass. Well, the theater has only been open since late May and it’ll take at least a calendar year or two to understand how all this is rolling along, but so far, The Iowa Theater appears to have wind in its sails. The reason for this brings me to the third thing I didn’t anticipate:
The power of a well-run movie house in a small town.
To drive this point home, I need to tell you about Winterset’s annual “Festival of Lights” up on the town square.
The Festival of Lights is a kind of pop-up holiday fest that takes place the day after Thanksgiving around 7 p.m. A few shops stay open for business; vendors sell kettle corn and cider on the courthouse lawn (though you can be sure some grownups have something stronger in their cups); Christmas music is piped through the speakers; a horse-drawn trailer takes kids around the square; and various businesses, veterans groups, school groups, and cityfolk participate in a parade where candy is tossed to the crowd. The parade culminates in the appearance of … Santa, of course! And then Santa lights the Christmas lights on the square. It’s wonderful.
I was present at last year’s Festival of Lights when my sister and mother were neck-deep in theater renovations and plans, driving hundreds of miles back and forth from Chicago to Winterset and beyond, sourcing popcorn oil and dealing with studio screening contracts. The monetary and time investment was big. The work was intense. It was all happening.
My two sisters and I stood up on the square during the 2016 Festival of Lights last year, cheering for the parade floats as they went by, huddled together in the cold. Last year, The Iowa, which is smack on the square, was dark.
“This time next year,” my sister Rebecca said, shaking her head. “This time next year, we’ll be open. It’s gonna be awesome.” Then, in typical Rebecca fashion, she added, “I really hope there’s not some alien invasion before then or a global flood or something.”
No aliens, sis.
Last night, at the 2017 Festival of Lights, the cider was there, the kettle corn was there. Santa was there. And now, at the party, the Iowa Theater’s marquee blinkled and twinkled* and that beaut’ was there, too, open for business. Well, open for charity: If you brought a canned good or personal item, you got to see the 8 p.m. movie for free. Once Santa lit the lights, the theater was flooded, so many people on the square pouring into the Iowa with their food drive items and holiday spirits high. (I was working the door: I saw it, myself.) We ran out of seats way before we ran out of merry townspeople.
“We’ll do it again next year,” I said to the folks who got there too late. “Promise.”
So yeah, the Iowa is real. The community is responding to what they helped build. The theater couldn’t exist — nor can it continue to thrive — without all the support the community has given and continues to give, whether that’s approving grant proposals, buying pre-show ads, or simply showing up to watch the live performances or the movies.
“Wayback Wednesdays” are super popular; I went to see “Grease” the last time I was home and the place was packed, many attendees dressed up in Pink Ladies jackets and poodle skirts. At the screening of “Gone With the Wind,” a lady in her nineties stood up and said that she used to work at the Iowa as a teenager and when “Gone With the Wind” came out, she’d sneak in and watch it night after night, then go home and sob with love for Rhett Butler.
The “regular” movie nights are popular too, though some movies play better than others. Whatever the movie, with the Iowa Theater open again, Date Night is back in Winterset. Girls Night Out is back, too. Families come out together. Folks who need to get out of the house can get out of the house and come see a movie instead of … whatever else they had to do when the Iowa was dark.
This holiday season, there are a lot of good reasons to visit the Iowa; last night was just the beginning. The ballet group is doing “The Nutcracker.” The community players will present “The Gift of the Magi” later this month. You can see “Miracle on 34th Street” and “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.” And since the theater will be on this year’s Winterset Tour of Homes, Rebecca’s planned to have”A Christmas Story” playing on a continual loop from 11:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. — just drop in and out at your leisure, Ralphie.
Seeing my mom and Rebecca — and Steve and Marla and all the board members and the Chamber folks and everyone who has purchased a ticket or will in the years to come — seeing these people build this thing has taught me a lot. Namely, that it really is what you do locally that makes a difference in the world. It really is about our neighbors, about our backyards, about our communities.
Well, all that and lots of butter.
*blinkled and twinkled = a term I have just coined
And now, an interview I conducted this evening while sitting on the hardwood floor in the hallway, a few feet away from where serious jigsaw puzzling was taking place. Present and puzzling were my mother, my step-dad Mark, and my brother-in-law, Jack; my sister Rebecca sat on a bench nearby. There were glasses of wine on the table, as well as a bowl of Cheetos. My questions in boldface.
Note: In my family, we have a reception desk bell we put out when we do a puzzle. Every time someone finds a piece, they get to ring the bell.
So, gang: What do you like about puzzles?
MARK: Everything.
JACK: For me, a puzzle is appealing because it’s a closed system. It has an answer. Most things in the world move toward entropy and chaos. Puzzles are the opposite. They’re one of the few things in the world that start off as chaos and become whole.
MOM: With a puzzle, you get immediate gratification with every little piece, every bite — and zero calories!
JACK: Well, if you’re eating Cheetos, it’s different. (Ding!)
Do you have a particular method or approach to beginning a puzzle?
MARK: Well, sure. (Ding!) Most people approach a puzzle the same way: Do the frame first. Because the straight edge pieces are easy to find and fit together. And having the outside edge then gives you a structure. After you get your edge in place, you move to your subassembly: Pick a color or shape within the puzzle and take it one bite at a time.
JACK: “Subassembly.” I like that.
MOM: I pick up a piece and find the location on the picture, then I place it in that general vicinity. If it can’t fit anywhere … Well, then, sometimes I put it back down.
Mother, you said earlier today you didn’t like puzzles.
MOM: I think they’re a waste of time.
JACK: The plot thickens. (Ding!)
MOM: One could be making something useful, like a quilt. Putting a puzzle together is the antithesis of making quilt. But I will admit, it’s nice for a little relaxation during the holidays. You sit together and eat salty snacks and drink alcoholic beverages. It works.
REBECCA: I hate puzzles.
You hate them?
REBECCA: Make ’em and break ’em. That’s all they are!
Can you say more about that?
REBECCA: Puzzles are boring, for one thing. And the satisfaction of finding a piece is never enough, it never lasts long enough. Besides, there’s this weird … Like, everyone’s searching all the time. (Ding!) Then, when you finish a puzzle, you’re like “Cool, we made something that looks exactly like the picture on this box. Now let’s break it.” And if you’re doing a puzzle on the dining room table, it’s like, “Oh, we can’t eat at this table because there’s a puzzle here.” And then there’s the horror of finishing a puzzle and seeing there’s a missing piece.
MOM: I found a puzzle piece up at Sunrise Cottage. I couldn’t figure out which puzzle it went to, so I taped it to the puzzle cupboard with a sticky note. One day when I’m dead and gone, a grandchild of mine, maybe a great-grandchild will find where it goes and they’ll say, “Oh, Gramma Fons. She was so caring, so thoughtful! Just think, she cared about where this little puzzle piece would end up.”
JACK: Yeah, like, “Gather ’round, kids. Do you know what OCD is?”
(Everyone laughs. Ding!)
Last question: How many puzzles do you think we have in our family?
MOM: Oh, we give them away. We never do a puzzle twice.
But like, over time.
MARK: Probably a hundred. Probably more. (Takes sip of beer and then almost spits it out.) Geez, what’s a puzzle cost? Twenty bucks? Think of that money! My grandfather thought puzzles were the devil’s work. He just couldn’t stand them.
MOM: That was his mother’s side of the family. His father’s side of the family — what a bunch of no-counts!
MARK: Honey, that side of the family was no good. Horse traders, every one of ’em.
Can I put that in the interview?
MARK: (Ding!) I don’t care.
MOM: Mark’s the first to say it!
I’m glad we had this talk, you guys.
MARK: Yeah, puzzles. It doesn’t make much sense. But it gets in your blood.
[end of interview]
We had a good Thanksgiving Day here in Iowa.
It started this morning. Each Thanksgiving, my family helps prepare the free holiday meal at the Methodist Church. We’ve done this for a few years, now, and I love it. It feels good to be around other people, it feels good to help those less fortunate, it feels good to work in a kitchen. (I know my way around one, remember?)
This big holiday meal, which includes all the staples (i.e., turkey, pie, cran sauce, etc.), is served at noon in the basement of the church. But the food is also available for delivery for those who are homebound for medical reasons or who can’t drive for one reason or another. With the exception of Jack, who often helps with the gravy in the kitchen — and my step-dad, Mark, who makes the deviled eggs, grody — my family is usually put on delivery meals. We post up in the back room and get our little assembly line going: pie, roll, broccoli salad, cran sauce, egg, close the box. Stack. Repeat dozens and dozens of times.
Last year, I was on baked apple duty and even though it was a very sticky job, scooping all those hundreds of baked apples into cupcake foils, I secretly loved it. I really perfected my wrist maneuver by the end of the shift, made sure the cups didn’t squish and each apple had a good amount of sauce. The church organizers didn’t put baked apples on the menu this year, but I’d like to think I did a pretty good job with the rolls. I go with the flow.
My sister Rebecca and my cousin Greg and I went out to deliver some meals as it got closer to noon. The doors we knocked on were shabby, worn. One lady opened the door and frightened us: She had some serious sores all over her face and arms, and the apartment absolutely reeked of cigarette smoke. But she was so nice.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” we said to her, and she said, “Happy Thanksgiving!”
We went to another house where a lady sat watching TV all alone. A large doll had been placed on a chair in her living room, facing the TV, with a tea set spread out next to her. Yeah, it was spooky. It was also sad. Everyone needs friends.
Last year, there were more meals to box and more deliveries to make. I’m not sure why this year was lighter. But even if one hungry person was fed today by that church, I reckon that’s a victory for humanity, and I was glad to be there for it.
After our time with the meal, we came back home to get our own underway. My brother-in-law Jack outdid himself with the turkey this year; that is high praise, indeed.
We did the whole “go around the dinner table and say what you’re grateful for” thing.
When it got to me, I didn’t know where to start.