PaperGirl Blog by Mary Fons

SaveSave

12 Apr 2017

The PaperGirl “Leaders & Enders” Essay Contest: What You Made (and Second Runner Up)

by Mary | posted in: PaperGirl Mailbag, Quilting | 34

Me, at the Merchandise Mart, freakin' out. Photo: Mom. — What other photo could there be for this post but the one Mom took of me, reading your essays, freakin’ out. Photo: Marianne Fons.

This post is about the results of the first-ever PaperGirl “Leaders & Enders” Essay Contest. For all those of you who didn’t get around to writing, never fear; there will be future contests.

Which brings me to the first point I want to make in my opening remarks, before I announce the Second Runner Up. (That’s right: You have to wait till tomorrow to know who the First Runner Up is and the next day to know won the whole thing because it’s my contest and I’ll create tension if I want to. Also, this was getting really long.)

Over and over again — not in every letter but almost — came some version of the refrain: “Thank you for giving me a reason to write.” This essay contest/writing prompt was all a lot of you needed to do something you were clearly itching to do: write about your life. I’ll take credit for suggesting you put hands to keyboard (or pen to paper!) but those who wrote about their quilts and quiltmaking practice and sent it to me, that’s all you. You did the work. And you did it for you, but, as I said in the original contest announcement, you did something good for posterity, too. Writing your life is writing the history of you, your family, your time on this planet, etc., etc. It matters. As a person who is reading more and more (quilt) history all the time, I cannot tell you how important it is, how crucial it is, to have these personal accounts.

What my reading partner and I read in these sixty-or-so accounts is hard to describe without sounding dramatic and sentimental on account of the humanity on display. As we read, phrases such as “life’s rich pageant” came to mind, as did Thoreau’s observation about lives lived in quiet desperation. And then we’d laugh because one of you would be so charming, so fierce, so Unsinkable Molly Brown about it all.

There were essays about family. Mothers-in-law (the angelic, the not-so), sisters, granddaughters. Many of you have really wonderful husbands, brothers, boyfriends, girlfriends. One of you had a very bad boyfriend who lied to you and hurt you terribly (but you win, because you’re a quilter and he’s not.) Some of you, like me, have quilted with your mom, while one woman has fought her whole life to “quiet [her] mother’s voice.”

We read tales of quilts that weren’t appreciated, while other quilts were loved till they were rags. Teachers, doctors, and cancer survivors wrote to the PaperGirl mailbox. Some of you volunteer in prisons and teach people who live there how to sew. Some of you live in London, Canada, the Netherlands. And two of my favorite people in the world sent essays: my friend Kater and my dear assistant, Carmen herself. You both said you figured you couldn’t be the winner, but to see your names and read your stories (both about your fathers, interestingly) made my heart swell with love and affection. You’re both very special to me.

Also: My mother made me promise to mention how PaperGirl readers and writers possess terrific penmanship and grammar and format letters beautifully. What an audience I have! You are intelligent people. As a group, you have class and excellent taste! I expected nothing less, but it was cool to hold the proof in my hands, to stuff all your tidy letters into my Modern Quilt Guild totebag. That said: Everyone needs copyediting and a second pair of eyes on a piece of writing. If worrying about crossing every “t” kept you from entering, don’t ever let that stop you again. If I publish your work here, I’ll do all that stuff. Don’t ever let a fear of not “sounding” a certain way stop you from participating in this sort of thing, okay?

And so, thank you. Every single one of you. Thank you for the lunch box notes and the book of poems. Thank you for the stickers, the drawings, the time you took. I loathe dead phrases like “Picking a winner was very difficult” but how else can I put it? It was terrible, in many ways, having to do this. And here I am telling you we’ll do it again, and soon.

Don’t stop writing. At the very least, whenever I prompt you to write an essay and send it, write it and send it. You have absolutely nothing to lose and perhaps fun prizes to win that come from my house.

And now…the Second Runner Up, with her phenomenal essay (condensed-for-space and copy-edited-by-yours-truly.) I’ll be sending you something good as a prize, Ms. Morrow; standby for that.

Second Runner-Up:
Kristina Morrow

About five years ago, I was asked by a dear friend if I had a bucket list. In my early fifties at the time and being a firm believer that every day after fifty is a gift, I’d actually given the matter some thought.

“I’d like to make a quilt before I die.”

Her response: “Oh! Eleanor Burns will be in town next month for a three-day workshop!!! We should go!!!”

I said, “Who?”

We went. I learned to use the rolling cutter thing. I learned to press, not iron. I learned about UFOS. I dubbed it “Quilt Boot Camp” and I loved it. I fell in love with making quilts, which is good, because I was burned out in my career.

I am a veterinarian.

“Oh,” people say, “How lucky! I wanted to be a veterinarian, but I love animals too much.” Or, “Why didn’t you become a real doctor?” (It’s true: People actually say these things quite often — but that’s for another essay.)

Veterinarians are often GPs, surgeons, OB-GYNs, dentists, ophthalmologists, proctologists, parasitologists, internists, nutritionists, and funeral directors, all rolled into one little degree. If the client has no money (or claims to have no money yet drives a much newer, nicer vehicle than ours), we’re expected to work for free because we love animals.

The sad truth is that veterinarians have a suicide rate six to eight times higher than the general population. I desperately needed a distraction and I jumped on quilting as a hobby. It’s become an obsession.

In March of 2016, I had a heart attack, totally unexpected, and it seemed like a good time to take a professional break, catch my breath, spend time with family, and make quilts. I thought I’d miss medicine and be ready to go back in a few months. It didn’t happen. I don’t want to make life or death decisions anymore.

I’ve sold my practice and retired, broke and happy.

I want to make quilts. I want to make quilts that mean something to someone; quilts that give comfort. Memory quilts. Quilts made from Grandpa’s flannel shirts, or Dad’s ties, or the baby’s clothes, or a decade of t-shirts.

I have eight quilts I’m actively working on at this time for myself, friends, and family, but the one I just finished is significant. It just happened that recently I was perusing a veterinary suicide prevention site, and someone posted asking what other veterinarians do for relaxation. I posted a picture of one of my quilts. A veterinarian from a thousand miles away saw it and messaged me. She asked if I could turn her t-shirts into a quilt and I said I’d be happy to, for a fee.

My new business has begun. I have just finished turning her 27 t-shirts, one silk shirt, two scarves, a pair of pajama bottoms, and her graduation gown into a queen-sized quilt. It will never win a ribbon, but to this veterinarian, who has served in the armed forces (yes: a veteran veterinarian!), it will have meaning. And when she passes it on — I pray it will have meaning to those who love her — it will live on. And in a tiny way, I will live on.

11 Apr 2017

One Of The Best Stories I’ve Got… (The Quilt Scout Is IN.)

by Mary | posted in: The Quilt Scout | 6

For the full story, check the Scout. Photo: Moi — For the full story, check the Scout. Photo: Mee.

Something rather miraculous happened the week before last. Waiting to tell you about it was torture. But what happened was so delicious, so extraordinary, so wait-till-I-tell-you-what-happened-today, I had to do it just right. And because it had everything to do with a quilt, I felt the most appropriate place to share the story was over at the Quilt Scout.

If there weren’t pictures, you might not believe it happened. But it did happen. I saw a ghost — and she was so beautiful, I cried.

I’m going to email Barbara Brackman about this one. She is, by the way, my No. 1 Sewlebrity Obsession. I’ve talked to the famous quilt historian on the phone but have not yet had the pleasure of meeting her in public, but I will not rest until I do. I’ve got you in my sights, Bracks. In my sights!

xo,
Mar

10 Apr 2017

Word Nerd: Favorite Words.

by Mary | posted in: Word Nerd | 36

The winners of the essay contest will be announced by Wednesday. The winners have officially been selected and I promise to do the big announcement on Wednesday. Until then, I would like to talk about favorite words. It’s sort of related.

Have you ever been asked what your favorite word is? Have you ever thought about how you’d answer such a question? In my life, this comes up at least a few times a year. I’m not sure if that’s true for you. You might be scratching your head right now. Maybe the concept of choosing (and remembering) a favorite word is something only word nerds do. Why, just today at the newspaper office I overheard a conversation about favorite words. Word nerds hang out in places like newspaper offices and bars.

I have been known to resist the idea of a favorite word. As a writer, after all, one really can’t play favorites. Or maybe a writer can, but a writer’s favorite word is going to be any word that could be classified as the right one at the right time, and what’s “right” changes with the sentence. Furthermore, since the most important thing a writer can do is read (yes, a writer should read more than she writes), she’s bound to come across new words as well as old words used in terrific ways, which means her favorite word(s) really ought to always be changing. If she’s absorbing things, you know?

Maybe I’m overthinking it. I usually am. Therefore, in the spirit of being wrong, here are three of my favorite words:

meadow
dimly [aware] poky

“Meadow” is obvious, isn’t it? To begin with, the word starts with “M,” which is a very smart letter to start a word with, e.g., “Mary.” More importantly, a “meadow” is a word for possibly a perfect thing; a pure, sun-dappled thing. A meadow is a place where fawns leap and prance in the bluebells; a place where cows named Buttercup eat buttercups and faeries zip around and charm little girls into naps where they go on adventures and meet magical creatures who let them bury their faces in their fur. Yes, I love a meadow. I knew meadows in Iowa because for every cornfield and timber in Iowa, there exists a meadow — or two. My sisters and I played in forests and oak groves and meadows. So, yes: “Meadow” is a good word.

“Dimly” is great on its own for awhile, but for the full punch, you’ve gotta pair it with “aware.” To pair “dimly” with “aware” is to pair wine and cheese or chocolate and peanut butter. Look:

She wondered, “Is he trying to insult me?”
She was dimly aware she was being insulted.

Eventually, he thought, he would need to go to the dentist about the crown. Until then, he continued to eat ice.
He crunched his ice, dimly aware that his dental work was in danger.

Is not the second sentence in each of the above examples better than the first?? (I realize I don’t have an editor to confirm this; welcome to blogging.) But I believe there’s an intelligence conferred when someone — anyone — is “dimly aware” of something, which is interesting since “dim” usually means the opposite of intelligent. I’ve heard that the mark of intelligence is being able to hold two opposing ideas in one’s mind at the same time, and maybe that’s what I like about “dimly aware.” It’s like, you’re thinking one thing but you’re also sort of vaguely thinking of this other thing, and that makes you a person who thinks. Maybe I like dimly because it rhymes with “grimly” and the tone that usually comes with being “dimly aware” of something is grim or resigned.

And then there’s “poky.” Oh, my lil’ poke!

There are two spellings of this word and they’re both good. Let’s consult the oracle, aka, the dictionary:

pok·ey

ˈpōkē

noun

1. NORTH AMERICAN

informal

noun: pokey

prison.

“25 years in the pokey”

pok·y

ˈpōkē

adjective

adjective: pokey

1.

NORTH AMERICAN

annoyingly slow or dull.

“his poky old horse”
2.

(of a room or building) uncomfortably small and cramped.

“five of us shared the poky little room”

I know, right?? It’s so good. A slow horse that you love. A way to describe prison that isn’t a horrifying nightmare. A hotel room that is so bad but you can make it sort of funny instead of a vacation-ruiner. And I also think of my favorite Little Golden Book, The Poky Little Puppy, which is so sweet and good, I think angels wrote it for my grandma to read to me over and over until I knew all the words.

Speaking of words: What’s your favorite? You can choose…three. And you’re entitled to change your mind.

8 Apr 2017

The White Limo Today.

by Mary | posted in: Quilting, Story | 6

It's just... It's just questionable, is what I'm saying. Photo: Wikipedia. — It’s just… It’s just questionable, is what I’m saying. Photo: Wikipedia.

It was such a great day at the quilt show, I almost forgot I was flying solo. I sold out of my books and met too many terrific humans to count, including Laurie, who brought me a present! She brought me a darling zipper pouch lined with Small Wonders fabric, that dear, dear woman. Until now, when I’ve signed/sold books, I’ve made change from an icky ol’ vinyl bank bag from OfficeMax. Because of Laurie, now I can make change like a champ. I love my little zipper pouch. Thank you, Laurie.

So I’m going to talk about limousines in a minute. First though, I have to tell you that I discovered a new love: I love giving quilt tours.

When the fine folks at Quilts, Inc. asked me if I wanted to lead a tour through the scrap quilt exhibit I co-curated at the show this year, I said yes because it sounded fun and also I would do anything for them because I love Quilts, Inc. very much. But I had now idea how much I would love giving that tour.* Diving into what was working in each quilt, how it was probably constructed, the history of the pattern, what the quilter was after, it meant this quilt nerd was flipping her flippers, splashing in a sea of quilts and quilt history and design insight. Henceforth, I would like to offer my services as a quilt tour guide. I have no idea what this means, but let’s book it, Carmen.

Okay, the limo thing.

I took the train out to the convention center today because the train was $2.25, whereas a cab would have been $50 and taxes and grad school and life are currently very much happening. What is also true is that I also just wanted the train time. I wanted to write in my journal, read for class, and gaze out the window for awhile. Happily, I did all three.

While gazing, I saw something that caused me to literally wince. Pulled onto the shoulder of the Kennedy Expressway, aka, I-90, was a stretch limousine with a flat tire. A white stretch limousine. Seeing it pulled over like that, inert, well… It drove home how I feel about the white stretch limo.

Hark: If you’re gettin’ hitched or you’ve got some insane bachelorette party and you’re just throwing everything at the wall, a white stretch limo might be a great choice for transport. I don’t know your life, your tastes, your reasons. I’m completely open to being convinced that a white stretch limousine is the Best Thing Ever. But you will need to work to convince me of this because in my personal experience, a white stretch limo is a little too conspicuous to be suave.

Several years ago, a fellow I was seeing offered to pick me up at the airport. He surprised me by picking me up in a white stretch limousine. Though I was touched by his generosity and the time he took to arrange it, I must admit I felt silly climbing into that thing. I think it was because it felt dated, somehow, like in order to get in and look good doing it, I needed to be smoking a Virginia Slims cigarette and rocking shoulder pads and a perm. And I’m a woman whose fashion icons are Jessica Lange in Tootsie and Diane Keaton in Baby Boom, so I would actually really love getting into a white stretch limo in the 1980s! But we’re not even in that century anymore, so it felt wrong. The prosecco was nice, though, and I was sure crazy about the fella.

Anyhow, seeing a white limo with a flat tire on the side of the freeway today brought back that memory and made me think about how a flat tire is bad, but a flat tire on a limo is way worse, so thank your lucky stars.

*Mom loved doing it, too. I think there is potential here for a new thing that we do. I’m totally serious and I also have no idea what this would look like.

7 Apr 2017

Marianne Fons.

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life | 28

The lady herself. Photo: Me, c. 2014? — The lady herself. Photo: Me, c. 2014.

Dear Mom:

By the time you read this, it’ll be tomorrow.

You’ll be home in Iowa with Mark and Scrabble. Your morning ritual will be done. You’ll have had your coffee. You’ll have put in an hour or more of work on your novel. Whether or not your morning ablutions are done, you’ll surely have your mental to-do list going; you’ll have a plan for the day.

By the time you read this, I’ll have done my own morning ritual, except that I drink tea and write nonfiction. That’s a huge difference — tea and nonfiction vs. coffee and fiction — but is also sort of no difference at all, and I think it’s good for mothers and daughters to ride that line.

We covered both serious and frivolous ground in the 30 or so hours you were here in Chicago. We spoke of work, the future, creativity, family, fashion, sacrifice, choices, romance, time management, death (same as time management), taxes, and more. We talked quilts, of course. We talked about feminism because I’m studying the work of Miriam Schapiro and to talk about Miriam Schapiro is to talk about quilts and feminism.

I have so many questions about how making a quilt for the Bicentennial united so many women from different spots on the frenzied, polarized political spectrum of 1976. You were there, I wasn’t, yet. You were a stay-at-home mom, you took a quilting class, then you built this incredible business while raising up three girls all by yourself. My sisters and I go through life sort of continually shaking our heads in disbelief. Our family has certainly had its share of storms and shrieking eels, but the ship is sound: She tends to right herself.

Thanks for coming to Chicago, Mama. I miss being on TV with you. Judging by the (hundreds of!) people that came to see us today at the convention center, I’m not the only one. We’re a good team. But even if we never film another episode, we’ll always have those shows. We got to sew together and someone taped it! Way cool.

Lastly, thanks for buying me that dress. We went into Nordstrom Rack and my eyes laser-beamed on it immediately. It was smooshed into an overcrowded display, the only one of its kind. My size. On clearance. I knew it was perfect; you were dubious and made me try it on. When I came out of the dressing room, you took one look and threw up your hands and said, “Well, it’s perfect!”

And I felt so happy because I love being a person you like, a person that reliably makes you smile and shake your head because she can find the clearance-rack designer dress that fits perfectly and she can do it in 5 seconds flat.

It’s nice to be loved by my mom. It’s even nicer to know that I delight and amuse her. My sisters do that for you, too, and this makes me deeply, indelibly content. I speak for us all when I say we don’t take this particular contentment for granted.

See you next in Iowa, Mom, for the opening of the theater. Remind me to do an interview update with you and Rebecca this week or next week.

Love,
Mar

« 1 … 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 … 246 »

Second Runner-Up: Kristina Morrow

Second Runner-Up:
Kristina Morrow