


I am sitting in my favorite black chair. There is a deck of cards on the window ledge at my right.
(This is me in the chair. I bought the chair in Washington, D.C., where I was living this time last year, getting ready for the launch of my fabric line. In Washington I also bought a dresser and other things that I mostly still have. Can you believe it’s been a year since Claus flew to D.C. to help me move home? Can you believe Claus is far away in Germany? Link by link, you’ll see the whole picture — or remember it.)
I got the deck of cards this summer from the gift shop of The School of Life. I’ve mentioned The School of Life before; Mariano and I got to know each other using one of their conversation decks.* It was a different deck than the one I have pulled off the window sill just now, though; this deck is called “Know Yourself,” and it’s really meant to be used alone.
Each card has a question on it that prompts you to think about who you are, what you really, really believe about and want from the world and yourself.
Maybe you’ll take out a piece of paper and jot down some thoughts. Or maybe you could copy and paste the questions into an email and answer them that way — then you could email it to yourself to read later. Whatever you do, dig deep. Go for it. Dig deep in your heart and your mind and be honest. You don’t have to type or write anything, though writing things down is incredibly helpful to me. I can’t make sense of anything without writing it down. (I write about writing from time to time.)
Okay, here are five really good ones, hand-selected, just for you. I care for you so much. Words fail.
Don’t think, “Ugh, that would take my entire life, trying to ‘go there.’ No thanks, Mar.” You could set a timer for ten minutes and move through them quick. You don’t have to spend hours and hours getting to know yourself — unless you want to, of course.
*The School of Life didn’t pay me to write this post, nor did they give me any free stuff. Yet!

There are male quilters.
But the overwhelming majority of American quilters are female, so in my line of work I spend a lot of time with a lot of women. Today, I feel like going on record to say that I love them. All of them, like sisters, because they are my sisters.
Just let me get this out.
Everywhere I meet these women — in Seattle, Richmond, Omaha, Phoenix, Orlando — I see beauty, grace, brains, compassion, passion, and strength. I love their stories. I love seeing girls of every age not know how to do something then figure it out. I love to see them bring out their favorite colors: This one has a dozen shades of blue from deep navy to snowflake; the lady sitting next to her has a collection of batiks so deep she could open a pop-up shop.
The women I meet and spend time with are kind. Dorie presses a seam ripper into my hand because I have to try it, it’s the best kind. Sarah makes cookies for everyone and laughs because she forgot to put egg in them but really, they’re pretty good, aren’t they? I see friends helping friends with sewing machines and iron settings and emotions too big to shoulder alone; I watch younger members aid older ones and vice versa; daughters and mothers sewing together, or maybe it’s aunts, nieces, granddaughters at the card tables. These are the women I sew with, who I work for. They are all ethnicities. They are 12 or 53 or 76 years old.
Dignified. Talented. Beautiful. Hilarious. Sometimes I look at these classrooms of women and I just shake my head and think, “We hold up the whole world.”
I’ve been sad for several days.

I’ve been dashing around taking selfies, praising Colleens and celebrating art and beauty and quilts, but I thought it would be good to remind everyone that I can be grumpy. I don’t get publicly grumpy very often because a lot of the time it turns out I was wrong about the thing I was super self-righteous and grumpy about and that’s unbecoming. Besides, I tend to change my mind a fair amount, so it’s just confusing for everyone if I’m tutting or squawking and then cooing five seconds later.
But, from time to time I fail in my zip-lip approach and air a grievance. Remember how I said no one should ever ask anyone: “Aren’t you hot in that??” This is like that.
It hasn’t happened recently, so no one who knows me or who has met me in the past week or month needs to worry that this is a super passive-aggressive way to talk to you about how you made me feel bad. No, no one has said to me in many months:
“Hi, Mary! You look tired.”
This statement is problematic. I gently suggest that you refrain from using it in the future. Here’s why.
Ideally, when I’m tired, I’m in my fluffy bed, reading something amazing or perhaps writing in my journal. If you see me looking tired outside of my ideal “I’m tired” environment — mere moments from sweet sleep — it means that conditions for me at this particular moment in my life are suboptimal. Let’s not bring it up.
Then, what does it mean to look tired? I think the three words, “You look tired,” are really communicating four: “You look like crap.”
Tired people do not look their best. No one disputes this. No one meets the love of their life and says, “When I met you…you looked so tired. I knew in that moment I’d be with you for the rest of my life.”
When I’m tired I have have circles under my eyes. This is partially due to low baseline iron levels, but when I’m super tired it’s more noticeable. When I’m tired I squint and am dehydrated, probably — another normal state for me that gets worse when I have been traveling and studying and reading and writing and having stress. Saying, “You look tired” to me means I do not look well. I would only say, “You do not look well” to someone I thought was physically impaired or ailing in the extreme. In that case, those words would actually mean, “You look like you need the ER.”
Is there any good time to say “Mary, you look tired”? I’m not convinced there is.
Say you are in bed with a heavy-lidded me and see me there reading happily in my favorite pajamas, snug in my bed (lucky you!) Saying, “You look tired” would be like saying, “It’s nighttime,” or “We are in bed,” or “We will sleep soon.” I would look up from my book, look at you and say, “Yeah, what’s your point?” It would behoove you to say something else instead, like, “Mary, you’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” or “I can’t keep a secret: I bought you jewels today and they’re under the bed,” or “You’re the queen of America. It’s headline news. Look: my iPad.”
I know some of you are saying, “But I say that out of concern!” and that is true because you are all good people. (Yes, all of you, so you’d better be acting like it.) After stating my case, I think it’s better to chat with the tired person first and then, once a rapport has been established, say something like, “Hey, how are you? Things going okay?”
I promise: The tired person will jump at the chance to say, “I’m okay. I’m just tired.”

Jefferson City was phenomenal.
Thank you to all my new friends. What fun it was to be with you, to dig quilts with you; what fun it was for me to wear Cookie Monster onesie pajamas while serving as your keynote speaker. I fear the Facebook photos of last night’s event, as a Cookie Monster onesie from Target is not what you might consider flattering, exactly, and that thing is gonna be all over Missouri quilter Facebook pages, I suspect — but I’ve only got myself to blame. And heck, I’d do it again. There was a velcro cookie in the pocket!
I’m home in Chicago in my favorite chair. I’ve got a pile of work in front of me and an early morning. Therefore, I direct you to a post from this spring in which my dear friend Claus — I miss you terribly tonight, dear Claus, terribly, terribly, horribly — brushed my hair. Small gestures like that, they can take us into outer space.
This is the post called “Strands.”

If you have been reading this blog for awhile, you know that I like to learn things about the places I visit and share them with you.
Here’s a post about the Florida panhandle, for example. This dispatch came from from Sioux City, IA; and this one I wrote about Buffalo, NY from Buffalo, NY and in it I discuss the local specialty — sponge candy! — and confess to making myself sick eating a bunch of it.*
Well, greetings from Jefferson City, MO, state capitol — and home of the gooey butter. Sponge candy, you may have met your match. (I clearly like to learn about places that are known for delicious desserts.)
A gooey butter is a cake, but don’t call it “gooey butter cake” unless you’re from out of town. To locals, it’s just “gooey butter” and it’s legendary in Missouri. As the story goes, a St. Louis baker mixed up the proportion of butter while making up some coffee cake. Rather than throw out what couldn’t be that bad, the cake still being a combination of butter, sugar, flour, and eggs, he baked it anyway. The cake was sugary and sticky; he sliced it up and sold out in short order. Gooey butter was born.
I’m teaching two classes here at the big Missouri State Quilter’s Guild 2016 Retreat and then I’m doing the banquet talk tomorrow night, so I can’t get out to hunt down some gooey butter, but my new pal Terri said she might be able to find some. I told her she’d better not go to any trouble; Terri said, “Hey, if it happens, it happens.”
Terri was the gracious lady who picked me up at the airport and drove us two hours over to Jefferson City. We bonded because we shopped for pajamas together at Target.
The Missouri retreat has a theme each year, and this year it’s “Welcome To My Dream World.” Attendees are encouraged to wear pajamas to the banquet tomorrow night; I have also been encouraged to do this. I thought it sounded sort of silly at first but then I decided it sounded completely awesome. The trouble was that when I was packing yesterday, I realized my nightclothes were not gonna work. Either they were too — how to put this — “wispy,” or they were too old and comfy to become a keynote speaker.
When we got in the car, I asked Terri if there was a Target on the way. She said there was and that hey, she could get some pajamas, too! (She had the same problem as I did re: appropriate public pajamas.)
What I’m getting at is that tomorrow night I may be eating gooey butter in my pajamas — at work. These students loans ain’t gonna pay themselves, people!
*If you go to the right side of the screen and click “Travel” in the list of categories, you’ll see all the PaperGirl posts that have to do with traveling. But note that the “Work” category has a lot of travel writing too, since I’m usually traveling for work. Enjoy!