I made this quilt during the hot Wyoming summer of 2008.
The fabrics had been carefully folded in my stash for a number of years, gathered from several "collections" by designer Robyn Pandolf. As I found the various prints in the "colorways" of rose and green I bought a yard or two knowing that someday I'd make a special quilt.
Snippets of the fabrics had found their way into other projects so when I determined that I would make a Log Cabin quilt requiring 48 blocks, I had to spend some time in a secluded corner with a calculator, a notebook and graph paper. I wanted a particular placement of each fabric, but had varying amounts of each print. I had 4 or 5 yards of the light background fabric which I had been hoarding.
[The problem with keeping fabrics for a number of years before embarking on a project poses the real risk of running short of a fabric no longer in stock.]
I diagramed the layout of blocks, plotted the colors with red and green pencil, and being free for a week or so from assignments at the quilt shop, I completed my Christmas quilt.
It was finished by Sabrina, a gifted long-arm machine quilter and displayed at the annual quilt show.
I photographed it on our lodgepole bed---then put it carefully away.
At any given moment, day or night, there are cats on the beds in my house.
I have made a number of quilts and comforters which I use and wash repeatedly, thinking of them as
"utility quilts"--sturdy, attractive bed-covers which can endure the traffic of little cat feet.
Lately as I have walked past the linen cupboard my eyes have been drawn to this quilt.
"For what--or for whom--am I cherishing and saving this quilt?" is a question which has begun to plague me.
Family and friends have quilts I made for them. They use their quilts.
I spread my Log Cabin Star on the bed this morning, determined that we should have the pleasure of its colors and patterns during the month of December.
Later in the day I folded a jacquard coverlet over half the bed--thinking it would make a nice napping place for cats.
I informed Raisin that she didn't need to take a whole-body bath on the cream portions of the quilt.
Teasel has been instructed that pouncing violently on my feet at the crack of dawn is not good treatment for a lovely quilt [never mind my toes!]
Charlie is not to climb onto the bed, paw over paw, and Jemima and Chester, his offspring, don't need to sleep on the pillows.
In a loud voice I announced to the general feline population, "Nobody is to hawk up a hairball on my quilt!"
Perhaps the need to "save" something nice "for best" is a common heritage of frugal families.
Surely it was a familiar tenet of my New England up-bringing.
[School clothes were removed after school, folded away, the rest of the day was spent in "play clothes."
"Best clothes" were for church-going or special occasions and one behaved carefully while wearing them.
Good china wasn't used every day. Things considered to have value, items that would be hard to replace, were cherished.]
I will likely fuss over my quilt, brush cat hairs away, scold if I hear the prickle of a claw in fabric.
Maybe I'll at last begin to learn that the real beauty of a prized thing is in having it accessable to enjoy.