February 2010Monthly Archives

I am a quilter. Not a great quilter, or an accomplished quilter, but I am learning, and I get by:)

I share this with a group of dear friends, a sisterhood of quilting (and beading, knitting, sewing, whatever – raucous laughter and quiet compassion, bonding, love, humour, and acceptance is generally more important that DOING anything). It is more therapy session than anything you can imagine, and it is not frequent that I quilt by myself.

Sometimes, however, I am tired, restless, and in pain – and I reach for my therapy. For me, it is associated with the warmth, vibrance, and love of amazing women, my beloved and utterly trusted sisterhood. I cannot member a project that I have worked on without input from at least some of them – I don’t know of many they could name either:)

I pull up my wheelchair, and sit at the large dining table that is just as often a creative table for the family, and look at the shelves of gorgeous material we have all shared together. And I rummage around the scraps bag, pulling put memories thinly disguised as fabric. And I put memories together.

So, I started getting all our scraps together on this one occasion. The large scraps were from my big sister Susan’s quilt that she had not needed so many of, so there was a pile of vibrant (like Susan) colourful (like Susan) squares (not at all like Susan!) ready to do something with? Bright patchwork pants (I am one of the resident hippies, but the other is terribly stylish compared to my dagginess). Last pair I made out scraps actually evolved into a nifty bag that lives in Kermit the wonder wheelchair. Ok, so, pants are unlikely – especially given the lack of enough material;)

Hmm, lets just run with anarchy, as I am tending to do for most things, and just create a large joined piece of fabric, using other smaller scraps. Several more pieces were soon cut into shape, all the time, memories of their usage and associated times flooding me. Incredible warmth. I seem, btw, to have managed to make my mood, if not my pain, much better by now. I make the pieces for going in between the squares, and that is it – my few hours upright are over, Evil Back has signalled time is up. Reluctantly I head back to my cell.

Divergence – The usage of the word cell is meant to convey non scientific references. The earliest sense is for monastic rooms, then prison rooms. One a private place to retreat. One in which, for whatever reason, circumstance or action, you are trapped.

Returning to the tale that seems to wander at will, a few days later, on a terribly hot day, my beloved little sister Vicky comes over with the rest of my beloved family extras. I showed her what I had started, and as played pass the parcel with my beloved niecelet and fairy goddess daughter, my little Lalla, Cara Lynne, she helped me finish the in between pieces, and sort out the shape & layout of this barely imagined piece, still functionless. We debated possible uses, and then became occupied with feeding the horde of offspring and adults and other fun activities:)

Next was the Nejster, my other beloved little sister Jenny, aka Nejjie, and she and I shared long over due quality time, (I need frequent doses of my sisters), giggling, hot chocolate, tears, giggling, and sewing this piece together. Which I managed to completely lose my way on, after working out such a good pattern, I was getting tired, EB was starting to alert me as to attention requirements, and I sewed in a few pieces backwards – generally meandering it as much as this tale. There went the night, cell time…

No sleep came that night, unless you count a couple of dozy half hours. Changing my pain relief medication patch meant no sleep was possible, a very bad side effects night. At 4, fed up with that, I got up, picked apart the wrongly done stitches, and sewed it all together.

And this is the glorious result! I finished the basic piece (a skirt? backdrop for a stall we all are going to have to sell scrap made pieces to raise money for our addictive habit of falling for material on sale? a quilt?)

Still an unknown object, nonetheless, I started piecing the border, which was another ‘change mind a few dozen times’ as I went, but all for the better, and had an evening a few days later with big sister Susan. A few lacklustre attempts at sewing were really the backdrop (snigger) for our talks on life, pain, and growth. Another much needed reconnect, until, our old friend EB informed me rest time was due. (Current state of play, a quilted, vibrant picnic rug is putative destination for our brightly coloured patchwork).

My children, well, the teens, have rolled their eyes when asked, but politely told me it was ‘nice’. I know what that means, I speak fluent teen, but it is ‘nice’ of them to try;) Ms 8 loves the brightness, so like her, both in taste and personality, my bright sparkly princess! Mr 6 sees I am sewing, is there any food we are sharing he may be interested in? That seems to be the limit of is interest for today;) My dad has passed by, and when challenged for opinion, says it is lovely, dear, and then much like the kids, and obviously me, meanders off after another utterly unrelated manner – and threatens to steal all the lollies we have unsuccessfully hidden from my offspring, like a mischievous boy….

This is current state of play. MERP tomorrow (a whole other wandery ,meandery tale of joy, and explaining the Tribe), means that the evening will be lost in laughter, wit, stories, RPG, kids, sisters, Tribe, mayhem, and bliss. I pay the price the next day with EB grumpiness with utter acceptance, so worth it:)

Now, what has this meandering tale given us?
I have amazing family.
I am in severe pain, and oh yes, a wheelchair is mentioned.
I quilt, with varying degrees of success.

Look deeper. Read into it more. Picture the events.

I am injured on so many levels beyond mere disability. I am healed and supported by the love of these amazing women, my friends, my family, Tribe. I create to give, to share, to play. I am surrounded by love, mayhem, and life.

Ater the accident that ended up both crippling and shaping me, I could also have let it define me, but I continue to live, to thrive, to grow, on my own terms. I have reached a truce, almost an alliance, with the injury, naming it, accepting it, but never defeated by it. I have lost much, but gained more.

I have met more people crippled by their own approach to life than I will ever be, medicated, in pain, in a wheelchair, limited and free.

I have made, in the week this tale covers, so much more than a mere (possibly!) picnic rug.
I have forged deeper bonds, reinforced existing ones, with the women who are lighthouses in a rocky sea I struggle to navigate, with my children, who are the star I navigate by, the lights in my sky, the sun and moon and all.
I have dealt with despairing, dark nights, of sickness, nausea, pain, fear – my body fighting me – by distracting my mind as much as possible with bright colour.
I have created something when I am low, lost, hurting, afraid, in tears, in laughter, alone, and surrounded by love, in bright sunlight sneaking past the awnings that ward off some of the heat, and cool night, with a longed for breeze finally flowing through the open door, the rare peace of a suburb asleep around me.

So, did you discover, ultimately, what I was trying to share most of all with you?
I am lucky.