quiltersmuse.com Blog

The television show, “The Waltons,” was a long running series. Grandma and Grandpa Walton lived with the next generation down, and their children. Sitting around the table, there were quite a few people, all caring, all loving, all ready to help each other. The grandparents were ready and willing to provide advice, all of it sound.

The economy status of the household depended on productivity of the farm. Scenes would often occur in the barn. The show itself was a scrubbed-clean look at American life. Church on Sunday, everyone around the dinner table, giving thanks for God’s bounty, and at the end of each show, everyone calling “Good Night” to each other, one by one.

That may have been a romanticized look at life as we think of it … in the past. The reality of today’s world is that no one has time to give each other the right time of day, let alone an “extra” box of raspberries. We have become so ego-centric, and so disinterested in others, it’s exasperating. I call it the “get ahead” mentality, a system I don’t want to get caught up in, as I already have “a head.”

For a moment though, it is pleasant to think of charming stories like The Waltons and Anne of Green Gables. In fact, literature and cinematography transport us to a place where we can, in our minds, be better than we really are. Just recalling the two story lines bring a smile to my face. It’s so nice to think of what might have been … but never was.
Patricia Cummings

Do you remembering being a little kid? The idea of “tomorrow” was a hard concept to grasp. The notion of waiting for a special event, like Christmas, was even more difficult. A song whose lyrics say, “but tomorrow never comes,” has a ring of truth to it. The fact is, we can only live today. The real fact is, we can only live “in the moment.”

How can we fathom concepts like “eternity,” when we can’t wrap our heads around “tomorrow.” We can only live today, and hope that in the future, we will have better times. I am told that the Vietnamese language does not have words for yesterday or tomorrow. Purposely left out of the lexicon, those people can just dispense with thinking about time concepts. Isn’t that kind of freeing, in a sense?

When we have today, and only today, we can center our accomplishments and our fears on a 24 hour time period. We no longer have to worry about deadlines. Those of us in journalism “approve this message.”

Our country is in quite a state right now with some people looking back to 1929 with the idea that this past week has been a near miss from financial ruin for many. It’s always “the little guy” that takes the fall for the malfeasance of others, and the constant mistreatment by those who have more.

At least financially, the more well-heeled do not have to worry about tomorrow, that is, if there is a belief in place that money is the answer to everything and will provide all that is needed to sustain life. Like the man who allows pollutants, like dyes, to enter a river from which he hopes to drink water and bathe, there is a false sense of security, these days, and a lack of awareness that we have been destroying our environment in the name of making money.

For one, I will be so happy when the political elections are over. Maybe we can back to concentrating on things that matter so that we can all have a better tomorrow. Without careful stewardship of our assets, our workers, and our environment, the song’s prophecy that tomorrow may not come, may come true. While we are busy redistributing wealth, what is Russia doing with their nuclear arms? While we are busy thinking about oil and where we can drill in the ocean, that could potentially lead to oil spills and environmental damage, why are we not as busy developing those hybrid cars to reduce our reliance on foreign oil?

I prefer the Democratic theme song, “Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow … it will be here sooner than you think. Yesterday’s gone … yesterday’s gone.”

We should stop being greedy and looking out for number one. We should stop trying to beat out the people whom we consider to be our competitors, and yes, I have witnessed this, time and again, even in the quilt world. Just be the best that you can be. “You” are a unique blend of experience, education, and talent. Use those assets. Money isn’t everything. In fact, when you come right down to it, money, as an isolated entity, isn’t anything compared to your own life.

If we all work hard and keep our own affairs in order, we will have something to give to the world. In so doing, we will have achieved a great deal more satisfaction than someone whose main source of amusement is sitting around, admiring the six digit numbers of a bank account.

Live for today.

Pat

Mikado quilt photo by James Cummings

Above, you see a portion of a piece of Mikado cheater cloth produced by the Cocheco Mills in Dover, NH in the late nineteenth century. After I bought a Crazy Quilt with this image, and those of many other characters in Gilbert and Sullivan’s musical production, I decided to investigate the story and any ephemera I could find regarding it.

What fun to watch the show on DVD, from the comfort of my own living room and to acquaint myself with the plot of the tale. In the November issue of The Quilter magazine , just now distributed, I have an article that summarizes the story, shows the entire Crazy Quilt and individual components. This subject was an enchanting one to research. As usual, the magazine is available from Borders, Barnes & Nobles, some grocery stores, Walmart, some quilt shops and from the company itself.

Two examples of the Cocheco Cloth have been located, one in the private sector, and one in a museum. In addition, two quilts with “Mikado” fabrics have been spotted in museums. Yet another quilt, that is rendered in Redwork, features an embroidered block based on the popular operetta.

I hope that you can round up a copy of the article. I believe it contributes quite a lot to the study of quilt history, as well as material artifacts.

Patricia Cummings, quilt historian

One of my favorite folk songs, “Urge for Goin’,” speaks of the change of seasons from fall to winter. “The warriors of winter give a clear, triumphant shout.” That’s a poetic way of saying that Old Man Winter is heading this way and no one, but no one, will stop him.

Last night, the temperature went down to 44 Fahrenheit. It was the kind of  night when the heavy comforter, we currently have on the bed, did not find its way onto the floor by morning.

There was no killing frost yesterday. Most people who have gardens are scrambling to get in the last of their vegetables to use, to can, or to freeze.

Today was designated as the day when the air conditioner would be taken out of the bedroom window. Soon, the heat will be turned on again, and we will be making those hearty soup and homemade bread meals, and we will put aside the lighter fare of summer … like cucumbers!

The first magazine of the season arrived in today’s mail, and it centered on holiday trees and decorations. A beautiful tribute to Tasha Tudor was featured, and appreciated. It’s always nice to recall times past that seemed more simple. When I remember Tasha, I always think of the word, “Simplicity.” She passed on recently, but her work and her gentle ways will forever live in our hearts.

As winter approaches, I think of the stories a friend once told, of sleeping under wool quilts, so heavy, that there was no hope of getting up at night, nor of even turning over.

Whether you are thinking of Christmas or other Holiday gifts you plan to make, or whether you are trying to finish up some quilts so that you and yours will be warm this winter, consider making an extra wheelchair quilt or lap throw, and bring the finished quilt to your nearest nursing home, or veteran’s hospital.

Gestures of caring are never out of date, or fashion. Have fun as we transition into the next “phase” – a time of closed-up living, the coziness of home and hearth, and moreover, a time to “take joy” in all that our hands create.

Patricia Cummings, Quilter’s Muse

Since time began, that is human time, man has discovered new things, and upon some survival depends. We have learned how to make fires; we have learned how to fight forest fires. We have learned to communicate with each other, and with future generations, by using animal blood to make cave paintings. Those who have not been damaged by vandalism still survive. We have developed sequences of sounds that we call “languages.” These words strung together, have sometimes meant survival or a call to arms, as in, “The Redcoats are coming!”

We have created sublime works of ceramic arts, fine art paintings, and other artistic renderings. At the same time, we have painted ugly graffiti, full of hateful, and confused images. Most art work is meant to be expressive. I suppose any art work only has to mean something to its maker. Take Picasso. Yes, I mean … take Picasso … please. His famous painting, “Guernica” that depicts the Spanish Civil War, is not my cup of tea.

I can see the idea of war. Some kid gets smashed to the ground in the playground and his glasses get stolen. Well, he is going to want retribution, not to mention his personal property back.

For the life of me, I cannot understand thousands of men, fighting with each other, to the death, when they are not personally acquainted and have no personal quarrel. Yet, this has happened time and again. What gives? I can’t see myself marching up to someone I never knew before, and say, shooting that person in the head. Maybe I’m naive. I don’t understand violence, but I do “get it” a little better, if there is a cause.

I started out by asking “Why Be Neanderthals?” Can I rephrase that question? Why NOT Be Neanderthals? I mean I didn’t see their daily “rag” or anything, but I have to think and to hope that they were too preoccupied with trying to start a fire to cook something tasty, and that random casualties were rare.

I’ll have to revisit my Art History books. I am probably all wrong in mentioning “Neanderthals.” It was most likely some other group who made the paintings in places like the Caves of Altamira. Neanderthals were simply the earliest group of humans who come to mind. The name wreaks of a certain primitivism that is appealing. I’m merely trying to make a point. If I have to explain it to you, then I’ve already failed.

Live free and enjoy peace, and if you see a Neanderthal running toward you with a stone axe raised high, head in the other direction … fast. I’m sure I’ll be sharing more of my silly wanderings with you on another day. For now, I must turn to more serious matters.

Patricia Cummings