Rethinking the Quilt Top

On the first night of Quilt Camp, we had a show and tell session--we were supposed to bring a quilt from home.  I grabbed the one that was easiest to bring, the one that I had quilted during my last Quilt Camp in October of 2020:

As I held it up, one of my Quilt Camp friends said, "And what you don't know is that every part of this was done by hand, the piecing, the sewing, the quilting, all of it by hand."  During the first day here, I have learned that cutting with scissors is also retro.

I look at that quilt, and I think of all the odds and ends of fabrics I collected--fabrics for the wedding quilts of my sister and the fabric I picked up when buying other fabric for the baby blankets of many friends and family.  I see those pieces of fabric and think about the quilting friends who were with me when I shopped for fabric, friends who have moved away or died.

I have spent the last few days surrounded by people who sew on fancy machines that cost more than any computer I've ever owned, and one woman has a machine at home that cost more than my car.

I look at the above quilt, and I wonder about my current approach, which is also using long, wide strips.  At the time I made the autumnal quilt, I was in a hurry to be done with the quilt top and to get some of the fabric that I had out of the way--that led to the long, bland patches on the left of the quilt in the picture above.

At our show and tell on night one, one of my fellow participants told of a class she took where they were supposed to cut apart a quilt top they didn't like and reassemble it.  She didn't have a quilt top that she didn't like, so she took some fabrics that went together, sewed a top out of strips, and cut that apart.  Here's what she ended up with:

I wonder what would happen if I looked at the panels I've been assembling in a different way.

What would happen if I cut those strips into smaller rectangles and mixed and matched them?  I will spend time thinking about this.  

Earlier in the quilt retreat, I was in a hurry to be finished with the top.  But now I'm thinking that maybe I should go a bit more slowly.  I don't make as many quilts as I once did.  I could take an additional day and make this one be a bit more interesting.

Here's my original idea:

And here's what I'm thinking of this morning:

Let's see what the day brings!

First Full Day of Quilt Camp

Yesterday was the first full day of Quilt Camp.  I got here on Wednesday to get a head start, but yesterday had a different feel.  Plus, Wednesday night I had to go to my online seminary classes.  Still, I made this Facebook post:  "Retreat month continues! I am safe at Lutheridge, one of the places on earth where I most love being, ready for retreat #2: Quilt Camp! And thanks to the joy of modern technology, I can do my seminary classes each night. Seminary classes and Quilt Camp--perhaps I have died and gone to Heaven?"

The benefit to getting here on Wednesday was that yesterday morning, my table was set up and ready to go at 7 a.m. on Thursday morning when the building opened.

I spent yesterday cutting strips and sewing them together and occasionally, I'd lay out panels to see how far along I was.  By the end of the day, I had about half the panels that I will eventually need.

I also had to do some seminary work.  Happily, the vibe here is laid back.  I have my computer and books set up on a corner of my sewing station.  I can work the way that I love best:  do a bit of writing, do a bit of creating that's more tactile, go back to writing, 

In the evening, I decided to go ahead and figure out the back of the quilt.  In February, I had got a beautiful piece of fabric for an online store, and if I bought the rest of the bolt, I got it for a $5.00 a yard price, which is unheard of these days.  So I had just enough for the back.  I cut it in half, ironed the clothe, and sewed the halves together.

Last night I made this Facebook post:  "If it's 9:30 at night, and I'm ironing the fabric for the back of my quilt, am I really Kristin anymore? (You may or may not know that I usually go to bed about the time that toddlers do and that I almost never iron)."  It was the second night of staying up late, luxuriating in good conversation and the joy of sewing a long seam.

And today, I get to do it all again--heaven!

The Trip to Quilt Camp

I am writing this from Lutheridge, the camp in Arden, North Carolina, which is in the mountains near Asheville.  How strange to think that just 48 hours ago, I was at the desk that was once my grandfather's, that I was writing down in South Florida.

On Tuesday, I got up very early, brewed the coffee that I would later pour out on the North Carolina pine needles, put the last batch of stuff in the car, and headed north.  It was a fairly easy trip:  the road construction that I encountered was very early in the morning when the traffic was light, and along the way, all of us drivers managed to avoid accidents.

I got to Columbia, South Carolina just after my grad school friend got home from teaching her morning classes.  During the last few hours of my trip, the public radio station in South Carolina had broadcast messages about various state offices closing early, the message brought to us by the department of emergency preparedness at the governor's office.  How strange, I thought.  I visualized a map of South Carolina, wondering if the counties were near each other, and the answer was yes and no, as the announcement broadened the number of counties.

My friend had had students leave her class early because their children's schools were being let out early because of possible thunderstorms.  We shook our head at this modern life.  I looked at the skies and brought my overnight bag in, along with my computer.  About a half hour later, the skies opened up, and I was glad I did.  There was a crack or 2 of thunder, but we didn't think much about it.  It was cozy to eat soup and sandwiches assembled on sourdough bread while the rain poured down.

Later in the afternoon, the tornado watches were elevated to a warning.  Again we looked at the skies and the maps.  We thought we were out of range, but we made a plan, just in case.  We talked about what would happen if we went to the room below ground, and a tornado came.  Would the house be lifted off of us?  Would it collapse down on us?

Happily, we never had to find out.  I am aware that others were not that lucky.  All the way up I 95 I heard the horrible reports out of Ukraine--so much death and destruction.  And this morning, I'm reading about the destruction wrought by tornados across the very route that I drove on Tuesday.

On Tuesday, I had other thoughts as I drove up I 95.  The last time I drove up I 95 was in January, when I went up to LTSS to finish my certificate in spiritual direction.  Back then, I still owned a house in a flood zone in South Florida, although I was hopeful that we would actually close on selling it the following week (we did).  Back in January, I was still employed in my full-time job, and I was beginning the think about whether or not I should sign up for online seminary classes since it looked like my job would not continue.  Six weeks later, I had been severed from that job and signed up for a mix of online and onground classes, and I've submitted a request for on campus housing.  When I last drove north on I 95 in January, there were rumblings of war in eastern Europe, and as I drove up on Tuesday, there were rumblings of war crimes and news of utter devastation.

On Wednesday, we had a leisurely morning, and then I got back in the car to finish my trip to Lutheridge.  My month of retreats continues!  Here I am at Quilt Camp.  I last attended in October of 2020, the first large-ish gathering I attended since the pandemic started.  Back then, we didn't have vaccines, but I felt safe-ish because there were only 13 of us, we had open windows and high ceilings, and we were able to be as distanced as we wanted.  We were in the dining hall because a local elementary school group was using the Faith Center for school.

And now, here we are; I have had 4 vaccine shots, so I feel fairly safe.  We are in the Faith Center, which has much better lighting.  As I overheard conversations, I am struck by how many of us have gone through life-changing stuff in the past year or two--some of it in a good way, some not.  Would we have gone through the life-changing stuff if there had been no pandemic?  I have no idea.   I can only speak for myself--the pandemic reminded me that I may not have as many decades left on this planet as I want to believe that I do.  But other elements came together too--I found my dream program at Wesley Theological Seminary, and if that hadn't happened, I don't know that I would have decided that now is the time to go to seminary.

It has been wonderful to be able to travel--I was able to do my Tuesday night class, my Wednesday night small group session, and my Wednesday night class from a distance.  Tonight's class has been cancelled.  If my professor had to cancel a class, I'm glad it was this week.

It's strange to think that last week, I joined my Thursday night class saying that I had gotten a 2nd booster shot and was starting to feel chills, so if I shivered, just ignore it.  We had a brief, pre-class, discussion about booster shots and travel, and then my professor headed off to London for a conference.  And now, she's cancelling class.

As I said, I'm happy to have extra time for other pressing tasks--that might be a funnier pun if I ironed.  But it's hard not to wonder what's barreling our way that we are not seeing.  But let me not allow my brain to go down that path.  I am trying to live in this current moment, surrounded by cloth, friends, and the mountains.

Return from Luther Springs

In some ways, it seems silly to write yet another blog post about the retreat.  Do I really have that much left to say?  I realize I haven't yet included much in the way of pictures when I've written about the retreat.  This morning, as I looked over my pictures, I wondered if any of them merited this final blog post about the retreat.  Yes, I realize this prewriting period has much to say about the mental space where I spend too much time for my own good:  is it worth it, any of it?

I'm also worried about the washing machine.  I put clothes in awhile ago, and it didn't seem to be moving through the cycles properly.  Now I've moved the dial to the spin cycle, and I'm realizing that I don't know how long the machine usually takes in the spin cycle.  Grr.  Yes--another glimpse of my mental space that seems far too common.

One of my church friends posted her retreat pictures, and I felt bad that I didn't take more walks along the sandy paths, that I didn't explore the grounds more in the one or two hours when it wasn't raining.  Her pictures made me realize that there were some cool places that I didn't even realize were there.  Why didn't I go and find out for myself?  Again, this head space is familiar, and unhelpful.

Let me try to write myself back into a righter frame of mind.  Let me remember that one reason that I didn't want to leave my room was because it was cozy to be there during a rainy day.  Let me remember all the handmade quilts on all the beds in every room.  Here's mine:

Let me remember doing various arts and crafts projects in the room with the windows open so that we could hear the thunder and rain.

Let me remember the sand mandela that I made, and how easy this project would be to do with a bowl of sand and objects found on a walk:

Let me remember that even when it's too rainy for a regular campfire, you can create one with a string of lights and colored paper:

And then you can sing around it:

But most of all let me remember the friends that brought me along with them:

Rainy Retreat

Tomorrow I will do a post that wraps up the retreat with more pictures.  The wi-fi is just too slow here at Luther Springs to take the time to do that today while I'm still here.  In some ways, it's a miracle that there's internet access at all.  Once we got lost on our way here and never found the camp; there was no cell phone coverage at all.  Now there is wi-fi, but it's iffy.  I tried to watch a lecture video for my online seminary class, and it took so long to load, reload, etc, that I finally decided I would do better to watch at home where the access is better.

We're not that far from Gainesville, where there's a major research university.  You'd think there would be more connectivity.  Of course, I'm also not seeing other signs of "city" life, like a grocery store or a restaurant nearby.  In some ways, it's refreshing.

It's been a good retreat overall, despite my irritation with the retreat materials.  We're using the "Renew, Restore, Refresh" book from CTA, which has such a baffling website that I'm not even going to link to it.  I can't find the resource that we're using, and I can't find out much about the group.  The books have a conservative whiff to them; I wrote a whole post on my theology blog in response to our first session with the books.

We've had talk about Psalm 23 and how we're lost sheep, determined to go our own way, but God comes to get us.  We've talked about God giving and taking away.  I've concentrated on keeping my face neutral (skills honed during administration pays off!) and listening, instead of trying to explain how people are misguided.

I persist in being amazed that Christianity took root and became so widespread with these ideas.  Why would I want to worship a God that snatches away all that I hold dear?  Do I really think I deserve that treatment?  Some of these women seem to think so.  It's puzzling to me.

My idea of God who is either not omnipotent or who limits power in favor of free will and free choices in the hopes of truer relationship makes more sense to me.  I am aware that I could be deeply misguided too.  And I am aware of how odd many people, especially those raised with a judging God, find my beliefs.

Happily, these sessions with CTA curriculum have only been a small part of the week-end so far.  My favorite time, of course, was the time for creativity.  I made a small book and learned about neurographics, which involves sketching and circles and getting rid of angles in the sketch and thinking about whatever's causing us pain or conflict and creating new neural pathways that will solve our issues while we sketch.

I made this sketch:

Will it solve my issues?  I'll let you know.

It was a rainy afternoon, which meant no hikes, no archery, but that was fine.  There was something so soothing in the rain, knowing that I could get to everywhere I wanted to go by the covered walkways, which was better than a hike on sand trails, better than archery which would remind me that I'm not as fit as I once was.

Along the way, I got some seminary work done (reading previously downloaded materials and writing) and kept in touch with the online classes that I'm teaching.  Even sloggy internet lets me do that.

I made this Facebook post last night:

"If you had a hammer, you'd do what? Spent time tonight teaching the next generation some classics by Peter, Paul, and Mary and Pete Seeger. I'm the one taking the pictures and singing along. You may or may not be happy that I am not posting audio."

It was great to end the day singing and smiling with a larger group.  And I'm hopeful that our singing didn't get in the way of a good time for others who didn't want to sing.

Birdsong, Human Song, Old Song, New Song

I thought I would step outside to see if the stars are brighter in rural Florida.  But I was too late--we're already at the pre-dawn time.  I stood on the covered walkway outside my door and leaned on the railing to listen to the birds waking up.  It's not surprising to find that morning birdsong is different here in a rural part of Florida, between Gainesville and Ocala.

I decided not to walk this morning, at least not before it's light.  There are no paved paths here at Luther Springs, the church camp where I will be at a women's retreat this week-end.  Plus it's supposed to be raining, but so far, it's not.

It's a long trip here for such a short retreat.  But I wanted to make the effort.  It's likely to be one of the last times I have a chance to go on retreat with church friends from South Florida.  And the whole reason I'm here is because one of those friends invited me specifically.

We rode up in an old minivan, which I find a comfortable way to travel.  But more importantly, it has enough space for my friends to transport all their instruments.  They are the music for the retreat, and I am the roadie.  Happily, the acoustics in the new chapel are so good that we didn't need to unpack the amps and heavier equipment.

During the ride up, my friends practiced the music that they will lead for the week-end, and I practiced scrolling lyrics with the iPad.  Later in the evening, I was able to help by taking care of the projection to a large screen so that people could sing along.

And they did sing along.  The acoustics in the new chapel are marvelous for large groups singing, less perfect for individual singers and conversation.

We sang in the car too.  There was a moment when I thought about how much I loved being in a car, driving up I 95, singing "Amazing Grace" and "There Is a Balm in Gilead" with friends who won't critique my singing.  I do think that I sing better with good voices around me, but maybe it's just that I can't hear myself.

In terms of the purpose for the retreat, I think that I will like the quilt retreat and Create in Me retreat better.  It's strange to be at a women's retreat in a time where I'm underemployed and all of my family members are in good health and fairly self-sufficient.  In short, I'm not the frazzled, time-starved mess that many women's retreats assume that we all are.  I'm interested to see how this plays out.

We've had one group session which had small groups where I asked, "But what if God isn't the GPS system? What if God is the friend in the car, going with us to the unexpected places, saying 'OK, if you want to head to the Mississippi River, we'll go there together. Let's explore what that would look like.'"  For more on that, see this blog post on my theology blog.

Even if the dominant theology at this retreat doesn't always mesh with mine, I'm glad to be here.  And let's be honest, much of my professional life going forward will involve engaging differences in theology.

I'm glad to be here, practicing to sing a new song.

A Week of Vaccinations--No Fooling!

It is the end of a week of vaccines.  If we could travel back in time, 2018 Kristin would be baffled--she never got flu shots, and while she had vague plans to get the Shingles vaccine, she didn't see the rush.  If we could travel back in time, I hope we would tell 2018 Kristin to buy stock in Pfizer.

We got our Shingles vaccine Tuesday night--it stung, and my arm felt bruised, but I was otherwise O.K.  I had a low energy morning Tuesday morning, but was that because of the vaccine?  Maybe.

Since 2018, I know more people who have had Shingles.  In 2018, I don't think I knew any, except maybe my mom.  Every single person who has had Shingles has a different kind of story to tell, but they all convince me I don't want this disease.  So it's good to get the vaccination process underway.  We'll get our second shot at the end of May.

At some point on Tuesday night or Wednesday morning, the CDC changed its guidance and said that people over 50 could get a 2nd COVID booster shot.  I had been wishing I could get one because I'm traveling a lot during April, so we decided that we would go back to Publix, our local grocery store with a pharmacy and see if we could get a booster.

Would there be lines?  Would we need an appointment?  The website wasn't updated to reflect the changes, so I couldn't make an appointment.

There was a small line, but it moved quickly.  I thought we might be turned away because we had gotten a Shingles vaccine, but happily, we were not.  I knew that there was a risk that we might experience some side effects, but the benefits seemed to outweigh those considerations.  

The shot itself didn't hurt at all, but by late afternoon, I was feeling some effects, particularly chills and a VERY sore arm.  I also had a headache.  I persevered, but the moment that my evening seminary class was over, I went right to bed where I shivered my way to sleep.

I feel better this morning, but not back to normal.  My arm is still sore, and I still have a headache, and some lingering chills.  Happily, this morning, I don't need to be energetic.  I'll join my friends from church to go to a women's retreat at Luther Springs (for more on my April month of retreats, see this blog post on my theology blog).  I'm not driving, so that's good.  By the time we get to camp, I should be closer to my regular self.

By now, I've had 4 COVID shots.  I had the first vaccine shot in March of 2021, and I felt no effects, except for relief and joy.  In April, I had a bit of a headache after vaccine shot #2.  In November, I had my first booster in the evening, and I felt tired the next day with a headache, the kind of exhaustion and headache that felt different enough to make me think it was a reaction to the shot.

Even if I knew that each booster shot would bring me increasingly tough side effects, I would still get them.  We've had over 6 million people die of this disease in the past 2 years, and I continue to hope to avoid it.  And my goal in South Florida has always been to avoid hospitals.

I wish that more people felt that way.  The pharmacist told us that they'd been getting lots of inquiries about boosters, and that's great.  But my little corner of Florida is different from the rest of the state--and much of the U.S.  Hopefully the booster shots will help keep us safe, help keep disease tamped down.