Quilting is therapy. All my friends say so and I agree. When I walk into my sewing room I feel a sense of calm just being in there. It's knowing that I get to spend time just doing something other than work and chores and making something sometimes beautiful, sometimes not so much.
I don't know what happened when, in early 1999 (I was 30 ish) I told my husband, Don, that I wanted a sewing machine. I don't know why I did that except I had this strange desire to sew. Mind you, this had never been a problem before. In fact I had actively avoided the very idea. My mother sewed my clothes and had always tried to interest me in it and I would have none of it. I wanted to read. Period. Nothing else. Nothing in the world seemed so boring as sewing. It looked hard and I knew I didn't have the patience for it. But now I wanted a sewing machine and it had to be a Bernina, like my mom had. She swore by hers and still has her 1979 model today.
On the Monday after Mother's Day that year I came home from work to find a brand new Bernina 140 sitting on a table set up in the living room. My dear, sweet hubby had gone out and got me one! It was beautiful. Sleek and white and new, just waiting for me to thread it and start sewing the daylights out of it. I got bit by the bug.
But then, I didn't even know what a quilt was...