Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Paris - a moveable quilt

Paris, France

What picture, feeling or scene just came to mind when you read those two words?  I taught French for 16 years so I love it and I have millions of memories.  I brought a couple of hundred students there over those 16 years so I also have lots of goofy memories.  I love reading about France, books set in France or French cookbooks.  I was thrilled when my local quilt store featured a line of fabric entitled Paris Flea Market.  I made the 12 blocks month by month, put the quilt together and then hand quilted it.  I finished quilting it the night before I shattered my elbow and it sat waiting for the binding for 13 months.  I gave it to my youngest daughter but then we got nervous about a hand quilted favorite going to her Senior year apartment and I made a quick quilt that I had machine quilted.  Shelby took the precious Paris Flea Market quilt and then it disappeared.

I was hysterical when I disovered it was missing a week ago.  Tense texts have been exchanged.  Terse emails have been sent and ignored.  I have torn her room apart and my sewing room.  I looked where the Christmas quilts are stored.  I cried.  I wept.  I ate chocolate.  I snapped at my husband when he would hold up some other quilt and ask hopefully, "Is this it?"

I looked up that quilt in my quilt journal.  Oh you didn't know I am a slightly OCD record keeper?  I keep records of what quilts I make when and take a picture.  I have filled two books so far and smile happily whenever I open them up.  I looked at the dates and reconstructed what when on in that child's life.  Hmmm, bins had come home in December of '09 and repacked for the coming summer in Champaign while giant suitcases were packed for her  Spring semester in Spain.  In between, she went skiing in Colorado.  (Yeah, I want her life also.)  Stuff was flying around here, stored here and there.  I sent a few queries via email that were ignored.

I talked my husband into going  with me to the attic above the garage.  We looked through bins and marveled at the number of pink towels that have been accumulated and left behind.  And we found a hand quilted Paris Flea Market quilt.  Sigh of contentment.

OK, ready for the next crisis.

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