No, No, No

Eventually, this is what Charlie's quilt is supposed to look like.  He chose it out of several possibles I presented to him.  You'd look at it and think "Oh, that's going to be easy.  Good."  But this is a block from a series.  I tried and tried to order the pattern but then ended up having Friend Barb draft this photo to quilt size.  She did a great job and I remember the look on her face when I told her it wasn't going to be presented to him for over a year.  A look that said "What's the hurry now, then?"  Well, because I'm me, that's why.  

    First, I don't sew every day.  Weeks can go by and I don't pick up a needle. Things happen, life happens, but then I'm possessed and don't put one down for a long time.  Second, I applique by hand. That takes time. Third, I stitch at night.  I don't sit during the day and sew, it's at night.  Fourth, things happen. Mistakes happen.  Like writing a novel, a quilt takes on its own personality and tells me things and dang, I would think by this time in my life I'd listen to me when I'm telling myself something.  Usually, I'm pretty good about listening to me but sometimes I don't and that's when things happen.

Remember this?  Crash landing into the ground?  I wish that was the only thing to worry about. Easy fix.

It's dark this morning, waiting for rain, but this is the photo of the quilt top today. Notice anything?

Yup.  Last night I ripped the whole thing apart except for the plumes. I surely didn't want to have to take the whole thing apart but I did. I had to because when you give someone a quilt you lose control of it.

Here's what happened.  SIL Joyce works exclusively in batiks.  This weekend I asked her if batiks bleed.  I had this saturated navy blue and a small piece of red that was NOT deeply dyed.  She said the colors that tend to bleed are the deep blues and reds.  

I got a sick feeling in my head.  When I bought these fabrics in Shipshewana in a store that exclusively sold batiks I specifically asked the clerk, who I assumed knew batiks better than I did, if I needed to wash the navy blue first and she said no. And, no, I don't usually wash my fabrics first. Some people do, I don't.  Occasionally, but not as a practice.  

SO.  The little voice in me started talking.  The niggling little me tapping me on the shoulder, begging me to pay attention to me.  But I went on what I thought was the authority, the person in the store that said I wouldn't have to.  And I proceeded to piece those planes.

Now I am at the point of putting that deep navy border around that pale blue.  And I started looking at the planes again. And this time little me was practically shouting at me.  So I asked Joyce. 

These were the color catchers after the first wash.  Yeah.  I took a small piece and put it in the bathroom sink and was horrified.  The water, the sink, the counter, my hands this color.  It looked like a dye vat. I grabbed the large pieces, sewed a zigzag around the edges (so they wouldn't fray in the wash, something I do to every raw border before washing and before quilting.  Hand quilting puts a lot of stress on raw edges.) and put the color catchers in and took it through a warm wash.  Of course I was horrified.  This could have been what the whole quilt looked like the first time it was washed.  I put it through another turn in the machine.  The color catchers came out looking like the pale blue background.  Third wash and it was ok.  

Last night I ripped the whole thing apart. 

Lesson learned?  Listen to yourself.