I went to my first quilting class today. When we were going around the table introducing ourselves I thought of saying that I figured I'd better get a head start on quilting so that when I really dig my heels in on the crazy-old-spinster thing, I won't have to feed seventeen cats. Then it occurred to me that I might be insulting some potentially crazy old spinsters also sitting around the table, so I just told everyone that I love colour and thought quilting might be a good pastime for a recovering perfectionist who needs to slow down. I confessed that as a child I kept the plastic casings off my dried up markers because I couldn't part with the colour, and I snuck around the hardware store at every possible opportunity, to steal paint chips for the sheer pleasure of surveying the colours. I still fantacize about my dream job-- being the one who gets to name all the colours on the paint chips and pantyhose of the world. It'd be grand.
Back to the quilting. While a big part of me feels like I'm undertaking a gargantuan task that I really don't have time for, the kid in me, the colour freak kid, really wants to do this quilting thing. Today we each designed a totally spontaneous crazy quilt and I fell in love with what appeared before me. I went directly to the fabric store after class and bought the necessary supplies for the rest of the course, and picked out fabric remnants with colours that made me smile. I feel excited about the possibility of playing with colour on a regular basis. I've been feeling lonely lately and while I don't think that quilting will directly address that, I do think that a solitude that is accessorized with colour and texture and warmth is a step in the right direction. It should take the edge off, at least.
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