children, crafty, life

The oldest quilt in the world

This should not have taken so long to make.

I finally found a work in progress picture of the quilt in question and it’s from April of 2014.  Over a year ago.  Frankly, I thought it would be older than that.  For a normal person, this would have been a weekend project (or faster, probably).  It’s not complicated.  It’s not elaborate.  Log cabins are pretty rudimentary.  And I really, really thought I’d do this one in a timely manner.

I am disappoint.

Pretty much the exact same picture, but quilted and crooked. My children are not the same height, obviously.

Here is the end result, finished in June 2015.  I’m going to guess that this took about 2 years start to finish which is completely awful.  It just sat there and sat there and sat there.  The thing is, I really like how this turned out and I hate that I didn’t finish it in a timely manner.  I am absolutely over thinking it and making something out of nothing, but it’s what I do.

Hold it at the same height? It’s so crazy it just might work!
Yes, those are biker cats on a background of flame, why do you ask?

Truthfully and embarrassingly enough, the motivation to finish the quilt was not the joy of giving something hand made to a friend, but the guilt of having it sit there for literally YEARS.  I also wanted to work on a new project and what kind of asshole would I be if I started a project for myself when I hadn’t even finished a BABY blanket?  I’m the worst.  Ever.  In the history of things, I will be remembered as a monster.

LITERALLY

One positive outcome of this whole fiasco is that it helped me remember why I love doing things like this.  I get to make something with my hands that no one else will ever make.  Each hand made item is unique, full of tiny missteps and mistakes, and ultimately a piece of me.  *cue inspirational music*

Up close detail of binding, partially stitched while waiting at Tae Kwon Do.

Now that I’ve finally overcome the hurdle of the baby blanket, I have started a new project which I have been completely awful at documenting.  I will update later, but here is one picture that was fun and satisfying to take:

pins pins pins pins pins pins pins pins pins pins pins pins pins pins pins pins pins pins pins pins pins pins pins

In the mean time, I will work on not being an idiot and hopefully contact my friend before the weekend is over.  Like a rational adult.

EDITED TO ADD:  Wow, those pictures of the finished quilt are totally washed out.  I’m not going to correct them or anything, just use your imagination to see brighter, more saturated colors or possibly of a better photographer.

crafty, life

Time to play….

Wheel!

of!

Anxiety!

Probably? DEFINITELY.

So…I’ve been working on a gift for my friend’s unborn child for a while.  And, in true fashion, I started to slack off and let my depression get the better of me.  When I’m depressed I withdraw quite a bit and my hobbies go straight to shit.  This guy has been my friend for a long time though we’ve never met face to face.  We were IRC friends and I met him when he was just a wee lad.  Or teenager, whatever.

Now he’s a full grown adult with a job and a family and I was so excited to make this gift for him and his new baby girl.  Then I selfishly lost my mind, gave up everything I used to love, and took a very expensive and uncomfortable vacation in the loony bin.

Selfish. I meant selfish.

Anyway, I finished the quilt!  I didn’t do a horrible job!  I mean, I messed up here and there, but it’s me we’re talking about.  I made it, I washed it, and I sent it out Priority Mail!  I sent it a few months past her first birthday so I guess it wasn’t there for her birth but it is decent sized.  It should be good through her toddler years and is definitely still usable and she’s not in college yet or anything so it’s still good, right?  Right?!

It’s been over a week since I sent it.  No response.

UGH

So, instead of being a level-headed rational adult and asking if he received it, I’m going to assume that he, his girlfriend, and his baby all hate me.  And they’re never talking to me again.  And they hated the quilt.  And they think I’m fat.

Okay, maybe not fat. But they totally HATE ME.

Did they move?  Did someone steal it?  Did the shady postman twirl his evil mustache while he gleefully threw the package out of the truck window?  All of these are perfectly valid and reasonable assumptions, but I’m going to go with the obvious conclusion that nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I think I’ll eat a worm.