Quilting Books

Day 141: Quilting and Craft Books

I'm not sure these sad little quilting and craft books will sell at the AAUW book sale. In fact, I'm not even sure the St. Ignace public library will take them for free. And yet, I was reluctant to give them away. I made one quilt with them, about thirty years ago, with a Husqverna sewing machine my parents got for me when I was in college. 

My sister got the exact same machine. We were at the cottage on Clear Lake, and Elizabeth and I went into town together with my mom to choose patterns and fabrics for our first projects on the new machines. 

The end of this short story is that my sister ended the week with a beautifully tailored, perfectly fitted dress that included bound seams and double hemming. I ended with a pink and green "quilt" (I put quilt in quotes because I ran out of time for actual quilting) that never laid flat and was already coming apart at the seams before it ever lay on a bed. 

Nevertheless, I have fond memories of that week, and I still have the quilt, and the book, and the sewing machine. I use the quilt every day, the sewing machine every week and the book, once ... thirty years ago. 

Probably okay to open up some space on the shelf. 

Redemption

Day 140: Redemption and Other Books

The focus for the next ten days is going to be books. That's because the American Association of University Women's final book drop-off date is August 16, and I want to turn in as many there as I can.

Giving away books until the AAUW
drop-off closes on August 16

The AAUW book sale featured large in my childhood. My mom started volunteering for AAUW well before my memory dawns. Every year, our basement became stacked full of cardboard cartons, crammed with books people had donated to the sale. Once, our basement flooded while we were on vacation. I believe that was the last year we were asked to store books.

We saw less and less of my mom in the weeks leading up to the event. Back then, the sale took place in the Michigan Union ballroom, a huge, beautiful room mobbed with people for the three days of the sale. I didn't understand what it was all about, but I liked to browse among the books, wander through the Union, and sit beside my mom at the cash box.

A few years ago, my mom invited me an AAUW luncheon. Two scholarship recipients - beneficiaries of the sale proceeds - spoke. Up until then, I'd thought the sale was an awful lot of work for only a little gain: last time I got a report (granted, this was a long time ago) sale proceeds were in the neighborhood of $10K. I'm well aware of the many hours these dedicated volunteers put into the sale; I'm guessing they might earn $10K or more putting the same number of hours into minimum wage jobs.

Both scholarship recipients actually wept when they spoke at the podium. One was an older single mother. The other was a young woman, first in her family to go to college. Both were attending the University of Michigan, and both told the audience that they could not have afforded to go to college without the AAUW scholarship. Even $10,000 divided by two can make a big difference in someone's life.

The university-educated women who belong to and volunteer for AAUW aren't interested in low-paying jobs. They want the connection and community that comes from joining together in service of a larger purpose. So if you, like me, are getting rid of one thing every day - or just occasionally - consider giving your books to AAUW. You'll know your good books are going to a good cause.

World's End

Day 139: World's End

I completely forgot about the stuff project today. I didn't think about what I would give away, or what I would write. I didn't take photos last night, or do any research. I turned on my iPad purely for the purpose of logging my food and exercise (I've gained 5 pounds!), saw the blogger app and experienced a slight jolt, as though I'd gotten an electrical shock.

Day 139, and this is the very first time I've forgotten.

Well, books are an easy one. I've set a minimum of six to count as "one thing." I noted with pleasure that many of the shelves are now occupied (and not overstuffed) with books that give me great pleasure just to see them, nothing middling or mediocre. I also noticed that my pajama drawer and my table linen drawers were neatly organized when I put away the clean clothes this morning. So the project is working, at least insofar as it is creating greater tranquility in my home.

I myself am not tranquil, however. I'm heading off to the Bentley all-staff meeting this afternoon to meet a whole host of new people for whom I'll be responsible for administrative services. It's exciting, but it's a big transition, and it's a lot of work. And when Emma got up this morning (I was fortunate to be able to work from home), she cuddled up to me, sighed, and said, "I'm going to miss you, Mamma." 

I guess my head is so overstuffed, I've gotten rid of thoughts about the stuff project.

Boy Shoes

Day 138: Boy Shoes

Question: why do boys' shoes cost the same as men's shoes? Answer: because boys are the size of men long before they're finished growing.

We are planning to go see the movie Boyhood tonight, which was filmed over a period of 12 years with the same cast. The summary says "[T]his film is a groundbreaking story of growing up as seen through the eyes of a child named Mason, who literally grows up before your eyes." I expect we'll cry.

I tried to get Sam to come along to the movie with us, but soccer practice conveniently prevented him. I suspect that the idea of leaving soccer early would be more compelling if the temptation wasn't a movie date with his parents. Even as I write, I am texting him about the job application he was supposed to submit today to Tropical Smoothie but didn't, he says, because he doesn't know his social security number. He's not very enthusiastic about job hunting, and it isn't easy to motivate a boy who would rather play than pound the pavement: filling out the forms, shaking hands, pursuing the managers, making that first impression. It's a lot of hard work and rejection, and the reward is more hard work. And less freedom. And less fun.

He's not a bad kid. He cleaned his room this weekend, and did his laundry, and helped install the fans, and walked the dog. He practiced his instrument and cleaned the storage shed, and he's on track for helping the neighbor build his deck.

In cleaning his room, he discovered five more pairs of outgrown shoes and a few more outgrown shirts and shorts. Well, whether he gets that job today or next week or next year, he'll be working soon enough, and he's going to keep on working for decades. He's going to buy his own shoes someday, and someday maybe he'll buy shoes and more shoes for his own boy. And maybe his boy, at 16, will prefer to goof around than get a job. Someday. Maybe.

Lumpy Comforter

Day 137: Lumpy Comforter

Apparently, if you're me, the cure for the blues is household projects. Three years of beekeeping has given my family welcome respite from the dust and destruction associated with constant improvements, which have ranged in scope from demolishing walls and building new ones (in different places, of course) to simple things like painting a wall.

So after Jean-Francois departed with all my beekeeping stuff yesterday, leaving me with $150 burning a hole in my pocket and nothing else but time, I headed straight for Home Depot. There, I bought two flush-mount ceiling fans, one for Sam's room, one for Emma's. Sam and I spent most of yesterday evening and much of this morning removing the hideous old fixtures, which were most likely installed in 1952 when this place was turned into a rental duplex, and installing the lovely, bright, quiet new ceiling fan/light combos. 

Emma will be filled with gratitude that her last ten days in her bedroom will be cool and brightly lit.

Although we did get rid of the dull and hideous old fixtures, that doesn't really count towards the stuff project because it was a one-to-one trade. However, changing the fixture caused fifty years of dust and rubble to fall from the ceiling onto Sam's bed, which caused us to change his sheets, which caused me to notice just how lumpy and awful his comforter is, which caused me to insist that it go straight into the Goodwill pile to be replaced with the feather comforter my mother gave me in 1980, just that much softer and more comfortable with age. A year ago, I would have consigned the lumpy comforter to the trash. That was before I learned that old nasty textiles are sold to be turned into household insulation by thrift stores.

It worked. I went to bed last night flush with the satisfaction of having finished a project. Every time I walk past the kids' rooms, I'll see the fans and feel pleased with myself. All that, for $66 and a couple hours of work. Goodbye, beekeeping, hello, home improvements.

Sorry, Richie.

More Bee Stuff

Day 136: More Bee Stuff

Today, a lovely soft man came and took away my bee stuff, a retiree with a charming French accent, a great big belly and a beat-up old Renault station wagon. A chem-free brand new beekeeper taking a beginner class from Rich Weiske, who keeps bees barefoot and without a veil so as not to scare the little ladies. My very last chat about whether I succeeded in overwintering (I did not) and speculation about how to increase the odds of survival next season.

It took me quite a lot of time to gather together all the bee stuff. Maybe the tears slowed me down a little. Yes, I actually cried, foolish as it sounds. I got up before 6, because once I'd woken up, I couldn't stop thinking about Jean-Francois's coming that morning to take it all away. 

I'd forgotten a lot of the cool stuff I have. He took it all, with gratitude: the beat-up old flour sifter I use to distribute powered sugar in the hive to knock down the varroa mites. A book about honey tasting, and two books about beginning beekeeping. An extra hive tool. Cheese cloth for straining honey. A swarm catcher (how I dreamed of catching a swarm someday!). An ingenious mason jar feeder that Winn Harliss made for me. Smoker fuel. I had nine medium hive bodies, not just eight; someone gave me one that I'd forgotten about.

My price must have been too low, because within two hours of posting the ad, I had almost a dozen queries about my bee stuff. It was unlike any other Craig's list ad, because along with "Is it still available?" I also got messages of commiseration, requests for beginner tips, and questions about the relative merits of different pieces of equipment. 

It was a final reminder of what may actually be the biggest loss of all: beekeepers are really, really nice people. People you want to spend an afternoon with. People you might ask for advice, invite over to grill, or ask to help you move. As a beekeeper, you know you can go anywhere and instantly have a community of kind and able friends who share your basic moral framework. People who care about the earth, its creatures, and each other.

Jean-Francois said he didn't need to look at the house numbers to know which house had a beekeeper living in it. He could tell by the garden, full of the flowers that bees love. Well, I'm not changing my garden. Next year, I'll  have even more time to spend in it.

Duffel Bag

Day 135: Duffel Bag

How convenient! Rich decided to get rid of this duffel bag just when Abby asked me to separate out the giveaway clothes that might be good for my nieces. I can deliver the clothes inside the duffel bag. Abby won't remember this, but I was actually with her when I bought this duffel bag in the Traverse City Target. Seems like a long time ago now.

Rich is going to use my sturdier, luggage-quality duffel as a workout bag instead.

Did you know that the word "duffel" is derived from the town of Duffel in Belgium? First known use, 1677. Technically, this is probably not a duffel bag, because it is not made of course, heavy woolen material. And it can be spelled "duffle" or "duffel" (which explains why I was confused and had to look it up in the first place).

The word duffel also refers to transportable belongings. I'm starting to do a little research into poverty and need here in the State of Michigan, wondering whether, with better transportation, those of us in wealthier communities might be able to alleviate suffering in our more desperate Michigan communities. Detroit. Flint. Rural U.P.

More to follow.