Sometimes Fabric Talks to Me
I picked up an alphabet panel somewhere recently. It wasn’t that long ago, but I can’t remember where I got it. I was at a quilt shop — could have been locally, could have been online. It was on sale. I needed it.
I intended the panel for my daughter who just started kindergarten. She sings the alphabet all the time, but I recently realized that she can’t recognize all the letters yet. Oops!
The panel instantly became my two year old’s when it got home. She played with it daily so I had to do something with it quick! I was going to make an alphabet book with it, but daughter wanted a quilt.
Hmmm. . . .
I took the panel into my sewing room and the things just happened. I showed the panel some cute polka dots friends, but they didn’t want to play together. I had a red that I thought could be a good friend, but no. There was a piece of black and white fabric sitting there so nicely. I thought it would be great for another project so I didn’t think it should play with the panel. The black and white piece wouldn’t let me be. So I gave in. I used the whole piece. It was the perfect amount of the perfect fabric.
The panel wanted to be tied. It said that kids like playing with ties, and it didn’t really want to be stitched. I was even going to just stitch between the blocks. Oh well. I listened. I tied it. When the gold yarn said, “Pick me! Pick me!” I picked it up, set it down, and tried to find something else. But gold it was and that was that.
It asked for a poly batt, but when I went to get the batt, this cotton said he would work. It was just the right size. No poly spoke up quick enough so cotton it was.
After I got it tied, I wanted to bind it in red. But there was this piece of orange that wanted to play. I almost refused, but maybe I was learning because instead I picked it up and sewed it on.
And here is the quilt that all but sewed itself:
Both the 2 year old and the kindergartener love it. Fortunately there hasn’t been any fighting over it yet. Do I need a psychiatrist? I don’t think so. Sewing is my therapy. Maybe that’s why my fabric talks to me.
Does your fabric ever talk to you?