There is a series of quilt books with the promo "Quilt in a Day."

 

Usually they are referring to the top only, and yes it is possible to finish a Log Cabin or an Irish Chain in a marathon of pushing the pedal. I have accomplished as much when the pattern was a Bargello, or an Ohio Star, or a Pineapple if I was willing to skip lunch. Women go on retreats for such endeavors, and slice away the hours with scraps at their feet and a stack of blocks by their elbow. 

 

But I never expect to see the claim of a Double Wedding Ring in ten hours or less. One could identify reasons, like the volume of pieces. Traditional DWRs rely on bits of fabric small enough that even a frugal seamstress could justify tossing them. Also there is no simple way to create the arcs in a long slab and then chop them up, unless you count the system designed by John Flynn who admittedly achieved it though you have to sew each seam twice. 

 

The real cleaver that divides this pattern (which was often the crowning glory of a young woman's hope chest in the first half of the last century) and all other designs so beloved in this country, is curves. 

 

I am currently coaxing the twenty four hundred bits of batik in my sewing room into the melons, and arcs that somehow fit together in a sweeping and interlocking array of circles. To keep myself from going down the rabbit hole of minutia I occasionally pause to spread them out on the living room floor. It is just a few feet away from Benjamin who is working on a thousand piece puzzle of frogs. He will break his effort apart when it is done and put it back in the box. I expect mine to outlive me. 

 

Twenty five years ago before my first three or four Double Wedding Rings I studied pages of instructions that strove to help the sewer navigate the compromise inherent to two pieces of fabric going in opposite directions. One is concave. The other convex. Straight has nothing to do with it. You proceed gently, accommodating and even stretching a tad, as the top and bottom parts find a point of connection. Thousands of tiny stitches pierce the fabric, which if all goes according to plan will never be seen.

 

Another confounding element in the layout is the checkerboard of cornerstones. These are pairs of almost square fabric. If two of the same color ended up side by side, something was amiss. Which was aggravating and helpful at the same time. 

 

Kept wrong side out, everything is a wrinkled mess. But once you turn it right side out and stand with a spritz and a warm iron things calm down. 

 

It was nice to receive an offer for it it even as it lay in pieces on the floor. The buyer could see the potential. We agreed on a price, and it will be on her bed by next week. 

 

It's a fitting name, really. Marriages are a marathon of concessions. All the little bits of life that seem irrelevant can be stitched together into something beautiful. John and I often bring contrasting colors to an issue. He might be holding the line for thrift as I am leaning into generosity. I can feel anxious about letting our kids step out into the world, and he reminds me to trust.

 

Which is aggravating and helpful at the same time. 

 

I believe that God can see the potential in our sometimes messy relationship. But don't expect it to happen in a day.