There are hexagons for another One Block Wonder on my floor. It takes a chunk of the morning to cut out six hundred equilateral triangles, sew them into trios, and then press them flat. Next comes the part that unsettles me.
Sorting.
The entire quilt top is comprised of chopping, then rearranging a single fabric. The magic, if you can call it that, is when you separate hexagons into color groups. Except that almost every block has a spectrum of hues. Some more aqua and less gold, others more gray and less robin's egg. But sort you must.
By bringing the yellows together, they echo one another. When there are twelve dark blues in community they create a theme. If a primarily green block is all alone it feels lost. I am sure of it.
You cannot reverse the process. It's not possible to sort before you cut, or press before you sew. Plus hurrying does not seem to improve the composition.
Last summer a group of adults and teens took on Couples' night out. We watched, fed, and entertained fifty children so that their weary parents could go out. Most settled into back tables at chic restaurants. You know, the kind you don't take toddlers to. They talked in full sentences, and cut up their own entrees.
Watching their anxiety mottled with relief as they dropped off their children, their ever so precious children, I remembered my own history of mothering. It is a mite easier to sort it out, now that I have uninterrupted sleep.
For instance what about that camping trip, the one when it poured all night and two kids threw up. Do I put it with Catastrophes, or Hilarious? Ben's first months with severe failure to thrive... were they Unforgivable Failures or a Fast Track into Compassion? Were the two years our son hid from us while he struggled with no money and the treadmill of a college that refused to let him graduate an Epic Mistake or the Backdrop for our Warm Relationship now?
Some of each.
But as I stand back from the oh so lofty perspective of a decade, it is incredibly beautiful.
