As we were driving past the line of brightly lit storefronts,
my son blurted something out from the back seat.
I turned my head in the direction where he was looking,
and laughed, as I realized what he saw.
“QUILTers studio,” I corrected.
To him, that did not make one bit of difference.
It was like, “O-kay, sooooooo . . . what’s a QUILters Studio???”
We live in fast-paced, multi-tasking, over-scheduling, overly-competitive(ing)
Northern Virginia . . .
where most of us (in order to “save time”) send our clothing to the cleaners
or the local tailor, just to sew on a missing button.
There are people (around here) who sew QUILTS . . .
This was hard for me to imagine; much less,
try to explain it to my teenage son.
But, suddenly, I found myself having fun
imagining what a “QUITters Studio” would be like.
I envisioned a room FILLED with unfinished projects:
a portrait painting with barely a face, a knitted sweater with no arms,
a wooden chair with not enough legs, a metal clock with no hands . . .
(think “Island of Misfit Toys”)
a speckled wall that still needs painting,
piles of papers that still need filing,
kitchen chairs that need tightening,
a broken bookshelf that needs repairing . . .
That’s MY HOUSE.
And, that’s when a brilliant thought
came over me.
I should start charging money every time someone enters my home!
“Welcome to my home!” I would say.
“Please enjoy and appreciate my unfinished projects!
And, don’t forget to enjoy the unfinished cookies
and coffee, as well!”
Technically, though, “unfinished” is not the same as “quitting”.
I do intend to finish those projects . . .
Maybe, after Christmas.
In the meantime, maybe I’ll just finish the answer to my son’s question:
“A quilters studio is a place that sells materials to people
who like to make quilts.”
“What KIND of quilts?” he asked.
“You know, like . . . blankets, comforters, bedspreads, duvets . . . ”
Then, with a serious look on his face, he asked,
“Can’t they just go to Bed, Bath & Beyond?”