The quilting projects soon got out of hand -- 20 to 30 unfinished quilts lurking quietly in the closet. That's absurd! In order to relieve some of the pressure, I moved them to the garage. Then I moved them to the empty back bedroom. But. . . I could still hear them calling me. They seemed as demented and crazed as Poe's Tell-Tale Heart! Ka . . . . thump, . .. thump . . . thump. Although the bolts of fabric had been dissected, chiseled, pieced and re-sewn, I could still hear them. Do you get the visual of the quilt skeletons lurking inside those plastic tubs?
What's a newbie decluttering, minimalizing, organized woman to do? I am tackling those quilts one at a time. After a strenuous, tedious 12 hours of sewing, I kicked three of those bad-boys to the curb today. They are boxed up to be delivered to the quilt shop where they will be professional machine quilted. I have decided to lower the bar on my expectations just a little and allow myself to become a piecer. Thus turning over the actual quilting to a professional. That's the only way I will get these bloody quilts out of the back bedroom.
As I sat at the sewing machine in back-aching, shoulder-aching, neck-aching agony, I kept asking myself, "If you were to die tomorrow, would you be satisfied that you spent the last day on this Earth sewing?" My answer, "ABSOLUTELY, POSITIVELY NOT!" I would want to be out in the fresh air, playing with my dogs, hiking, smelling the dirt and wallowing in sunshine.
Although, I really want to release this hobby from my life and move on to other things, the controlling, anal-retentive person inside of me won't quit until they are all finished. Stay tuned . . . I have a quilt show planned for November 19th.
For the Love of Chickens!