Way back in the day, when I was maybe nine or twelve or something like that, I wanted to make a quilt. And I figured I could find a way to make it myself without following any of the complicated directions in the library book I’d borrowed. This was so far back in the day that library books had grainy black-and-white photos to show you what to do. Or lots and lots of extremely wordy words and no pictures at all.
I used my blunt craft scissors to cut out a bunch of squares from the back of flimsy old cereal boxes, then cut up a whole stack of fabric squares from old clothes and set to. I tacked the fabric to the cards and then sewed along the seams to join the pieces. Pulled out the cards and then was left with something that sort of looked like a quilt.
I soon got discouraged and gave up. Packed it away and then proceeded to move it 16 times across the world and from coast to coast here in the U.S.
I should mention that I’ve never once used it to cover anything and I’ve forgotten what most of the fabric came from by now.
If ever there was a Send it away Saturday, this is it. I’ve been keeping something just because I made it, forgetting there are no childhood police waiting to pounce and call me a liar if I claim to have made a quilt and can’t produce the quilt and prove it!
What are you holding onto as proof you did it? Whether it’s a clumsily worked quilt or a certificate from that evening class you took two decades ago, can you let it go now?
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