Tonight was my last quilting class, and I found myself feeling very sad.  I started out apprehensive, as I do every class.  We learned “machine quilting”, which I had been warned some quilters simply never do.  They hire professional quilters to finish off the quilts.  If I could barely piece, how could I free motion quilt?  But lo and behold, I could and I did.  Not with any semblance of perfection, but I was able to start.  And that’s all anyone ever needs…just to start.

I feel like I’ve run through every emotion these past 6 weeks of class.  I have zero patience with my own learning curve.  I want to be good…NOW.  I actually hate learning anything that takes hand-eye coordination.  I’m horribly clumsy.  When I’m out with the girls in the double stroller, Mom calls me the rolling circus.

But what I found the most interesting was “how” I learned.  It wasn’t just the step by step instructions given by an extraordinary teacher (and Melissa is an amazing teacher).  It was the practicing.  I couldn’t tell you “how” my cutting got more exact.  It just did.  I couldn’t tell you how my seams started lining up.  They just did.  And somewhere in these past weeks, I found my footing.  The natural evolution of learning to quilt was painful at times, but thrilling too.  I knew somewhere within me, I could sew.  I did 20 years ago.  Feeling that old skill grow from a trickle into a stream has been refreshing.

On my way home tonight I thought about when and how I learned to cook.  Couldn’t tell you the day I decided I loved to cook.  Couldn’t tell you the day I decided I’d move into my kitchen and stay there.  I’ve probably burned 100 pancakes.  Made cakes that slid right off the base.  I once caught a fondue pot on fire.  Never wanting to do that again, I didn’t get the oil hot enough on my next attempt and gave my date food poisoning.  On Valentine’s Day.  What can I say?  I’m a romantic.  I felt horrible about it, and the next time I cooked for him, I caught his oven on fire.  My brother-in-law thinks I’m actually trying to kill him with my chicken recipe experiments.  But no matter how many messes I’ve made, I never stop cooking.  I learn and move on.

As I left class, I thought of my emotions 4 weeks ago when I really thought I’d never sew again.  I could not have felt more different tonight.  I walked over to the store and signed up for a one night skills class called “Machine Applique”.  I bought a pattern for a simple quilt I’d like to make within the next several months for a special person I can’t mention on this blog because she reads it.  Hint: TONIGHT SHE IS TOO DRUNK TO READ THIS ENTRY BECAUSE SHE TURNED 21 TODAY!!!  Oh God, Amanda is legal.  My little sister is legal.

So there you have it.  Maybe I learned to quilt a little bit.  Maybe I learned a little bit about myself.  But mostly, it felt good to have learned.  To have stretched myself in a new direction and allowed myself to overcome my own fear of failure.  To have sat in a room filled with women with much more skill and let go of the need to be the BEST.  They called me “the blonde” in class!  I just sat back and enjoyed being the flunky for a change.  Everyone had a laugh on me, and you know what?  It felt pretty good.

Because I know I won’t be the flunky forever.  I’ll keep at it.  Slowly.  Even very slowly.  I’ve got nowhere to be anytime soon.  I’ve been cooking for 20 years.  Call me up in another 20.  I’ll have a quilt to keep you warm and a big piece of apple cake to keep you fed.