Journal: Broken Toes and Explosions (and Quilts, of Course)

Last Monday, my brother brought me a box full of pieces of craft felt, large and small.  He’d found it with my late sister-in-law’s sewing/ crafting things.  She was always making things for her nieces and nephews, and several of the felt pieces had designs drawn on them (little Christmas trees, animals, etc.). 

I’m considering giving the whole works to one of the granddaughters along with a big nice book on felt crafts, and maybe some supplies to go with it (glue, and whatever else one uses for felt crafts).

Loren asked, “Have you recovered from your vacation?” 

“Ha!” I retorted.  “That was no vacation.  That was a TRIP!  There’s a difference.”

He laughed at that.

Tuesday, I did a bit of housework, paid some bills, then went off to Hobby Lobby for batting for a customer’s quilt.  There are evidently a lot of quilts being made around here, for Hobby Lobby has a hard time keeping their racks of batting stocked.

Home again, I got back to work on a customer’s 30’s Mini Bow Tie quilt, finishing it late that night. 

Wednesday, I prepared to load another customer’s quilt on my frame – and discovered that the top measured 76” x 86”, while the back measured 77” x 88”. 

That doesn’t give me enough leeway to attach the backing to my frame.

So, after inquiring into whether my customer was willing to pay me an extra $25 for the service, I attached 4-5” strips of muslin to all sides of the quilt back, using water-soluble thread.

I also discovered that both the front and the back of the quilt were pieced; it was a double quilt.  I can never guarantee that any pieced backing will be perfectly centered behind the quilt front, though I try hard to make it so.  To see why this is the case, pick up a thick magazine and roll it tightly in your hand.  See how the pages slide and move against each other, until they no longer meet at the edges?  That’s what happens when I roll quilt, batting, and backing together.  Also, the quilting itself may take up slightly more fabric either on top or on bottom.  It’s variable.

I’ve put together a number of ‘double quilts’, as it were, and while I’m better able to guess at it and get them centered well than I was when I first started using my quilting frame, it’s still a bit of a guessing game. 

And now, here’s my Tip of the Day:

Don’t sew extender strips on the sides of a quilt back with water-soluble thread in the bobbin – and then press it with steam.

You’re welcome. 

(Fortunately, I remembered right when I pulled the ‘steam’ trigger, and jerked the iron away fast, just as clouds of steam came billowing out.  The strip was still intact.)

I even remembered to remove the bobbin with the water-soluble thread as soon as I was done.  I keep the bobbin tucked inside the cone of soluble thread, and both are inside the plastic bag in which it came.  Imagine sewing a dress with that stuff by accident – and then getting caught in a rainstorm.  😲😱😬😯😨

Here’s something I’ve long had a penchant for doing.  It started with little girls’ dresses and those long, long strips of ruffling.  I skillfully switched over to long quilt rows, sashes, borders, and bindings, in order to keep up the fun.

It’s this:  I cut a long strip.  I sit down at the machine.  I start sewing the strip to other strips/the rest of quilt/the garment/whatever.  Halfway through the seam, the entire works gets violently jerked sideways, messing up the seam.

Huh?

Oh.

I’m sitting on the end of the strip.

After those backing kafuffles, it was nice to pause with the quilting and go to our midweek church service. 

Victoria sent some pictures of baby Carolyn that evening.  I found them as we were driving home from church, and started to write back to Victoria, “She’s the cutest little thing,” but my tablet thought ‘turtle’ was the better choice, so I left it:  “She’s the cutest little turtle.”  hee hee  (I did explain what happened.)

Victoria, as expected, wrote back, “I like it.  😆😆😆”

Home again, I got back to the quilting.  I had three more quilts to do, and then I was saying ‘no more until after Christmas.’  My goodness, I’ve been swamped with customer quilts since June! 

I have rugs to make... quilts for the kids... kitchen chairs to reupholster...  Oh, well.  At least I’m making a little money, I get to stay home whilst I’m a-doin’ it, and it’s something I enjoy, though it’s been sorta hard on arthritic neck, shoulders, wrists, knees, and even feet.

I told the lady in Washington state that I’d be able to help her get hers finished (after the first of the year) – and then I found out she wasn’t kidding when she said she had 150 quilts that needed to be quilted!  Aiiiyiiiyiiieee.

She sent me a nice picture of her brother with the quilt she made for him, the Golden Days of Hollywood quilt that I quilted for her recently.  I wrote back, “Isn’t it fun to give people things, when they appreciate them?  My brother still talks about the quilt I gave him (using blocks his late wife cross-stitched), and shows it to visitors.  Makes me happy I did it for him.”

Thursday afternoon, I took a quilt to the post office and shipped it back to my customer.  It cost $26.32 to mail it.  I always underestimate the cost of the bigger, heavier quilts.

I met my own brother at the post office.  He’s still friendly as ever, and people still like him just like they always have. 

Victoria sent more pictures of baby Carolyn, this time clad in a little sundress we gave her.  It was hot that day – perfect day to wear a sunny little sundress.

Later that evening, Victoria sent pictures of Malinda and Carolyn together in their matching Little Mouse outfits. 

They're just the sweetest little things!  😍  Malinda almost always has a little thumb in the mouth.  Usually, she makes a chubby little fist whilst she’s a-slurpin’ on it. 

I like to say, “Slurp, slurp, slurp, slurp, slurp!” to her, and make her lose suction because she can’t keep from grinning at me.

Malinda was born June 19^th; Carolyn September 2^nd.  They’re only about a pound different in size. 

By bedtime that night, I’d gotten Larry’s work clothes – including coveralls and sweatshirt – washed, and was about half done with my customer’s Halloween quilt. The pantograph is called ‘Halloween Bats’.

As you’re sewing or quilting, do you ever think about those new-fangled features on our machines that we get so used to?  I’ve been using a knee lever to lift presser feet since I got my first Bernina in 1978. 

Ten years ago or so, I got a serger. 

I serged a seam... took a swipe at the knee lever with my right knee – and nearly tumbled off my chair, because sergers don’t have knee levers, and there was nothing there to catch me.  😆

Friday afternoon, it got up to 70°, and was bright and sunny.  I had a couple more loads of wash to do, plus the cat beds.  The cats, picky things that they are, stop sleeping in their beds if I don’t wash them (the beds, not the cats) fairly often, even though they have nothing but a slight dusty-cat aroma.  It’s their own fragrance, Kitty Eau de Félin Cologne, for pity’s sake!  

One of the cat beds was air-drying atop the dryer, and Teensy could often be found sitting in front of the dryer that afternoon, staring up at the bed.  If he determines it’s dry, he leaps right up there and makes himself at home.

There was the possibility of rain in the forecast that night, so I hurried to wash clothes and towels, and hang them on the line.

At 20 after 3, I got a text from Amy asking if I could pick up the children at school – she’d gone out to the van with the little ones, and discovered it locked.  With the keys inside. 

Four-year-old Grant had locked the keys in their van.  Again.

I hurried off to school, and got there just before the children got out.  On the way home, they sadly told me that a kitten had gone missing – but I no sooner pulled up in the drive than one of them spotted the kitten up by the house.  The kiddos in the middle seat got so excited over Kitten Come Home (did you ever read that story in the Golden Books when you were little?) that they bailed out and took off on a dead run, totally forgetting to release the seat and let the little tykes in seat #3 out of the vehicle.  😃

“They’re tired of you, and hoped I’d take you home with me!” I explained to Josiah and Leroy.  They grinned.

But Li’l Losted Kitten was home again, and there was great rejoicing in the land!

I posted some photos from October 7^th:  From Georgetown, CO, to Torrington, WY

My mother-in-law, Norma, called that evening to tell me that her brother, Clyde, has a brain tumor.  He has an appointment with a neurologist, and will find out what the next course of action is.  They found the tumor because he kept passing out, and couldn’t keep food down.

That night, I broke a couple of toes – or at least I thought at the time it was just a couple; by last night it was clear that all three smaller toes on my right foot are broken.  This, from kicking a doorjamb in the kitchen.  😲 😬  Waa waa waa

And I had just a couple more rows to go on my customer’s quilt before it was done!  Botheration! 

Since it looked like the toes were in place, I elevated the foot and used a gel pack on it for a while, swallowed a couple of ibuprofen, then collected the cane I acquired back when I sprained my ankle in 2008, and hobbled down the stairs to my quilting machine.  

I recommenced quilting, muttering to myself, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...  (toe hurts, toe hurts, toe hurts)...  Those last two rows were a pain.  Literally.

At about 11:30 p.m., there was a loud, crashing boom that rattled the house.  I brought my quilting machine to an abrupt stop.  Was that thunder?  The quilting machine is noisy enough, I couldn’t be sure.  I slid the window open and listened. 

Nothing.  No rain, no more thunder.  Had Larry dropped his phone or tablet, upstairs directly overhead, as he is oft wont to do?  I didn’t think so; the boom had rolled on a little too long for that.

I started quilting again, a question mark hovering over my head.

I heard a text come into my laptop from Hannah, and went to read it.

“Huge explosion-sounding bang just happened!” she wrote.  “The kids could see a flash out their south windows.  The house rattled, and the floor shook.”

“I heard it!” I responded.  “Wonder what on earth it was!  Our house shook, too.  Natural gas explosion?  Are any homes in town heated with natural gas?  Do you hear any sirens?”

A couple of minutes passed, then Hannah wrote, “Street lights are out.  I see flashing lights close to Cubby’s (gas station).  A lot of smoke.”

Another minute, and then, “It’s at Gehring’s (our friends’ ready-mix plant).  Possibly a cement truck on fire there.”

A few tense moments went by while I wondered if anyone had been there when that explosion occurred, and then Hannah told me, “No one was hurt.  The fire is out now.  It’s one of the trucks that has a natural gas tank.”

By the next day, we would learn that when that gas tank exploded, the truck’s water tank, as big as a stove, flew sky-high and hit the power lines overhead and brought them down, taking out not just street lights, but all the electricity on a good portion of the west side of town. 

Can you believe this thing used to be a cab??!

Three cement trucks, including the one that blew up, were totaled, and three others seriously damaged, including my brother-in-law John’s cement powder truck.  It got so hot in his cab, the hood of his nylon jacket that he had over his seat melted.  One of the men jumped in it (must’ve been hot) and backed it up without waiting for the air pressure to build – just slid the back tires.  There was sand on the concrete, so the rear tires weren’t damaged.  Tires on the side closest the fire blew out, however. 

Despite the sore toes and the excitement over the explosion, I got the quilt done, took it off the frame, trimmed it, and finally threw in the towel.  My recliner and the recooled (should be a word) gel pack were calling.  But... going up the stairs with a laptop, cellphone, and cane in one hand and a full coffee cup (why was it still full??) in the other was a little tricky.  The cane was of no use right then, so I balanced it in a couple of fingers, then pressed the coffee mug into service as a ‘cane’, setting it on every other step and using it to support part of my weight as I clambered upwards.

No, I didn’t take any ‘selfies’ as I was about this ungainly operation, so if you can’t figure out how I managed from my description, it’s too bad, so sad.

Saturday, I launched into the morning bath/shampoo ritual, trying not to bump those toes on anything.

Then, to add insult to injury, I walked out into the kitchen to make myself some coffee, and discovered that Teensy had dispatched of a none-too-small rabbit, with the resulting colossal mess.  Aaaaaauuuuggghhh.

I cleaned up the majority of it, decided it was too painful (literally) to complete the job, and left the rest for Larry.  I’m a good wife; I share all the unpleasant tasks with my husband.  Ha!  I even called him and told him my tale of woe, and he, like a good husband (why did that phrase make me start singing the State Farm jingle?), promised to come home shortly and finish the chore. 

Finally getting the desired coffee, I limped back to the bathroom to curl my hair.  Standing at the mirror with all my weight on one foot got tiring pretty fast, so I pulled up the clothes hamper and sat on it, resting my battered foot on a little space heater. 

“Now, if the hamper lid doesn’t give way,” I remarked to Teensy, “everything’s cherry!”

It’s one of those Rubbermaid hampers.  I sat as lightly as possible, and tried not to make any rash movements.

The hamper valiantly held me up, and ten minutes later I was coiffed and ready to face the world (or house, as it were).  Or at least hobble out into it.

I tried this broken-toe escapade once before, some 23 years ago.  It didn’t feel so good then, and it doesn’t feel so good now.

A friend, upon hearing my tale of woe, wrote, “I’ve broken a couple of toes over the years, but never two at once!  It’s much easier to deal with one broken toe than two!”

I don’t know why that would be, exactly, unless two or three broken toes doubles or triples the pain.  Maybe if each foot sported a broken toe... 

I responded, “Well, I was very efficient and broke two side by side, so that whilst I’m a-babyin’ the one, the other gets babied right at the same time.  Wasn’t that clever of me?”

Another friend wrote, “I’m sorry to hear about your toes.  Will you be seeing a doctor?”

“Naaaa...” I answered, “the toes look straight enough.  They’d probably tape them and tell me to stay off it, elevate it, apply something cold...  I’d come home, untape it, and follow the rest of the advice.”

That other time I broke a toe, some 23 years ago...  Well, here, I’ll just insert this excerpt from an old journal of mine:

I did an extreme stunt this morning.

It was a triple back flip.

Or at least, it felt like a triple back flip.

Though I could be mistaken.

(Sometimes, just getting out of Larry’s tallll pickup feels like bungee jumping from the Auckland Bridge.  But I digress.)

The supposed triple back flip was executed accidentally in an heroic attempt to avoid putting a foot squarely into the middle of sweet little Tabby cat, who has never realized that, because he blends so nicely into the living room rug, he should therefore NOT lie there.

In the end, as it turned out, the supposed triple back flip was entirely unnecessary, because. . . .   it was not Tabby.

It was a little stuffed puppy that just happens to be the identical color as Tabby.

I’m writing from my hospital bed where I lie in traction.

{Not… really.}

I broke a toe once.  No, not triple back-flipping.  Rather, Hester and Lydia (ages 5 and 3) and I were having a pillow fight.  I was dressing Caleb, age 1, and they came sneaking (as well as two little girls can sneak, when they can’t quit giggling) down the hall, pillows in hand, and let fly at me. 

I exclaimed, which made Caleb giggle, too, helped him down, grabbed the pillows, and went flying out the door after two running, giggling, screeching little girls.

Only one toe nearly got left behind on the doorjamb.

Momentum carried me some distance down the hallway before I could get stopped, even though I was hopping on one foot.  The little girls, near the front door at the far end of the hallway, assumed all these theatrics were for their benefit, and laughed so hard they were bent double.

The trouble was, our Christmas program was in two days – and I had to play the piano!  Furthermore, I had a new purple satin suit – and new purple pumps to match.  One must wear one’s matching purple heels, no matter what.  Right?

Right.

The night of the program, after spending the afternoon with my foot propped up, making cassette tapes for the children in my Jr. Choir, I got dressed, gritted my teeth, and p.u.t...t.h.a.t...s.h.o.e...o.n...m.y...f.o.o.t.  The room swam.  I regathered my equilibrium, set my chin, and marched off to church.  And I played the piano, using the foot with the poor broken toe on the sustain pedal valiantly.  The foot had grown somewhat numb by the time the program was over, an hour and a half later.  The children exited the stage as the organist played softly.  I stood up.

I sat back down. 

Scooping up what shreds of fortitude I had left, I stood up, set my jaw, and followed the children down the stage steps.  A.A.A.A.A.u.u.u.g.g.g.g.h.h.h.

When I got home and pried those shoes off my feet, the room turned psychedelic for a few moments.  I sat down in a recliner, lifted the foot rest, and let everyone else do all the rest of the Christmas work – making soup, letting in the company, doling out gifts, etc.  I sat and took photos and opened gifts and yelled “Watch out for my foot!” at periodic intervals.

The toe was getting better about three weeks later, when, as I was standing in the kitchen behind Larry’s chair, he scooted back without warning, lifting his chair before reseating himself.  One chair leg landed on that toe.

Everyone in the room heard it crack. 

I gasped – and closed my mouth.  One mustn’t frighten the babies. 

But Larry had fingerprints in his shoulder for days.

We now return you to your regular programming.

I ate an English muffin slathered with butter and blueberry jam for breakfast, sitting with foot propped up on my tapestry footstool, with the gel pack underneath my toes.  I inquired into whether or not the toes would agree to starting on my customer’s second quilt, Americana, or if they preferred that I work on pictures or cross-stitching.  They were getting quite colorful.  (The toes, that is.) 

The toes tried to answer, but my shoulder drowned them out, as it was hurting worse than my toes at the moment.  I’d injured it, hanging onto the railing the previous night as I went up and down the stairs a few times, trying to keep weight off that foot. 

And then it occurred to me that I didn’t have batting for quilt #2.  The toes told me (rather loudly and rudely, I thought) that they did not want to trippity-trip to the far side of Hobby Lobby, where the batting is kept.

So I rummaged around in my batting pieces, found a fairly large piece of cotton batting that felt like the batting I had left over from the Halloween quilt, butted them together, and used a 9mm zigzag to connect them.  One is Warm & Natural and one is Warm & White; but the fabric is dark, and it will never show.  Under the dense Eagle with Stars pantograph I’m using, the batting joint will never be noticed, either. 

The customer is happy, because it saved her a few dollars.  The toes are happy, because it saved them some pain.

I loaded the quilt and got started. 

Everyone thinks this panto is difficult – but the truth is, it’s a whole lot easier than the Halloween Bats panto.  That one, I struggled with – mainly because of the large circles.  My machine prefers to do round-cornered squares. 

I always enjoy quilting designs with birds, especially when the pantograph is as pretty as this one.  It’s turning out good.

Victoria sent a piece of pumpkin chiffon pie home for me with Larry that afternoon.  She made it with coconut milk instead of evaporated milk.  I couldn’t tell any difference.  It was scrumptious.

Later, she wrote to say that Kurt tried out for choir – and will be singing in the men’s choir.  So I sent her the lyrics of a song we learned long ago from the Children’s Bible Hour:

♪ ♫  All God’s chillen ♪ ♫ gots a voice ♪ ♫ in de choir!  ♪ ♫ Some sing low, ♪ ♫ and some sing highuh! ♪ ♫  Some sing outside ♪ ♫ on de tellyphone wy-uh; ♪ ♫ and some just claps ♪ ♫ zare hands, ♪ ♫ or paws, ♪ ♫ or innysang dey gots now! ♪ ♫

I managed to get one row completed on the quilt.  Then I migrated back upstairs to my recliner and worked on photos until bedtime.  I had the gel pack under my toes on the footstool.  I had my choice of piping hot coffee or iced tea on the end table beside me.  Big ol’ Tiger cat was purring nearby, and all I had to do to replenish his rumble if it started fading was croon, “Nice old kitty!”

Yep, I had things pretty good, sore toes notwithstanding.

I couldn’t put my foot into a shoe, so I didn’t go to church yesterday.  I wasn’t about to try what I did with the purple pumps of yesteryear.  Nowadays, age and vanity are traveling in opposite directions on the bar graph! 

Back then, ‘heels’ were 3- and 4-inchers.  Now, ‘heels’ are, at the most, 2 ½”.  I’ve always preferred going barefoot, though.  Hence the Toes-Versus-Doorjamb Drama.

Not only did my toes hurt, but so did my back, from walking like the crooked man with the crooked cane on the crooked walk.

Several quilting ladies suggested steel-toed boots.  Larry offered me his. 

However, I have arthritis in my feet, and going barefoot feels best. 

Unless and until I kick a doorjamb.

Some have informed me, “No, wearing shoes feels best on arthritic feet.” 

Look, I have shoes.  Heels.  Flats.  Sandals.  Flip-flops.  Nice walkers with good support.  I know what feels best on my feet.  You go ahead and wear what feels best on yours; I’ll go ahead and wear (or not wear) what feels best on mine.  Okay?

Larry tried out our wood-burning stove yesterday.  Looks like his caulking job inside the chimney is good!  Smoke went up... out the chimney... and warmth filled the basement.  He let it burn for a while, so the caulking could harden.  He didn’t turn on the furnace fan yet, so the smell of the caulking didn’t permeate the rest of the house.  All is well, we’ll be able to use the wood-burning stove again, and we have quite a lot of wood, so that’ll save us money this winter.  The stove is connected to the heat ducts, so the furnace fan blows heat throughout the house.

I posted more pictures, these from October 8^th:  From Torrington, WY, to Chadron, NE

Those are from the day the transmission line broke.

Out in the western Nebraska Sandhills, most of the windmills are very short and down in the valleys, because of the constant winds that blow so strongly.  If they are too tall, they are soon demolished by the wind.

Larry told me that pieces of the cement truck that exploded were found blocks away, in all directions.  If anyone had’ve been nearby, they would’ve been killed.

The explosion probably occurred because a natural gas tank was over-pressurized and leaked.

Speaking of sore toes and health and whatnot... as mentioned, I have moderately severe rheumatoid arthritis.  I hold it at bay by 1) exercising, 2) keeping my weight down (I’d like to lose 10 pounds, but ... I like to eat), 3) eating healthily, and 4) pretending I don’t have it (rheumatoid arthritis, that is).  heh  Well, I haven’t exercised since Friday, when I tried remodeling the house via toes, and I’m feeling decidedly stiff.  So... I’m exercising today.

Here’s a fact:  standing leg lifts, running in place (well, I’m only walking in place, today), etc., make broken toes fuss and complain and swell!

There.  Nothing like giving a health report on almost every page of a journal, eh?  Mama told me that when people say, “How are you?” they’re giving you a friendly greeting, not asking for a health report.  I should be more like my Mama.  She suffered quietly and cheerfully.  Me, I don’t suffer in silence.  I suffer LOUDLY!  Vociferously! 

“Make everyone else suffer too!” – that’s my motto.  :-D   Or at least make ’em laugh.

A customer was planning to send another quilt today, and wanted a panto resembling bricks or telephone poles or something city-ish and modern.  I sent her a few possibilities, but also told her that there just isn’t any way I can perfectly make those nice straight lines in a pantograph, as my machine isn’t computer-driven.  I can make straight lines in custom quilting just fine, because I’m at the front of the machine, using rulers.  But from the rear... trying to follow a pantograph with a laser light...  Not so much.

So she will probably take the quilt to her LQS; they do computerized pantographs.

Now I’m wondering how much they charge... and if it’s so much that sending quilts all the way from Tampa, Florida, to middle Nebraska is worth it!

Several have asked questions about my machine:  It’s an HQ16, and is not computer driven, though it could be upgraded to be so, with the ProStitcher.  The ProStitcher alone – that’s just the computerized part of it – is $9,495.00.  I only paid $2,700 for my machine in the first place!  It’s a 2005, purchased used in 2010.

It has handles front and rear.  I use the ones in front when I am doing custom work – feathers and rulerwork.  I use the ones in the rear when I am following a pantograph with my laser light, holding the handles and guiding the machine along the lines of the design.

We have a steady wind today of about 35 mph, with gusts over 50 mph, and it’ll be like that for three or four more days.  We’re expecting hard freezes the last four days of this week.  And our wood-burning stove is back in working order!

Okay, back to the quilting, and back to a few ‘unstiffening’ exercises.

~ Sarah Po’, Po’ Me Lynn, trying to stay out of the way of Larry’s chair legs ~