VOTE QUILTOCRATIC

"Twenty-two million quilters are waiting on the edges of their seats for the candidate brave enough to step forward and address these important issues:

• I'm sure you've heard of the No Child Left Behind Act, but where are the cries of "No Quilter Left Behind?" Do the candidates not understand that 22 million votes could put them over the top? And how could they forget that most of these quilters are married and could possibly have some influence on their spouses?
• I expect to hear soon about the proposed Conservation Reserve Program (CRP) for persons collecting and preserving precious cotton prints. Through the CRP, every quilter would be asked to weigh his or her current stash and would be generously compensated for not using the fabrics in said stash to make quilts, but instead buying new fabrics to continue their craft. Not only will this stimulate the economy, but the added insulation of accumulated and constantly replenished stashes will keep 22 million homes warm in the winter and cool in the summer.
• Where is the depletion allowance for those of us forced to use discontinued and soon-to-be-rare fabrics in our quilt projects? These fabrics cannot be replaced, yet we soldier on, making warm blankets for the homeless, for wounded veterans, and for the otherwise unfortunate to keep them warm in the coming ice age. We are being very brave to use these irreplaceable fabrics, and the government should compensate us for the goodness in our hearts, whether we need it or not.
• Remember Herbert Hoover's 1928 campaign promise of a chicken in every pot and a car in every garage? Where are the demands for a quilt on every bed? It is a well-known fact that adding a quilt to every bed in America, and, at the same time, turning all those thermostats down five degrees in the winter, will significantly reduce our carbon footprint on the Earth.
• Which candidate will require every school system to hook students - the younger, the better - on quilting so they will be inclined to stay home and stitch instead of running around from mall to mall in gas-guzzling SUVs, burning up the nation's fuel supply?
• We need low-interest government loans to study quilting and quilt history and to buy the materials and equipment required for such a worthwhile pursuit to carry on the traditions of our forefathers' mothers. What could be more patriotic than that?
• Is there a candidate in the 2008 presidential race who will propose a Manhattan Project-like, top-secret, fully funded research program to find the lightweight, energy-efficient, endless-bobbin sewing machine with a perfect laser-guided 1/4" seam?

When the Quiltocratic Party emerges, I'll vote straight ticket. How long must we wait for that party to begin?"

(Taken from John Flynn's article in Quilters Newsletter, issue 403)

STRANGER THAN FICTION

"At night I would lie in bed and watch the show, how bees squeezed through the cracks of my bedroom wall and flew circles around the room, making that propeller sound, a high-pitched zzzzzz that hummed along my skin. I watched their wings shining like bits of chrome in the dark and felt the longing build in my chest. The way those bees flew, not even looking for a flower, just flying for the feel of the wind, split my heart down its seam."

That is the gorgeous and mysterious opening to Sue Monk Kidd's "The Secret Life of Bees." Hollywood is finally doing right by releasing the film version of "Bees" October 17th. It was so odd to open the cover of this gem and re-read the opening paragraph because it seems that bees have been accompanying me for some time. First in the spring when I started preparing the yard for gardening, throughout the summer when they rolled in the pollen on our flowers, and even in my studio, where I made fiber bees. Strangely enough, just like the book begins, they have been buzzing around in my bedroom. Every morning and evening for weeks now there have been bees in the room. They are there when I wake up and there when I go to bed. They aren't swarming or angry, but rather lost. Sadly enough, they tend to meet their honey bee maker for they either die trying to get out, although I can't figure out how they even get in, or they are squished...their honey oozing out onto my finger tips, which are then quickly licked. Sorry...that's not even funny, is it?

www.foxsearchlight.com/thesecretlifeofbees/

WHAT'S ALL THE BUZZ?

Did you know bees are responsible for pollinating one third of all the foods we eat? Heard the buzz about bees disappearing? Want to help? Want to hire me to market YOUR product? Kidding.... Seriously, though, check out this sweet little site dedicated to the cause of saving honey bees....and marketing Haagen-Dazs ice cream:

helpthehoneybees.com

CHUNKY MONKEY

Love, Love, Love this painting. Gorgeous! Rubenesque and beautiful. A little chunky too!

Tonight, I sort of had Judith Moore's Fat Girl on my heart. It's been haunting me for awhile...begging to be re-read perhaps. It is a truly engaging read. Judith says, "Everybody fat has her own fat story", but this one grabs hold and doesn't let go. You can hear Judith talking about Fat Girl at http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4711853

Oh, and Chunky Monkey is my all-time Ben & Jerry's fav.

Some compelling excerpts from Fat Girl:

"Food is the enemy. Food is also the mother, the father, the warm-hearted lover, the house built of red brick."

"When I am really fat, as opposed to medium or mildly fat, I have trouble pulling on pantyhose, even pantyhose made for fat women. I sit on my bed to put on pantyhose. When I am really fat, I have to lean over my enormous stomach to get at my feet, so as to start pulling the flimsy stockings on. I huff and puff and sweat and get breathless. If I am not careful, I tear the stocking, or, if the pantyhose don't have enough give, then when I stand and pull the waistband up over my thighs and my stomach and buttocks, the pantyhose get long vertical runs and I have to take them off and get out a new package and start again. Sometimes I get the pantyhose pulled up, but I am too big for them and the waistband won't go farther than my crotch. I toss these and get out another pair. By this time sweat has run down from under my arms and from between my breasts. I am angry by this time too, and ashamed, and disgusted for being such a grotesque and grunting hog. I am red in the face, wet with sweat and slightly sick to my stomach."

"I sat at the edge of the couch, legs slightly apart. My elbows were on my knees; I was hunched and full of sorrow. I wore a loose cotton nightgown. My breasts hung down inside the gown and swayed. I spooned into my mouth the first chilly strawberry dollop. Cream melted on my tongue, which didn't take long, because the ice cream was soft. I spooned in another bite. I wanted to say to the ice cream, 'I love you.' I wanted to say, 'You are my mother.' I wanted to whimper, 'Mama, Mama, Mama.' I
wanted to weep."