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Sunday, December 4th, 2011

At times of great stress, a quilter will often turn to the comfort of making a quilt which has a deeper meaning lost to the viewers of the quilt if they do not know the story behind it. I made such a quilt in 1992 after being diagnosed as having a medical problem that required further diagnosis via a biopsy. The “lump” proved to be benign but, in the meantime, the time that elapsed between discovery and diagnosis seemed like an eternity.

While waiting, I thought about life, the importance about my journey here, and what the future might hold. I wanted to make a quilt that “stated” my core beliefs and said something about who I am. Now, when I look at this quilt, I can see only the design flaws and things I would do differently if making this quilt today. Nonetheless, this quilt represents intense feelings of uncertainty as well as a longing to be in a far very different “place” such as in a sleigh with my beloved, passing a quaint, little church. This one is made of fabric that looks like stones and has a gold cross on top that stands as a beacon of hope in the vastness of Nature that surrounds it.

1992 quilt
“A Winter’s Journey,” fused and needle-turned appliqué quilt by Pat

In retrospect, I would make the borders wider and would quilt them. I would move the lone tree to a position by itself, so that it does not “blend in” to the background of other trees. I would make the mountain tops less “even” and with more peaks. Appliqué was a fairly new technique to me, at the time, and fusible appliqué was just coming into more prominent use. The horse and sleigh with human figures was very fun to make, an adaptation of a portion of a commercial pattern. For me, the “people” represent my husband and I, on a journey to goodness-knows-where, surrounded by the bleakness of winter and the whiteness of the snow which symbolized the “white out” of “forever.”

One does not have to be a terrific quilter to personalize quilting and make it meaningful. This quilt was made when I was still taking baby steps in learning to quilt. Now that I am an advanced quilter, it is easy to scoff at my own feeble attempts in the first quilts I ever made. However, each one has taught me something and the lessons extend far beyond the technical aspects of quilting. I have learned that it is okay to try, even if we fail to meet our own standards, in retrospect.

Self-expression and the use of textiles as a point of connection between heart and hand are the most important considerations. Sure, if I decided to make this quilt again today, it would be superior in execution. However, I could never again capture the essence of feelings from which this quilt demanded to come into being. The good news is that I have lived almost twenty more years since that troubling time. The quilt reminds me that I am here, by the grace of God alone, and that He has many more lessons to impart to me and to others who heed His direction.

May you have peace today.

Patricia Cummings

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Friday, October 28th, 2011

Steve Grace and Patty Grace - 1960s

Steve Grace and “Patty” Grace on one Christmas Day in the 1960s at our parents’ farm.

The date “October 28″ weighs heavy on my heart. In 1944, my older brother Steve was born. He was closest in age to me in a family of four children. I can’t believe that it is 17 years ago (short of two months) that he was laid to rest at the age of 50 in December 1994.

Life was always a struggle for Steve. He was only five pounds when he was born as a premature baby, the son of a heavy smoker. As a child, he developed a stuttering problem that eroded his self-confidence. As you know, anyone who is “different” is always subject to a certain amount ridicule at school. A redhead with blue eyes and freckles, he was a tall kid and later a 6’3″ adult. My parents took him to doctors and speech specialists but he did not overcome his speech problem until high school.

He decided to attend Alvirne High School in southern New Hampshire because he heard they had a great program in agriculture and he loved animals, even though or perhaps because he was brought up in a city. Influenced by a certain teacher whom he really admired, he joined the Future Farmers of America Club. To encourage his new interest, my Dad bought a farm in Londonderry, New Hampshire so that Steve would have a place to put to use his new found skills of forest management. Dad rented the house on the farm to a family, and our family visited the land on weekends to picnic and enjoy the country air while Dad helped Steve do some forestry work.

Future Farmers of America proved to be a great organization for Steve. He wrote a speech that compared the state of agriculture in the U.S. to that of Russia under Communism and he presented his talk and won state and regional competitions. He was selected to compete in the national FFA convention in Kansas City, Missouri. Later, he decided to major in agriculture at our state university and was the first of my siblings to graduate from an institution of higher learning, with a degree in teaching. The family was so proud of him!

After being awarded a B.S. degree, he agreed to teach high school classes in agriculture. “Ag” was looked down upon by administrators as an inferior subject. Consequently, he was sent every kid who had a disciplinary problem in the school. Being serious about his subject matter but frustrated by the circumstance of having to deal with juvenile delinquents instead of teaching, he left the classroom for good.

Now a married man, he became a herdsman at a dairy farm and he and his wife had two children. Even though he worked very hard physically. life was a financial struggle. Skilled in the building trades, he later accepted work as the building maintenance man at an elementary school where he was well-loved by students and faculty alike. By that time, he was experiencing increasing chest pains, exacerbated by the difficult labor of cleaning and waxing the gym floor. Rarely did he see a doctor and when he did, he did not want to follow their advice. The last time I spoke with him, on December 27, 1994, he reported being in a lot of pain although he was his own jovial self and seemed more talkative than usual. Call it woman’s intuition but in the back of my mind, I suspected that the conversation might be our last.

The next day, I learned that he had died, the victim of sudden cardiac arrest. Only 50 years old, death stepped in to end his suffering. He did not take his own life. Despite his prayers, his good intentions and all of his hard work, life was difficult for Steve from beginning to end.

No one knows when our time on earth will end or how huge a gap our leaving will be for those who love us. Days like today trigger so many memories. In looking back, I treasure the fact that I knew Steve and that I was the last family member to have the opportunity to chat with him. I would not want the suffering Steve back again. I am sad to think of all that he has missed in the last 17 years. He never knew any of his grandchildren. He loved to sing and he did so often, in his deep, resonant voice, so strong, so full of life! I hope that he is now singing with the angels. He left me behind, a sister who loved him then and continues to love him now. Until we meet again on God’s golden shore, Steve, until we meet again…

“Patty”

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Friday, October 7th, 2011

October is really the best month of the year! For us, it is vacation time! The children are back in school making shopping a more pleasant experience for us old folks who no longer have small children at home and have come to enjoy peace and quiet! The foliage in New Hampshire, while not at its peak in our area yet, is certainly lovely up north. A week ago, we headed out on an overcast but pleasant day, our destination: Stark, New Hampshire. Along the way, we took a lot of photos including the following two pleasant scenes:

foliage scene - Sept. 30, 2011
a pleasant view of Fall in New Hampshire

horses at the Bell Farm
a scene in northern New Hampshire

Customarily, Jim always schedules his vacation for October. Last year at this time, he spent the three week time period taking photos for my soon-to-be-released book: buy drugs online no prescription (Schiffer Publlishing Ltd., 2011). This year, he is creating a new “room” from an area that previous occupants of this house used as a “potting shed” and/or “mud room.” So far, he has installed electrical outlets, added insulation, taken up the old wide floor boards that were beyond “saving.” He has shored up the supports in the cellar, adding new joists, and has added pine boards for walls that will have a natural finish.

The area was previously unheated. We hope to add an electric fireplace. They are supposed to be adequate for 400 square feet and this cozy soon-to-be reading den has only 150 square feet. After the ceiling is painted and the new floor is added, we will think about the interior design. I am already considering various choices for furniture, a rug, and other textiles and wall decor. This is a fun project that, again, combines both of our talents and interests. I am forever amazed at the versatile skills of Jim Cummings and often wonder how I became so “lucky” as to be married to him!

We will take a day trip whenever we feel the urge to do something different but being home bodies, we are quite happy reading a book, writing, quilting, taking a walk, or baking a cake. It is true: there is no place like home. For us, travel with all of its stress, is overrated. Give me a nice homemade bowl of soup and some corn bread any day. To enjoy nature, all I have to do is to open the (new) windows at the end of our house that Jim just installed and listen to the babbling (former mill) stream. It’s all good! Call us fuddy-duddies. We won’t mind. Life is good!

Patricia Cummings

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Saturday, September 10th, 2011

Tonight, I am thinking of the song, “Turn, Turn, Turn” made famous by the Bryds and based on a Biblical passage that includes the words “A time for every season under heaven.” We all go through transitions in our personal lives. The most obvious change is that we grow from innocent children into experienced adults. Growth can be painful as we navigate the waters that are sometimes full of sharks. Along the way, we learn how to stand up to bullies and how to be true to our own selves, if we are courageous and self-assured enough.

Yesterday, I received a note from a colleague, a well-known writer, quilter and editor. She was nearly choked to death after being attacked in her own home by an intruder. She’d left her back door unlocked in a posh suburb of Philadelphia and a man crept into her kitchen in just the couple of minutes that it took for her to walk to the front of her house and back again. As he put his arm around her neck, at first she thought that her husband was just being playful. Realizing that the muscular arm was not that of her beloved, she bit and she scratched. That action turned out to be a good thing! The DNA recovered has resulted in the perpetrator being put behind bars. He had been attacking women in this manner regularly and was known to the police, but not the public, as a serial attacker. Waking up after being choked unconscious, my friend did not die. That is the good news. The bad news is that she has suffered permanent damage to her vocal chords. We are happy that she is alive!

Living life can be like dodging a bullet on a daily basis. We never know for sure from what direction the cannon ball will be fired or how soon we will need to duck. Our collective memory in America, particularly at this time, serves to remind us that life can never be taken for granted. We can be fine one minute and fighting for our very lives in the next one. Sometimes, the problem is our own bodies trying to self-destruct; at other times, we are victims of some unwanted accident or situation that we could not have foreseen in our wildest nightmares.

Today is the day to surround yourself with those you love and tell them how much they mean to you. Tomorrow is never guaranteed. We must face life with integrity, with boldness and with a willingness to fight for what we believe is right. We should confront those who would make us miserable or try to end life as we know it. There were many heroes on 9-11 and many more heroes since that time. America is a nation of heroes; a country that overcomes adversity. We will stand up and defend our land, our families and our very lives, if need be. We are strong. We will survive. Remember this: at every turn, there is a chance for us to become more than we are today!

Patricia Cummings

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Monday, September 5th, 2011

If you don’t like to read tragic, heart wrenching stories, turn your attention to some other matter… now! This post is about Alzheimer’s Disease. It isn’t just a random ailment. It wears a face. That face could be that of your grandmother, your mother, or some other loved one who leaves you to pick up the pieces after their mind has been shattered and they no longer make sense to themselves or anyone else. It is a disease of frustration. On some level, the patient knows and feels their loss of clarity and cognition. On yet another level, they lose their faculty for things that once came so easily. The letter I am going to post here (page 1 of 2 pages) is the final letter my mom ever wrote. When she was unable to speak, she simply handed me this note that has only a hint of her former beautiful penmanship and has misspelled and crossed out words as well as jumbled thoughts.

final letter from Mom
This is the final letter ever written to me by “Mom.”

Today, I started to make a quilt with these words, and what you see here is a photo transfer with a patch of Forget-me-not flowers added, a photo by James Cummings. I am not sure I can continue and actually finish this page into a quilt. After all these years, the memory of her final illness is still painful. She begged for help, a doctor who could “fix” her and make her whole again and give her back her mind. Yet, there was no one who could possibly help as she sunk into the personal isolation of the disease, the anger that accompanied loss of herself, and the alienation that the disease created in relationships with others. Only God had a remedy and in his own sweet time, he took her “home,” an end to a long life of 92 years that I am afraid included more days of trials than days of sunshine.

I would like to be able to make a quilt for Ami Simm’s Alzheimer’s Quilts Initiative program - – but my personal experience is getting in the way. I just can’t bring myself to make cute or cheerful little quilts that someone would actually buy to support the cause. For now, all I can do is to lend my verbal support to her program and tell you that it is a good thing to raise awareness of this disease and to raise money for research into possible cures or treatments.

God Bless us all,

Patricia Cummings

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Saturday, September 3rd, 2011

Supposedly, children have no memory of anything much before the age of reason, seven years old, or so I have been told. That does not seem to be true with me as I vividly recall my mother teaching me to embroider when I was only five. She simply drew an outline of a bear on an old pillowcase and showed me how to do outline stitch embroidery with red thread (Redwork embroidery). When I’d finished that project, I asked for another one. So, she drew a raccoon on another pillowcase and I gave that finished project to my big brother, Jack, who was nine years my senior.

my mother - early photo (1930s?)
This is an early photo of my mother, long before I knew her.

Embroidery was a new found love. It was a great pastime because I seemed to contract one childhood disease after the other from mumps and measles to chicken pox and Scarlet Fever. Embroidery was something I could do while sitting quietly and “quiet” was probably the nirvana my mother sought at that time. She was a “nervous” woman. Her nerves might have been calmed down had she taken up quilting!

Jenny Gauthier with project
Jenny Gauthier, my mother’s friend, playing coy. This photo was taken in Manchester, NH, year unknown.

She made stabs at learning to knit and crochet because her friend, Jenny Gauthier, was a whiz at the “Popcorn stitch” and made lovely bedspreads. However, my mother excelled only in embroidery and otherwise had no needlework skills whatsoever, except for sewing buttons back on. Forget sewing machines. She had an aversion to machines of any kind and in her later years, did buy a microwave oven but then used it as a glorified “bread box,” so afraid she was to turn it on.

Lessons learned at an early age seem to “stick” and so it was with me and embroidery. Bureau scarves and doilies were all the fashion in the 1950s and were easily obtainable at the “five and dime” stores like Woolworth’s on Elm St. in Manchester, NH (long out of business!). When Crewel Embroidery became popular in the 1960s, I begged for kits, reveling in the bright colors of the thick wool yarns. I made a “Betsy Ross” Sampler in 1966 (that my son now owns) and also finished quite a few embroidered pillows. Years later, it is fun to reminisce about all of my needlework experiences and all of the many techniques I’ve used within the 55 year time span of my relationship with the needle.

Today, everything has to be quick and easy. Needlework, once a required subject in “Dame” schools and other schools is going by the by, if it is taught at all. Machines have taken over, not only in the industry but in home textile production as well. Those of use who have done hand work… forever, are now farming out our quilts to be long-arm quilted by someone else. Eventually, arthritis and carpal tunnel syndrome undermine the best of our intentions. If you have needlework skills and the chance to pass down those hand skills to a youngster, please do so. It will be a memorable experience and of lasting value, I assure you. In the meantime, have fun with your embroidery and quilts and I’ll see you next time.

My first book about Redwork was published in 2002 and is currently available along with the other books I’ve written. Now offered as e-books, they are easy to store and pages of designs can be printed, as needed, for projects.

Patricia Cummings

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Monday, August 15th, 2011

When I woke up this morning, Jim asked what I wanted to do today. I said, “What I’d buy drugs online no prescription like to do is to go see Mother and enjoy a piece of her delicious apple pie.” He said, “What?” He knows that my mom passed about six years ago now and that was not a possibility. But the longing persisted. I went over in my mind again that the farm now belongs to someone else and the interior is not the way it was when she lived in the old farmhouse. Life is ever changing and while I do not take anyone for granted, I come up short when I realize than now I am the Mother and the Grandmother and that my days are also numbered.

I cannot think of any particular day I’d like to go back and live over again. I’ve been pretty happy that life has moved along at a steady pace and that I am constantly growing, evolving and becoming due to my own efforts to engage with life and other people. But in the recesses of my mind, I still seek a mother (I never really had): one who would accept me and love me unconditionally and be totally supportive of every one of my undertakings. I am not sure such a mother has ever existed. The best of mothers tend to be judgmental and put conditions on their sharing of “love.” That said, a couple of my friends report having an “angel” mother, as did Lincoln. Of course, easy for him to say… when someone dies young, it is a logical step to immortalize them and put them on an eternal pedestal.

My mother did make the best apple pie ever! She had it down to a science. She would even cut out little apple shapes of crust to decorate the top crust. The pie would come out of the oven with a slightly browned crust and she’d get out the vanilla ice cream. But, then again, pie making was only one of her specialties.

Today, I really could have enjoyed spending time with her, but alas, old age and illnesses took her mind and then her life. I have to content myself by savoring memories. Isn’t that what life is sometimes all about? Enjoy each and every moment and treasure those who are meaningful to you now. Today is all about the memories of tomorrow. It is never too late to love your mother.

Patricia Cummings

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Sunday, August 14th, 2011

Today, I had a craving for homemade chicken soup but was not sure of the ingredients on hand, as Jim always does the food shopping. I looked around the cupboard, the refrigerator and the freezer and this is the recipe I concocted.

The “Chicken Ran Through It” Soup Recipe

3 cans chicken soup broth
1 can diced tomatoes
1/2 cup of mixed frozen veggies: corn, peas, lima beans and green beans
1 chicken bouillion cube
! stick of celery, diced
1 small onion, chopped, and 1/2 tsp. of chopped garlic, sauteéd together in olive oil
2 small carrots, diced
1 1/2 cups of egg noodles
1/2 tsp. dried basil
1/2 tsp. dried oregano
1/8 tsp. black pepper
1 cup of leftover roasted chicken pieces

I brought all of the ingredients to a boil, except the noodles and chicken, and simmered the soup for about 35 minutes. Then, I added the noodles, cooking them for 10 minutes more and adding the chicken pieces when 5 minutes of cooking time was left. In just 45 minutes, the soup was ready and it is superior to the “canned stuff!”

I could not have enjoyed a more welcome soup anywhere in the world. My “cold” feels infinitely better with that infusion of antioxidants, veggies and a limited amount of starch and protein. The best part is that “supper” is now ready to be heated up again to enjoy with some fresh whole wheat bread. Just like making a quilt, I always seem to be able to make something from nothing. There is a lot of satisfaction in self-sufficiency!

Patricia Cummings

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Tuesday, August 9th, 2011

This little essay is an historical view on the subject of drinking alcohol. This week, my dear husband revealed that there were more deaths from tainted water during the Civil War than the Revolutionary War. Why? During the earlier war, the soldiers were given a ration of rum that was added directly to their drinking water in canteens. The rum sterilized the water, killing any harmful contaminants before they could cause disease! Moderation seems to be the key to keep the use of alcohol beneficial.

NH foliage photo -by Jim Cummings
“Water, water, everywhere and not a drop to drink” was a little saying I learned as a child and repeated, over and over again, to my parents as we rode along in the car, much to their chagrin. Oh, my!

To drink or not to drink has been the subject of many a saying, many a law, many a jest, and many a song! During the 19th century, troubadours who supported the Temperance movement went about the countryside singing songs that decry the dangers of drinking alcoholic beverages. The lyrics of an English folksong are about child battering by a drunken father and eventually buying him a brewery. We have all known people who could not “hold their liquor.” We have all been aware of individuals who would sell their soul for another drink, who have plunged their families into despair and poverty because of their habit of imbibing, and whose lives have been overtaken because are addicted.

The dangers of drinking are well-known, yet constantly promoted in society. On television and in movies, drinking is romanticized. The elite are depicted as spending their time pouring cocktails and sipping on martinis. Televised sports events always seem to have many commercials for beer, as if drinking beer makes one “a real man.” Drinking, as a social event, is far removed from that glass of red wine some doctors recommend daily. (Of course, physicians don’t warn you that taking an aspirin a day or drinking even one glass of wine per day can cause a build-up of uric acid and arthritis of the joints called gout, a painful condition that involves swelling of toes, wrists, etc.).

The effects of out-of-control drinking (by “loved ones”) have been so disagreeable, many folks today like to avoid drinking alcohol altogether. Considering potential ill-effects of drinking, refraining is probably an ideal choice, and also a good idea for the preservation of the contents of one’s wallet. However, in another age, far from us time-wise, a little ration of rum stood between health and disease even though those of the time period had no sophisticated knowledge of the solid medical reasons for its use. As always History has lessons to teach us that are only learned in the long term, and, as always, there are two sides to any given issue.

Patricia Cummings

Water is often contaminated and can cause various diseases, sometimes with fatal results. Even that “clear mountain stream” may contain Giardia or other microorganisms that can cause severe GI symptoms. When I lived in Spain, I mostly drank wine, Coca-cola (with lemon), or milk. It is a wonder I did not become dehydrated or toothless. Pure water remains the best substance anyone could drink.

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Sunday, August 7th, 2011

Don’t ask me to tell you about the sequence of Civil War battles, the different names that the North and the South assigned to the same battles, or military strategies. I’d be completely lost. A phobia of memorizing that kind of information prevented me from ever thinking about being a history major in college days. I come to history through the back door – a direct interest in the pursuit of quilt history. It is inevitable to learn a tremendous amount of History (and geography) when one studies textiles of any kind. In the course of my studies, I have come across information that spreads across many disciplines: sociological data, economic information, genealogy, the increasing understanding of medical treatments and diagnoses that came about with each successive war, adaptations to changing food supplies, and many other topics.

One area that interests both Jim and I is the availability of food. Just this past week, after reading one reference after the other about how Civil War soldiers carried salt pork with them as a staple food, I learned that, at the time, salt pork was more like Canadian Bacon or smoked pork products and much more “meatier” than the salt pork that we might add to a pot of homemade baked beans today for flavor.

I read tonight about how the Union soldiers, when they had their fellow Confederates within earshot, would taunt them by saying, “Come on over for some wheat bread and coffee,” knowing that the Rebels had access to neither. For the duration of the war, Union soldiers had coffee available. Their Southern counterparts relied on brews that tasted somewhat similar but did not have the caffeine buzz of real coffee. These poor substitutes were made from charred corn cobs or roasted okra.

After reading about 30 books recently about the Civil War, I have become the Queen of Obscure Facts. One of those facts is that “ague” (“the shakes”) is a synonym for “malaria.” This was best treated with quinine, a prized commodity that was in short supply. Many soldiers contracted the disease because it was carried by mosquitoes, particularly a danger in swampy areas, and when soldiers did not have much in the way of bedding or tents. Another danger was malnutrition, particularly scurvy, a.k.a. “the dietary disease.” When fresh vegetables and fruit were not available, as was often the case, soldiers came down with this ailment which could be fatal.

Besides food, the other major concern of people on both sides of the conflict was access to textiles. I will address that topic in my much anticipated presentation on August 16. For details, please check the front page of my . Jim Cummings (an Army veteran of the Vietnam War era) will be wearing a Civil War uniform and I’ll be in a “day dress” with a hoop. I’ve planned a lot to share in a limited time period and hope that some of the obscure facts and stories I’ll relate will help to add a charming ambiance to this event. It will be an afternoon event involving music, quilts, projected slide images of historic quilts from the time period, and other historical artifacts, I have a feeling that my strong interest in the topic of quilts and women on the Civil War homefront will continue long after I’ve given this talk. The Civil War is just fascinating in terms of personal sacrifices and the changes the War effected in society.

Patricia Cummings
Quilter’s Muse Publications

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Thursday, August 4th, 2011

Recently, I spotted a tag on a quilt in an antique shop that said “Civil War Era” quilt. I would love to know more about this quilt: where it has been, how it was damaged, and who made it. Alas, once a quilt gets sold in an estate sale or abused for awhile before being shuffled off to an antiques dealer because it “might” be worth something, the only clues to its previous “life” are visible on the quilt’s surface.


Was the dealer capitalizing on a popular theme, the Civil War, or did he/she have actual provenance information of which we were unaware? We’ll never know!

This quilt has a long tear that looks that it has been sliced with a sharp object. In spite of that, the quilt is very charming! Although it was originally intended to be a bed quilt, no doubt, it is striking when it is placed vertically. Its colors and the designs are cleverly rendered in scraps but with enough repeated colors to give the quilt a sense of unity.

At first, I thought I’d spend time trying to “fix” the damage, but then I reasoned that I did not buy it to “use” on a bed. I purchased it because I simply like it. Good enough reason. I would be happy enough to just reproduce a similar quilt someday, if I find the time. If not, I have enjoyed and appreciated the work of some unknown quilter that will forever remain anonymous. It is sobering to realize how little family members of quilters can care about their work. Quilts often pass out of family hands to total strangers who, like me, would like to see a quilt used for something other than a dog bed.

There was just something compelling about this quilt. It spoke to me. It’s hard to explain why quilters just love quilts but we do! I am sure that the person who made this quilt has long been pushing up the daisies. The quilt is still here and it tells a story that we can only imagine. Maybe that is part of its charm.

Patricia Cummings

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Wednesday, August 3rd, 2011

At one time or another, it is likely that any of us may be criticized for something we have done. In business, the saying goes, “If you like what we do, please tell your friends; if you don’t like what we do, then please tell US.” Feedback can be very valuable and can result in more knowledge and better leverage in life and in the marketplace. In the unlikely event that we know someone who is wearing their shirt on backwards, perhaps they’d like to know that fact, before they venture out into public (a totally fictitious example, by the way). Another old saying states: “Knowledge is Power!”

This morning, I saw an interesting post on an online social media site. The person was complaining about a customer who did not like a quilt pattern she’d prepared. Many of her friends, being mothers, and therefore “comforters” and kissers of boo-boos, she was reassured by them that she is an “okay” person and the complainer is just out of line. Imagine the nerve to come forward with such a complaint about their dear friend! I didn’t say a word but the thought has made me question the responses a little further. I do not “know” the individuals involved. From a business standpoint, I believe it is wise to take any complaint seriously.

Sometimes the only way we learn how to improve ourselves, our work, or our life choices is via the “feedback” of others. Socially, we are taught from an early age to be mindful of table manners, to say “Yes, please,” and “No, thank you.” The more I thought about the woman who was insulted by complaints about her product, the more I wondered if she might have been a lot happier if she had viewed the complaint as a favor, a wake-up call, and a chance to do something better. As I said, I am not familiar with this person, her products, and in fact, I do not even recall her name, so my response is of a general nature.

When we isolate ourselves and think that our way of thinking is the only valid opinion “out there,” we inherently cut ourselves off from more learning. Sometimes, there is a better way to do something, and sometimes, just sometimes, due to ignorance and lack of understanding of a topic, someone can be dead wrong about it. Not knowing any more than I do about the described situation, I would hesitate to call the complainer any names. She was probably doing the pattern writer a big favor. After all, if one person is having trouble understanding a pattern, how many more people are just throwing that pattern away in disgust or vowing to never purchase any other pattern from that company or designer? It is in the interest of continued business to “make it right.”

That is the “view from here” on this sunny New Hampshire day in August 2011. I am enjoying the “heat” for which I will go bankrupt in the winter time, if the prices of oil and gas keep escalating, along with everything else. Now that IS a complaint!

Enjoy the day!

Patricia Cummings

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Monday, July 25th, 2011

Hollyhock photo by Jim Cummings
Hollyhock with dew, photo by James Cummings

Ostensibly, one of the requirements for passing third grade in elementary school was to memorize poetry. To this day, I recall the poem “My Shadow” by Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894) that is included in buy drugs online no prescription published in 1913. Here are the verses:

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Did you have to memorize this poem or any other one in grade school? Just wondering.

Patricia Cummings, “sleepless in NH @ 4:40 a.m.”

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Friday, July 22nd, 2011

I am so happy to live in New Hampshire. I do not have to look far to see trees. Oh yes, I remember the Joshua trees of the high desert in California and I remember the olive trees of sunny southern Spain, but I’m talking about major land areas where there is virtually nothing but trees. One particular tree of which I am very fond is the Tamarack, the only Evergreen tree that sheds its needles in the fall and regrows them in the spring. It is lovely and delicate looking, reminding me of a lace doily.

Tamarack tree in northern NH
Last May, I asked Jim to take this photo of a Tamarack tree growing near a bog in northern New Hampshire

To put it plain and simple, I am a tree hugger! I love trees! I especially remember the trees on the farm where I once lived. There was a big ole Maple Tree that had sturdy branches. My father was able to mount a swing on it. On one side of the house, there were three huge Maple trees, so gorgeous in the Fall and my mother would gather the cascading leaves to press inside pieces of wax paper weighed by a huge dictionary that she used to help with crossword puzzles. She’d mail the leaves to her granddaughters out West. They loved them!

Autumn leaves quilt by Pat / design by Piecemakers
Autumn leaves quilt made a few years ago by Pat with a commercially-sold pattern sold by “Piecemakers.” Love their designs!

We also had a Black Walnut tree for many years. I remember staining my hands with their dye, trying to remove the outer layer of the nuts, crack them open and retrieve the Black Walnut meats inside. After I went to a great deal of trouble, hoping that my mother would make some cookies or something with them, she informed me that she did not “care” for them. My brother’s friend came along, however, and saved the day by saying that he simply loved them, would use them, and was more than happy to take them off my hands. I was just a kid and was pleased.

I don’t remember when this fascination with trees began but whenever I am out for a ride, I always notice them. In New England, there is no shortage, of course. If they keep tearing down trees to accommodate new homes and to clear cut for new buildings for business, we may be in trouble. Why, I remember a few years ago when a stretch of Rte. 106 in Concord was lined on either side by Pine forests. The trees were dense and thick and looked cool and inviting. They provided a special habitat to the remaining Blue Karner butterflies on the planet. Since the trees were all taken down, there is not a trace of the rare species. Malls with vacant stores stand in their place. And so it goes. For every step ahead man takes, he takes two steps backward.

In New England, we have a long love-hate relationship with trees. The King of England claimed the largest ones for masts for his ships. Those who wanted to clear the land in order to farm not only dealt with having to remove lots of trees but also having to move stones out of the way so they could plow. Today, secondary growth forests exist where farm land used to be. And… in the town where I grew up, cleared farm land has become the site of many a McMansion, including one on acreage where I used to ride my horse. I don’t like change! Life “progresses,” I am told.

horse grazing at Sugar Hill, NH
Horse grazing at Sugar Hill, New Hampshire

For now, whenever I can, I like to escape to the north country of NH where the air is not so clogged with industrial pollution, where the folks are a tad friendlier, and where life goes on at a much slower pace, or so it seems to me. If you love Nature, plant a tree!

Patricia Cummings

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Saturday, July 16th, 2011

Egyptian piece
A wall quilt from Egypt

When one buys anything online, there is always some risk involved. The descriptions by sellers, particularly in online auctions, and especially those who are selling textiles, leave a lot to be desired. Approach buying anything with a “Buyer Beware” attitude.

I really like the design on the Egyptian wall quilt seen above. However, the surprise, only hinted at in the ad, are the stains on the front. The back of this piece has larger blue stains that appear to be splashes of laundry detergent. The seller admits that it had been kept in a “laundry room.” My question is “Why?”

The secondary market is loaded with used textiles. Some still have wonderful designs and are worth collecting by those who love vintage items or find some inspiration in them as a basis for creating new designs. However, some of the items are overinflated in price only because people are under the mistaken impression that anything old is “val-u-able!” Condition is everything.

Sometimes, one makes a conscious choice to purchase a damaged item; or the person does not realize the extent of wear, stains or tears in a textile. It depends on what anyone is willing to accept. Very few old quilts or embroidered linens that have been used are “perfect,” especially if they have been washed. For example, if one does not know how to properly press an appliquéd dishtowel, the design can end up being “mashed” beyond revival.

Whenever we collect an object “out of context,” we will never know who made it or why or how it came to be abused or re-purposed for some reason other than its original intent. Families are notorious for not appreciating the work of mothers or grandmothers. Handiwork is just something they “do” – a habit akin to having a disease or something. It is only when the maker of objects has passed to the great unknown that their work might be appreciated. Alternately, it is thrown to the dogs (literally, in some cases). More than once, I’ve had a family member demand the “return” a textile that they sold off in an estate liquidation or otherwise allowed to pass from their hands. It has suddenly become “val-u-able,” meaning that the object must have value if I’ve taken the time to research it, write about it, photograph it, and publish it! Nothin’ doin’. After all that hard work, the object is “mine.” After all, no one gave it to me!

People are funny, that I know. I am a great observer of human behavior and the absurdity of thinking that occurs is always beyond my wild imagination. At the very least, it is all so amusing… to a degree. Somehow, I am less cheerful whenever I come across an abused dog, cat or quilt. Just sayin’…

Pat

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