got the quilting bug from my grandmother," he said. "God rest her soul. I sleep under the quilt she made me every night."
He looked around the room. All eyes were on him now, his charms on display. The entire room sighed when he finished by saying he wanted to make a quilt in her memory. I saw one women wipe away a tear.
Ina started her lecture, flipping over her standing chart to show us the next step. "This week," she announced, "we are strip piecing.
"What time does the stripper arrive?" I shouted, getting a girly giggle from some of my classmates.
"Eight o'clock," Ina said without missing a beat.
She talked quickly, to forestall more wisecracking. "We will sew together long strips of fabric, and re-cut them to use in our blocks. That is the essence of strip piecing."
She held up the yellow-handled rotary cutter. "This is our friend."
She was talking to me. After finding a quilter dead from a cut inflicted by a blade like this six months ago, I'd avoided using the rotary cutter. But I needed to get comfortable with it in order to wait on my customers.
Ina rapped the podium for attention. "Now," she said, in her best Dr. Ruth imitation, "we are going to practice our stripping."
"Pick up your rotary cutter, and hold it like so." She was ignoring my silent pleas to stop channeling the German sex therapist. It was all part of her shtick. Poor Tim. Women's humor.
"You will notice the curve of the cutter," she said, moving her hand salaciously down the cutter. Everyone else laughed. I actually blushed. Tim's ears were turning red at the tips.
"Feel how nicely your hand fits. Now push the red button. You're ready for action."
The entire class picked up their cutters. After a nasty glance from Ina, I did, too. The plastic handle was cool, not at all sinister. I took a deep breath.
"Now lay your fabric out on the mat like this," Ina said, demonstrating.
I straightened my fabric, first creasing the fold and aligning the selvage edges. I smoothed and tugged, so the ends would meet. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ina stopping at each table, giving hints and reassurance. I picked up the ruler and laid it perpendicular to my fabric, lining up the edges with a line on the ruler.
Through the closed windows, I could hear voices in the alley. Must be Mrs. Unites' workers taking out the trash at the burrito shop.
"Are we supposed to cut a three-inch piece or two-and-one half?"
My tablemate was crowding my elbow, asking her question to me. Ina'd told us earlier that she wanted the students to address her with questions, not each other. According to her, that's how bad information got disseminated. But she was across the room showing Tim Shore the difference between his metal ruler and her plastic one. I checked the handout Ina had given us. I pointed at the line of text that called for two-and-one-half-inch strips.
"Thanks," she said. Moving away, she gave me space to cut. I waited until she was back at her own mat. I tried not to think about accidentally nicking her if she got close again. When I was sure she wasn't going to interrupt me again, I picked up my rotary cutter. I felt the heft in my hand and clicked open the safety catch several times. It snapped shut tightly. All I had to do was put the blade to the fabric and cut.
I took another deep breath.
The store phone rang. The ringer was off on the classroom extension, but I could hear the bell faintly through the wall of the classroom. I tried to find the two-and-one-half-inch mark on the ruler. The numbers swam in front of me. The phone rang again. And again. I couldn't find the right line. After the sixth ring, I left my table, leaving my fabric uncut on the mat. Ina caught my eye and shook her head. I ignored her and reached for the phone.
Ina got there first. She put her small fist over the receiver.
"Do not get that, Dewey."
"Vangie must be busy." The phone trilled. "Or not back from guild."
Ina rapped my forearm. "It's probably just another Halloween
He looked around the room. All eyes were on him now, his charms on display. The entire room sighed when he finished by saying he wanted to make a quilt in her memory. I saw one women wipe away a tear.
Ina started her lecture, flipping over her standing chart to show us the next step. "This week," she announced, "we are strip piecing.
"What time does the stripper arrive?" I shouted, getting a girly giggle from some of my classmates.
"Eight o'clock," Ina said without missing a beat.
She talked quickly, to forestall more wisecracking. "We will sew together long strips of fabric, and re-cut them to use in our blocks. That is the essence of strip piecing."
She held up the yellow-handled rotary cutter. "This is our friend."
She was talking to me. After finding a quilter dead from a cut inflicted by a blade like this six months ago, I'd avoided using the rotary cutter. But I needed to get comfortable with it in order to wait on my customers.
Ina rapped the podium for attention. "Now," she said, in her best Dr. Ruth imitation, "we are going to practice our stripping."
"Pick up your rotary cutter, and hold it like so." She was ignoring my silent pleas to stop channeling the German sex therapist. It was all part of her shtick. Poor Tim. Women's humor.
"You will notice the curve of the cutter," she said, moving her hand salaciously down the cutter. Everyone else laughed. I actually blushed. Tim's ears were turning red at the tips.
"Feel how nicely your hand fits. Now push the red button. You're ready for action."
The entire class picked up their cutters. After a nasty glance from Ina, I did, too. The plastic handle was cool, not at all sinister. I took a deep breath.
"Now lay your fabric out on the mat like this," Ina said, demonstrating.
I straightened my fabric, first creasing the fold and aligning the selvage edges. I smoothed and tugged, so the ends would meet. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ina stopping at each table, giving hints and reassurance. I picked up the ruler and laid it perpendicular to my fabric, lining up the edges with a line on the ruler.
Through the closed windows, I could hear voices in the alley. Must be Mrs. Unites' workers taking out the trash at the burrito shop.
"Are we supposed to cut a three-inch piece or two-and-one half?"
My tablemate was crowding my elbow, asking her question to me. Ina'd told us earlier that she wanted the students to address her with questions, not each other. According to her, that's how bad information got disseminated. But she was across the room showing Tim Shore the difference between his metal ruler and her plastic one. I checked the handout Ina had given us. I pointed at the line of text that called for two-and-one-half-inch strips.
"Thanks," she said. Moving away, she gave me space to cut. I waited until she was back at her own mat. I tried not to think about accidentally nicking her if she got close again. When I was sure she wasn't going to interrupt me again, I picked up my rotary cutter. I felt the heft in my hand and clicked open the safety catch several times. It snapped shut tightly. All I had to do was put the blade to the fabric and cut.
I took another deep breath.
The store phone rang. The ringer was off on the classroom extension, but I could hear the bell faintly through the wall of the classroom. I tried to find the two-and-one-half-inch mark on the ruler. The numbers swam in front of me. The phone rang again. And again. I couldn't find the right line. After the sixth ring, I left my table, leaving my fabric uncut on the mat. Ina caught my eye and shook her head. I ignored her and reached for the phone.
Ina got there first. She put her small fist over the receiver.
"Do not get that, Dewey."
"Vangie must be busy." The phone trilled. "Or not back from guild."
Ina rapped my forearm. "It's probably just another Halloween
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