Choice? What choice?

I just got asked, "What made you decide to start quilting?"

I don't know that I ever consciously "decided." It would be more accurate to say I grew up this way. I can remember sitting on my parent's bed while my mom sewed dresses and Halloween costumes for my brother and me, and being given fabric scraps to play with, sewing them by hand into strange conglomerations and sometimes very bizarre dolls. I can remember a trip to Conner Prairie in elementary school where I bought a small patchwork kit, taking it home and having my 10" x 12" pillow done by the next day (and even then thinking it was easy). So was there a distinct beginning? Not that I can pinpoint, though that first kit is the easiest way to explain it to others. I was 8, and found something I enjoyed as much as writing animal reports. Neither of these activities made me popular, so I let the sewing slide for awhile. But I never gave it up-- I just didn't tell people. In college, I got teased for knitting in my first dorm, and for any crafting. A year later I was selling handmade totes to friends that I pieced out of fabric scraps.

And now here I am. I was given a great opportunity last year to focus on what makes me happy. This was the perfect therapy after losing my dad. I mainly worked on hand-quilting some projects during the thick of the spring semester, but as soon as classes ended, I've been on my machine almost every day.

I never said, "I'm eight years old, and I love sewing." I have been a crafty girl since my mom first trusted me with scissors. I find peace in fabric, in the colors and textures and the challenges I create, in the constant learning process, the daily discovery of the art and of myself. Sewing and quilting are like meditation for me somedays, but also like the greatest theme park on earth. That old thread covered chair is My Happy Place.