I’m not one to accumulate UFO’s. I’m way too addicted to the satisfaction that I feel when I actually complete a quilt. Quilter friends of mine have lots of UFO’s, due mainly I think, to the wonderful anticipation and excitement of always starting something new.

Now having said that, I have one BIG UFO that I can’t seem to shake! It gleefully stalks me from room to room in my home, as my sewing studio keeps being relocated. The latest incarnation of my studio is in our basement…I have much more space now and much better lighting – all the better to see my UFO mocking me from the confines of a large Tupperware container.

The genesis of my UFO came with extremely good intentions on my part. A quilt shop in Cochrane, Alberta was offering an exquisite bear-themed block of the month. Of course, the blocks were delightful and wonderful and I just had to enroll. So, I paid my money and every month a lovely packet of pattern and fabric arrived in my mailbox. I tore into each block of the month (for …. oh about eight months) and dutifully completed the bear appliques. I’m not at all sure what happened to make me stop constructing those blocks, but stop I did. Now, I’m left with eight lovely blocks and seven little packets of pattern and fabric.

There is something to be said about momentum….once it’s lost, it’s hard to regain. I take the completed blocks out of their Tupperware home every now and again. It’s a reminder, each and every time, that I must finish this project. It would make a child such a lovely charity quilt and for that reason alone, it’s more than worth the time and effort to finish it off. Wish me luck!

Infusing my heart and soul into creating a quilt for someone that I love, is my the recipe for creating the perfect quilt. Perfection is in the eye of the beholder, and sometimes the creator – it is never universal. Perfection is the “idea” of a creation that fulfills the objective.

Years ago, I came across some stunning vintage fabric on eBay. As it was truly vintage, it was only 20 inches wide and was like an old English painting; delightfully portraying the utter sweetness and simplicity of life through a childs’ eyes. When the fabric arrived at my door, it looked even better than it had on my computer monitor, and I was thrilled to have it in my hands. I folded it and placed it in my stash, not having the vaguest idea of what it would be used for.

One day our beautiful granddaughter, Harlow was born. Once I saw her sweet little face, I instantly knew why I had purchased that fabric so long ago. It reminded me of her! Even though I hadn’t yet met her, my heart knew her. Harlow is a blessing beyond words, whose only mission in life is to find joy and spread it around.

I made her a quilt featuring the vintage fabric; it’s uncomplicated and simple, like her. Soft pink and muted green cottons work in concert to complement the unmistakeable innocence of the vintage fabric. An embroidered “H” for Harlow confirms the quilt is hers, and pale pink flannel serves as the most comfy backing ever. No quilt was easier to make, yet it meant so much to me.

There are imperfections in Harlow’s quilt but I don’t see them. I just see the lovely perfection that is my granddaughter and delight in the way she snuggles under her quilt at nap time.

The sun shone in a way unusual for October. It was 1962 and low lying clouds filtered the rays of light into a hazy, suffocating veil. Indian summer had settled in; the warm breeze swirling around the few leaves that had fallen from the trees. An unfamiliar feeling of foreboding was in the air and Hillhurst Elementary School was buzzing.

Katie sat with her spine erect against the back of her wooden desk. Like the good little girl she was, her hands were folded and clasped before her, just as Miss Simpson had requested. All her books were put away in a neat and tidy pile. Katie’s gaze flashed around the classroom at the other 36 students. Were they scared? Did they understand what was happening? The principal’s voice, Mr. Dibble, blared heavy through the intercom, and landed with a jolt in Katie’s heart. In one beat, Mr. Dibble’s words turned Katie’s world upside down. “Children”, he proclaimed, “we are asking all of you to walk home for lunch today, but do not run”. “It is very important that you walk quickly, without stopping or speaking with anyone on the street”. “Do not linger at the playground or stop to pet a puppy”. “We want you all to walk home as quickly as you can and stay home with your family this afternoon”.

Katie felt her cheeks on fire; uncertainty pulsing through her body like a wave of nausea. She rushed to the back of her grade one classroom, put on her outdoor shoes and pink summery sweater and made her way out the back of the school, through the door marked “GIRLS”.

Cutting across the school yard, Katie heard the noon bells of St. Barnabas Church. Swallowing a sob, her small fists clenched tightly, she willed her legs to move forward. Past Riley Park and down 12th Street she put one foot in front of the other. There were no school patrols today to monitor the 5th Avenue crosswalk, but she waited for traffic to subside and away she went.

On the sidewalk by Brian’s Grocery, her Dad’s Ford country squire with the plastic seat covers pulled up beside her. He was smiling! Didn’t he know that something terrible was happening? Dad straining, leaned over and rolled down the passenger side window. “Katie”, he called “hop in”. “I’ll drive you the rest of the way home”. Hearing the strength in his voice, Katie could no longer hold back her tears and they spilled freely down her crimson cheeks. “Daddy, my principal told me I had to walk home by myself today”. “I can’t ride with you”.

Katie’s Dad knew something his young daughter did not. Thirteen days of confrontation between neighbouring United States and the Soviet Union was causing a ripple of panic and uncertainty throughout the Western world. Lives were at risk. Could the end result be a missile launched from Cuba?

Dad smiled at his earnest little girl’s face, her braids dangling down her back. “Don’t worry Katie”, he whispered so reassuringly, “I’ll see you at home”.

Waiting at the front door, Dad bear-hugged his girl and wiped the sadness from her face. “Come Katie”, he said, “let’s see what your Mom has made us for lunch”.