My stash of scrap fabric is overwhelmingly full. It's overflowing and piling quite high that I'm surprised the fabrics haven't fallen over. But what does one do when quilting is practically a foreign word to this seamstress? I even found a bag of organic cotton batting in the closet.
Cutting a few strips of some fabrics near the top of the pile, I cut 8 uniform ones and sewed four together making two squares. I used these as a pattern to cut out square pieces from some of that batting. Using the old standby of "right sides together," a few stitches, turning it right side out all I had to do was some top stitching and some fake "quilting lines," and out came a pot holder.
It's not perfect. But I'm not worried. I mean, when was the last time you looked at your neighbors potholder to see how perfect it was?
Exactly my point.
I may make up a few more of these to take with me this fall when I set up housekeeping with a few of my college friends. They're easy and simple to make on a rainy morning, and not to mention useful.
The rain is gone and the first few lines of William Wordsworth's "Resolution and Independence" befit the afternoon:
There was a roaring in the wind all night;
The rain came heavily and fell in floods;
But now the sun is rising calm and bright;
The birds are singing in the distant woods;
Over his own sweet voice the Stock-dove broods;
The Jay makes answer as the Magpie chatters;
And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters.
All things that love the sun are out of doors;
The sky rejoices in the morning's birth;
The grass is bright with rain-drops;--on the moors
The hare is running races in her mirth;
And with her feet she from the plashy earth
Raises a mist, that, glittering in the sun,
Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.
The rain came heavily and fell in floods;
But now the sun is rising calm and bright;
The birds are singing in the distant woods;
Over his own sweet voice the Stock-dove broods;
The Jay makes answer as the Magpie chatters;
And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters.
All things that love the sun are out of doors;
The sky rejoices in the morning's birth;
The grass is bright with rain-drops;--on the moors
The hare is running races in her mirth;
And with her feet she from the plashy earth
Raises a mist, that, glittering in the sun,
Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.
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