Over the past couple of years, the quilt has been snuggled under in cold weather (basting pins and all), put away in warm, pulled out to be un-basted, packed away and moved to storage. Then it was relegated to a drawer of unfinished projects in the new place. To say that I "found" or "re-discovered" it is a bit misleading, as it was never lost.
The quilt has been like an old friend. There when we needed it, and even when we didn't. It sat patiently while we played with fun, new fabric. Generously lent us her basting pins while we worked on other quilts. Quietly waited until we needed her again. I decided it was time to give this quilt its due and finish it.
And so I basted the quilt last week, breaking blood vessels in my thumb, index and middle fingers in the process. My fingers were tender, and you could actually see scores of little red pinpricks under the skin of my fingertips.
Despite the minor injuries, a funny thing happened. As I was smoothing and pinning the quilt, I started to like it again. Touching the fabric brought back memories of making the blocks with Martina, who was seven years old at the time. She pressed, while I cut and pieced. Seeing the individual prints up close reminded me why we chose the fabric in the first place. By the time I finished basting, I loved the quilt again.
I started quilting the Old Girl (which is what my family affectinately calls it) last night. Simple straight line quilting on either side of the row and column seams. I'm hoping to finish by the weekend (ha!).