Quilters and Butter

What do those two things have in common? Read on...

First of all, I drove Mama to the doctor yesterday (Tuesday). She got a great checkup and the doctor gave her permission to drive! Hallelujah!!! Today, she went to the dollar store AND to the senior diner to eat. ;o)

Last week, I contacted some quilters in the Tyler area. We met as a result of Cyber Friends Quilt Guild...an internet guild. For several years we met in Tyler at Thanksgiving and quilters came from all over the United States and even Canada! Those of us in East Texas met at different times throughout the year and became widely known as the East Texas Wildbunch...a title we are extremely proud of. We meet at the Tyler Quilt Show every spring, at LQSs (local quilt shops), and just to eat. Once, there was the red-headed waiter at a restaurant on McCann Road in Longview...sorry...that is a different story. ;o) Ahem...some things truly must remain a secret.

I really enjoyed seeing Linda and Kathy at a Mexican restaurant (we generally meet and eat) but was disappointed that Judy was not feeling well. Warning...I will be back in Tyler in six weeks!

Time for the butter story. Below is an actual record of e-mails that were flying back and forth in preparation for our Thanksgiving feast in Tyler in 2005.

This started while deciding what time we should all start getting into Tyler for our Quilt Guild Thanksgiving lunch. I said I needed a reason to be there at 10 a.m. so that Sam, my husband, would agree to arriving there that early. Judy said that I could unwrap the butter and open the door. I replied back with a "Great, then I would be qualified to be a greeter at Wal-Mart"…it went downhill from there…

JANET/SPOTTED COW
Sherry, I wouldn't count on getting a job at Wal Mart, they only hire people with NO experience, that's why they can never answer your questions.

Also, there is a correct way and an incorrect way to open butter stix. You may want to practice some before you get there Saturday.

　Correct way to open butter stix:
1. open little flaps on left side of wrapped stick
2. open little flaps on right side of wrapped stix
3. carefully lift long edge of paper, pulling gently till it lifts off of stick
4. place saucer under the partly unwrapped stick, then holding paper only, let butter slide off of wrapper onto the saucer.
5. never touch bare butter with fingers.

　Incorrect way to unwrap butter:
1. grab stix of butter and squeeze till end flaps pop open
2. then grab long edge of wrapper and jerk till butter is unwrapped and falls on counter top or floor.
3. snatch up butter stix and slap down on saucer and place on table.
4. don't worry about hand and finger prints, they will slice off when used.
　Janet

Kathy/QUILT OBSESSION
Yes, Sherry, I think it would! Any experience you can gain during the process of opening the butter, could surely help, and I can't see that it would hurt at all! LOL　 You just never know when those skills would be needed. LOL
　
Kathy/QUILT OBSESSION:
6.　 No cussing if the flaps are difficult to open, or if the butter doesn't want to slide off the paper, or if the butter falls on the floor during the "sliding" process!
　
JANET/SPOTTEDCOW
7. put tape over mouth if #6 happens
　
SHERRY/KEEPYOUINSTITCHES
Okay, so I'm over qualified for Wal-Mart.　 I was truly looking forward to working there when I grow up.　 In the meantime, I've been practicing with the butter.　 I bought a pound of butter, and really messed up, so had to go back to the store for more.

　First of all, I bought margarine to practice with - it's cheaper you know.　 However, it just doesn't sliiiidddde off the paper correctly.　 And, once...or twice...or - well, you get the idea...I licked my fingers.　 YUCK!　 People use that stuff??!!　 Well, I digress.

I couldn't get the butter to sliiiidddde off the wrapper either, so I thought maybe it was too cold.　 I put it in the microwave for JUST 10 seconds.　 Took a whole roll of paper towels to clean the microwave.　
Stick #2, after tearing the flaps off, and peeling the edge of the paper, I'm standing there with the butter just dangling.　 So, I gave it a flip - just a little flip...went straight in the garbage disposal.
With stick #3, I thought...well, I can't write what I actually thought first.　 Secondly, I thought "Spatula."　 By this time, I've got the hang of opening the little bitty tiny flaps and carefully - oops, itty bitty fingerprint - lifting the edge of the paper (butter under my fingernail).　 I take the edge of the spatula and start to gently push the stick of butter off the paper when Sam came up behind me and asks "Hey, what are you doing?"　 We both looked up.　 And there it was, stuck on the ceiling.　 We haven't gotten all of the spackle picked out of it yet.　 We may just use that stick for popcorn - that'll explain the crunchies...
So, Sam took stick #4 and tore the flaps, ripped open the wrapper, picked the butter up with HIS HAND, plopped it on the plate and said, "What's so hard about that?!"
I have a headache.　 I'm going to bed.　 Might as well, I'm out of butter.　 I've got it on my grocery list though and as soon as I get over this migraine, I'll go to the store and buy more to practice with.
Hey!　 Great idea.　 My pineapple pound cake recipe calls for butter...would y'all notice if there was a bit of crunchy in there with the pineeeeeeeeeeapppppppppppppllllllllllleeeeeeeeee???????????　 Oops, still had a bit of butter on my hand.
　Oh, yeah, I've got to put tape on my grocery list too.
　PS - Janet, cute puppies!　 Do they like butter?
　
Janet/Spotted Cow
Now look Sherry, you have to learn how to do this, it's not that hard. First of all, you have to buy very expensive butter, try a shop that carries imported butter. The best kind to buy is the kind that had the 22 carat gold writing on it. I'm sure you've seen it, it's right　between the Philadelphia Cream Cheese with the inlaid diamond wrapper and and the cottage cheese that has each curd dipped in Mother of Pearl.
You cannot tear the ends off, treat them like small delicate half square triangles, gently lift and fold them back out of the way. If you are having problems with "butter under the fingernails," then you have purchased cheap butter. Real butter does not get under your fingernails; it has more class than that!　 Also, expensive butter slides right off the paper with out any problems.
I do understand that you have be allotted a very prestigious job and after re-reading your last reply, I have come to the conclusion that maybe we have given you a job beyond your capabilities. So, perhaps you should take the job of replacing the empty toilet paper rolls. Of course you do understand these rolls are not to be confused with the dinner rolls, don't you?
One is made of paper, the other made of dough. But the most important difference between them is that one is quilted and one is not!　 You will be handling the one that has been quilted. When not actively busy replacing rolls, you can count how many stitches to the inch the TP has been quilted.
Also, warning to all diners, do not eat anything that Sherry says she added butter and nuts to, remember the spackled ceiling at her home!
Hugs
Janet
　
Kathy/Quilt Obsession
You know Sherry, I hate to say this, but there seems to be an opening at the Thanksgiving dinner for a butter opener, just doesn't seem like you're qualified for this position! LOL If you didn't get the hang of it after wasting all that butter.....er margarine, I don't think there's a chance of you catching on! LOL
　
Sherry/KeepYouInStitches
I've been practicing - again...what's this springy thing inside the toilet paper holder do-hicky? What am I supposed to do with it.
　BE NICE!!!

Janet/Spotted Cow
WELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!　 Get the picture?
Kim, can you unwrap butter?
lol
Hugs
Janet
　
Kim/kfb
Yes Janet, I believe I can open the butter, LOL　 Don't worry Sherry, I'm sure we can find something you can do to stay busy. Maybe you can just mingle with the guests, I think you've worked hard enough already. Yep, mingling should be just perfect!
　Janet, you forgot to tell her that the toilet paper must unroll from the top.... I better keep my mouth shut or that will be my job! LOL

Janet
Well, after greater consideration, do you think maybe you could just handle opening and closing the door for people?
Of course, I am sure you do realize they have to either be entering or exiting　 when you open the door?

Sherry/KYIS
Does the door open in or out?　 I need to start practicing!

Janet
IN !!!!!　 But remember, you have to stay out of the door way, yourself!
　
Sherry/KYIS
The Cranberry Sparkle is in the refrigerator jelling...the Pineapple Pound Cake is on the counter cooling.　 (I strained the butter to get the spackle out of it.)
You have no idea how hard it was to work in the kitchen today.　 You see, I have this big open gashing wound on my hand.　 I decided that I was going to perfect opening butter.　 Nothing I have tried up to this point had worked in a manner that I thought would please you-know-who.　 I'm so afraid to even mention her name.　 I might start sobbing hysterically again.　 Sam had to shove a couple of valium down my throat earlier today.　　She will remain nameless so I don't get upset again!

　
　
JANET!!
　
　
　
　
　
I'm sorry.　 I had to go take another nap.　
This morning　I decided to make the prettiest stick of butter anyone has ever seen.　 I took this really sharp knife.　 I got it out of the locked knife drawer which Sam accidentally left unlocked.　 I got the best wooden cutting board I have in my kitchen - one of those maple boards that has the drip tray around it.　 Really pretty.　 Sam gave it to me for Christmas one year.　 That was the year he took the knives away.　Oops.　 Digressing again.　 (I like that word.)　
So, I took out the butter that I put in the freezer earlier　to get it really, really cold.　 Laid it on the cutting board.　 Held it perfectly still.　 Took the knife and heated it.　 And started to slice the paper off the stick of butter.　 The first side of the paper came off so nicely.　 You should see it.　 So smooth it almost has a reflection.　 I turned the stick of butter over to the next side.　 Held it securely.　 Heated the knife again.　 Started the next slice.　 Forgot to move my finger.　 Fortunately I didn't cut it too deep.　
Oh, don't worry, remember I said I used the cutting board with the drip tray around it.　 So, the kitchen wasn't in a mess.　
But I don't know what happened to Sam.　 He asked me what did I think I was trying to prove.　 I just started screaming "JANET!　 JANET!　 JANET!"　 over and over again.　 I have a wonderfully understanding husband.　 Without even hitting me, I realized I was on the floor with him sitting on top of me　shoving those two valium down my throat.　 He's such a sweetheart.　 But he made me throw the butter away too. He said, "NO!　 We can't just wash it off!!"
Sigh.
For those of you who haven't met me yet,　I'll be at the door to greet you.　 Please don't get your feelings hurt if I can't shake your hand.
Hugs and smiles!!
Sherry
　
Cow woman
Oh My gosh, Sherry!!!　 I am so sorry someone has upset you so much that you can't even say her name. You want me to slap her for you??　 Huh!　 I will, you know. And listen, you should never let anyone upset you so much that you slash your wrist, ut oh, I mean hand!　 They're just not worth it. I am sure who ever that person is, will be nicer to you tomorrow when she sees you and what a nice job you have done with the butter!
Hugs
Janet

Sherry/KYIS
Did you scroll all the way down?

Cow
ME !!!!　 You Were Talking about ME!!!!!!!! You must be hallucinating, to many xanax's, oh, I'm sorry that was Valium, wasn't it? ()
　Ladies and DH, we all know that Sherry has been heavily medicated, (see previous emails for dosage), so if you walk up to the door and she shuts it in your face, just remember, she's not responsible for her actions. Someone will get her DH, Dr. Sam, to take care of her. lol
See ya tomorrow
Hugs
Janet

And that, my readers is the end of the e-mails. But not the end of the story. While Janet/SpottedCow/Cow Woman/and just plain old Cow was instructing me in the fine art of opening butter, another quilter took photos for evidence...I mean posterity. She even labeled the photos:

Here are those wonderful women...some who love me and some who manage to tolerate me. ;o)

Another Story Published!

A local monthly newspaper-type magazine (does that make sense?) recently published one of my short stories. I sent them the three-part story I posted here in January of this year. For some reason, he picked only the center part to print! Beats me as to why...but it gives me another publishing credit!

I was in the library working when one of the members of our Friends group came in grinning from ear to ear. I didn't even know the story was going to be published - arrangements were made through NETWO (Northeast Texas Writer's Organization www.netwo.org). When Bobbie told me, you could've knocked me over with a feather. Later that day, another friend called and was so excited for me. I was walking on cloud nine.

OH! Almost forgot - Northeast Texas Journal out of Mt. Pleasant, Texas. Unfortunately, they don't have a website or I would post it!

The Anthology is Here!

Yeah!!!! You can order your copy here:



http://www.netwo.org/



Just scroll down.



Here's what the cover looks like.

Part 3 - Read January 8, then January 26 before this

If You Can’t Beat ‘Em…

My husband moved back home. I proved to him that I can make money with my hobby while his hobby just throws money in a hole filled with water.

I stopped at the LQS (local quilt shop) after he’d been gone four weeks – the second time he moved out. Wait a minute! I didn’t stop to buy anything! I stopped to touch the fabric and feel the fabric and smell the fabric. I’d been going through withdrawals because I hadn’t had enough money to buy fabric for several weeks.

One of the women who works there asked me what I’d been working on lately. I pulled out my photographs. Yes! I carry photographs of my WIPs (works in progress). You never know when someone might want to look at them. The owner of the shop asked to see them. She fell in love with the Grandmother’s Flower Garden that I intended to use for a roof quilt. I had enough hexagons pieced to make two queen-size quilts. To make a long story short, she asked me if I’d be interested in selling them. She had a non-quilting customer who was building a farmhouse. One of the guestrooms was going to have two queen-size beds in it and she wanted two matching quilts.

I hadn’t thought about selling my quilts, but I told her sure, to go ahead and call her customer and we’d set up a date for me to bring the quilts to the shop so that she could see them. Long story short – she fell in love with the quilts and paid…are you ready? She paid me $3,000 for each quilt! She paid that much because both were hand-pieced and hand-quilted. Then she wanted to know what else I had.

I cut the kids’ car covers down, and she bought the quilts with matching pillow shams and valances for her grandchildren. Remember the boat cover I made out of old blue jeans? I took it apart and made four quilts out of it. She didn’t buy them, but she called some of her friends. I sold all four of them and have orders for two more.

I’ve been selling tablerunner and placemat sets some of which have matching potholders, as well as purses, totes, and quilted jackets. Most of that stuff I made a while back and never had used any of them.

My husband eventually called me, and we met for lunch. He was a real big spender…we met at a hamburger joint. He did offer me some money to buy groceries though. I told him, "No thank you." He looked surprised and asked if I’d gone to work. I just smiled. He asked if I’d robbed a bank. I let him sweat for a little while but I finally told him that I was selling quilts.

The kids were down to just a couple of quilts each and I had sold all but one of the quilts I’d made for our bed. There weren’t but two quilts left hanging on the walls in the house. All the quilted window shades were purchased by a woman who hung them on her basement walls to make it look as if she had windows.

He said I probably didn’t even cover the purchase price of my materials much less a fraction of my labor. I pulled out my checkbook and showed it to him. His bottom jaw dropped. When he recovered, he finally asked about my fabric stash. I smiled when I told him that I had been working on it. With him gone, I took over the garage. The kids helped me clean it out. With a fresh coat of paint, a big walk-in closet filled with shelves for my stash, books, and patterns, and a table for my machines, a cutting table, and an ironing table…my studio was set up. One wall had been set up for a design wall. He asked to see it.

When we got to the house and he walked into the old garage, his jaw dropped again. "Where? What? How?" He asked as he looked around the room.

I just smiled.

He walked over to the longarm quilter and asked where it had come from.

I just put my hands on my hips and smiled.

He wanted to know how it worked. Since I had a quilt in the frame, I showed him. He wanted to give it a try so I moved him down to the end where there was some cotton batting showing. It had some of the backing behind it, so I just sprayed a piece of fabric with some quilt basting spray and stuck it to the cotton.

He had a blast. I have to admit that he was pretty good. I let him work on the quilt. He finished it that night, but it had gotten pretty late so he asked if he could stay. I let him.

We have a booming business now.

Our daughter, who earned an art degree, is our pattern designer. She comes up with some new funky stuff as well as puts together some wonderful fabric combinations for traditional designs. She also designs most of our quilting patterns.

The oldest son is our business manager. He handles the advertising, business contacts, and incoming orders for not only our completed quilts but also for patterns his sister designs. We have such a huge volume of business and he keeps us on our toes.

Our youngest son is our computer guru. He built and maintains our website. He also takes the new designs to draft the patterns on the computer and prints them so that they can be sold.

My husband quit his job, and sold his boat. He invested money in the family business. He is a genius at the longarm quilter and has even won awards at some of the most prestigious quilt shows in the country and around the world.

We all take turns making the quilt tops. The kids have all learned to piece on the machine and have surpassed my expectations. Their points are actually pointed and all the seams intersect at exactly the right spot.

And me? My official title is "Purchasing Agent." In other words, I feed my habit. I get to visit fabric suppliers and buy FABRIC! You should see my stash now!

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.
This story is copyrighted ©
No part of this shall be printed or reproduced without the written permission of Sherry Ray.

Part 2 - Read January 8 First

Confessions of a Quiltaholic

After only two weeks in the apartment, my husband moved back home. He said he missed my cooking, which is really a surprise because I haven’t cooked in ages…except for the time I toasted the bread before making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Is that considered ‘home cooking’?

He wanted us to go to a marriage counselor, but all I could think about was how much fabric I could buy with all that money. Of course, I didn’t tell him that! I asked him if there wasn’t something else I could do. Two days later he handed me a piece of paper with the date and time of a Quilter’s Anonymous meeting. Can you believe it? After the fiasco at the Fabric Hoarders Anonymous meeting he forced me to attend last month. Go figure.

He left me with no choice so I had to agree to attend. Thankfully it was in the next town. But still, I was afraid I would see someone from the FHA meeting. You all know that fabric "collecting" and quilting go hand-in-hand.

When I walked into the meeting room, I kept my coat and sunglasses on. I wanted to make sure no one recognized me. I looked around, but with the sunglasses on, it was kind of hard to see faces. I found a place to sit. They had the heat on in the building, and it sure was hot. I didn’t want to "blow my cover," so I kept my coat on.

Just like at the other meeting, people were standing up talking about their addiction. I don’t understand it. If it is something you truly enjoy, why is it called an addiction? But if this is what it’s going to take to save my marriage…a woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do.

As the testimonials made their way around the room, I felt eyes upon me. I stood and said, "My name is Sher…" I cleared my throat. "My name is Cherie McRae, and I am a quiltaholic." Little beads of perspiration were starting to form on my forehead and my upper lip.

The woman sitting beside me said, "Honey, don’t be so nervous. We’ve all been there."

I nodded at her and thought, ‘Another do-gooder.’ But I continued. "It started out innocently enough with potholders and throw pillows."

I heard several people say, "Me too."

"Then I made a baby quilt for my sister’s baby. Of course, after that I had to make one for my brother’s baby." I wiped the sweat off my forehead with my hand.

Several women were nodding.

I heard one of the women beside me say, "She must be going through the change."

"I joined several swaps, and I had all those blocks so I made a quilt for my bed. And two quilts for my sons. And a quilt for my daughter. And a quilt for my mother. And…and that was just from the swaps." Sweat was pouring off my face. A woman behind me handed me a tissue…I needed a bath towel.

"I even cut up fabric in my stash."

I heard a gasp from in front of me.

"Yes, it was hard to do, but I used fabric in my stash and made another quilt for my bed. Actually, I now have six quilts for my bed. My sons have five quilts each. My daughter only has three so I really need to make her…"

The woman at the head table started shaking her head ‘no.’ I peered sideways around the edge of my sunglasses and almost fainted. She was the same woman who was at the head table at the FHA meeting.

"Well, maybe my sons can give her one of theirs."

I heard someone say, "Her poor daughter is getting hand-me-down quilts."

I could feel the perspiration rolling down between my shoulder blades. I wiped my forehead and blotted by upper lip with the already sopping wet tissue.

"I’ve made bed quilts, wall quilts, and lap quilts. I’ve made throw quilts and dog quilts. I’ve even made quilted window covers. The good thing about all this quilting is that the walls and windows have so many quilts on them that our electricity bill has dropped tremendously. It doesn’t take as much energy to heat and cool the house as it did before. It’s just sort of dark in the house because the windows are covered with those quilted window shades." I started fanning myself with my hand. A woman behind me pulled one of those cardboard funeral parlor fans out of her purse and handed to me. I thought I saw a quilt block in her purse. She must be a closet quilter.

"I’ve made quilted clothes and quilted purses and totes. My daughter didn’t mind too much, but my oldest son said the kids at school made fun of his quilted gym shorts. My husband wasn’t too pleased with his quilted undershorts."

Several people gasped.

"Could someone turn the heat down please?" I asked politely.

Someone went over to the thermostat and checked it.

"I went to a thrift shop and found blue jeans for a dollar a pair. I bought thirty pairs the first time and cut them up to make a rag quilt. Later, I bought twenty pairs and cut them up to add to the first quilt. Then, I went back and bought thirty-five more pairs and cut them up. I added them to the same quilt. My husband wasn’t the least bit pleased about his new boat cover."

"Ingrate," was uttered from the front row.

A woman handed me a roll of paper towels that she snitched from the restroom. I sopped my face and my neck.

"I started thinking about all this quilting and how the quilts on the walls and windows helped with the insulation and lowered our electric bills, so I started making a roof quilt."

Several jaws fell open with wonder. I could tell that they wished they’d thought about that!

"I didn’t want to do anything elaborate for a roof quilt. I thought a simple Grandmother’s Flower Garden would do." I started swaying. "Would someone please turn the heat off?" I begged.

The person who checked it earlier said, "The air conditioner is on. You need to take your coat off."

I clutched my coat around me and shook my head. "I just kept on making quilts and quilted clothes. I made placemats and tablerunners. My husband just doesn’t appreciate my hobby at all. Do I ever say a word to him about his fishing? Noooo. Why can’t he just go fishing and leave me and my quilting alone? Besides, I made some quilted reel holders that slip over his rod and keep his expensive reels from getting scratched. He said one of his fishing buddies wanted to know where he got them."

The women behind me whispered, "I wonder if she would share the pattern for the reel covers?"

I had sweated so much that my shoes were full and they were starting to squish.

"I personally liked his boat cover so much that I made a car cover for my car and a cover for his pickup too. The kids each have a car cover. My daughter’s is Sunbonnet Sue. The boys have Fishing Freddie and Overall Sam. My car cover is the only one that gets used."

I started swaying. It was just so hot and nobody would turn the air conditioner down to a decent temperature. All of a sudden I started going down. Somebody shouted "Call an ambulance." Another shouted, "Call her husband."

I tried to holler, "NO!" But about that time everything just closed in on me.

When I regained consciousness, a bunch of mad people were standing over me. The EMT’s were just standing there staring down at me.

That woman at the front table was standing right beside me with her arms crossed over her chest. She was tapping her right foot on the floor right beside my face. And the things she was saying weren’t at all nice. She accused me of sabotaging her FHA meeting last month, and she said that I showed up at this QA meeting just to sabotage it.

I was a little cool so I reached to pull my coat up around me. It was gone. I sat up and looked around me. My clothes were in a pile…my coat…my quilted cardigan…my quilted vest…my quilted skirt…I looked down and thank heavens I still had on my quilted bra and quilted panties. For a minute there…

Then I saw my husband. He didn’t look very happy. I asked him what did he think he was looking at. Everybody in that room knew he was wearing quilted underwear!

He’s back in the apartment.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is a coincidence.
This story is copyrighted ©
No part of this shall be printed or reproduced without the written permission of Sherry Ray.

I Like to Write Too

Confessions of a Fabricaholic

I stood in the meeting room full of women. Oh, wait a minute; I remember a few men, too. Several women stood up and told the story of their addiction. Suddenly I felt eyes turned toward me. Slowly I rose to my feet.

"My name is Sherry Ray, and I am a fabricaholic." I started shaking.

The woman beside me said, "That’s alright, Sugar. You’re doing just fine. We’ve all been there." She patted my arm.

I pulled myself together. "I know that I am supposed to stand here and take full responsibility for my…for my, er, for my addiction." My hands started to shake. I reached in my pocket and felt the fat quarter I’d stashed there before the meeting and caressed it. Feeling the vibrations from the closely-woven, 100% cotton calico fabric made by Cranston Print Works Company in the U.S.A., I quickly calmed. "I confess that I have spent hard-earned money towards my addiction."

Those surrounding me went, "Tsk-tsk."

The kind lady beside me said, "Amen, sister."

I had the white FQ dotted with dainty pink rosebuds clenched tightly in my hand – inside my pocket of course. "My children have eaten cereal five days in a row. For supper."

I heard crying behind me.

"My husband has gone to a cold lonely bed several nights in a row."

A moan erupted from one of the men.

"I confess that not all of the grocery bags I brought in the house really had groceries in them."

"Oh-no" came from across the room.

"I have hidden fabric not only in boxes under my bed, but between the mattress and box springs in my bedroom." I ducked my head. "And in my children’s rooms."

A gasp from the right side of the room escaped from the lips of one of the women.

"The trunk of my car is full of fabric. I don’t even have a spare tire any more. I admit that I sold it to buy more fabric and stashed it in the spare tire well under the mat in the trunk." My hand smoothed the FQ in my pocket. I wished I’d brought the pink and green coordinating print with me.

A woman in the front row on the left jumped up and ran from the room.

"I have yards and yards of fabric hidden behind the linens in the linen closet."

I noticed one woman taking notes.

"Last month I made three long skirts. I don’t intend to wear them. I modeled them for my husband then hung them in the closet until I’m ready to cut them up for quilts. Then I can brag about how I’m recycling fabric."

Two women were now taking notes.

"I have fabric hanging under the quilts that are hanging on quilt racks."

The woman who ran out after I mentioned stashing fabric in my spare tire well came back in dusting her hands off. She had a black mark smeared on her forehead.

"I climbed up in the attic a couple of months ago and found the ice chests my husband stored up there for the winter. They are full of fabric now. I don’t know what I’m going to do with it when he starts back fishing in the spring." The FQ in my pocket was starting to hum beneath my fingertips.

Several people were rapidly scribbling by now.

"My husband built cabinets in the storage building for vegetables I can out of our garden. I don’t can."

The woman in charge started banging on the table and asked me to sit down. Several people shushed her.

"I don’t even freeze the vegetables. After my husband goes to work, I take them to the farmer’s market in town and sell them. I use the money to buy more fabric. Besides, there’s no room in the freezer. It’s full of fabric."

Half the people in the room were writing like the world was coming to an end. The rest of them were begging for a pen or a pencil and some paper.

"I bought some of those space bags that you put stuff in and hook up to your vacuum cleaner and it sucks all the air out. You’d be amazed at how much material you can hide under the couch cushions when you do that."

The woman in charge of the meeting couldn’t find a pen. She pulled her lipstick out of her purse and started taking notes.

"I smooth out lengths of fabric and hang it on hangers and then hang my jeans and slacks over them. You can’t see the fabric. I even gained weight just so the jeans would be bigger and cover more of the fabric."

Everyone in the place was writing and…a woman wearing a pink blouse was actually drooling.

"I bought one of those blankets you wrap around your hot water heater to keep the water hot enough so that it wouldn’t use as much electricity. But first, I wrapped the heater with fabric."

My hand grasped the FQ. I needed to see it. I forgot and pulled it out of my pocket. Remember that real nice lady sitting beside me? She tried to take it away. I hung on for dear life, but one of those nosy old women behind me got hold of a corner. But that woman and me, well we got it away from her pronto. Somebody tripped me, and I fell flat of my back on the floor. That hussy was on top of me. We looked like we were sitting on a seesaw with the FQ going back and forth and back and forth. I felt it start to tear.

"No!" I shouted as I saw it rip in half. When it finally split all the way, I pulled back so hard that I hit myself in the eye. I clenched my fist around my fat eighth and held it close to my body the way I’ve seen football players do when they get the ball and start running for the goal line. I headed for the door. Those men that were at the meeting…were they ever fast, but I beat them. I felt one of them grab at my blouse but I rolled and pulled loose. I saw one of the football players on TV do that too.

I ran to my car, got in, and locked the doors. It was nearly a riot. Somebody must have called 911, because I heard sirens. When everybody turned to look at the red and blue lights coming into the parking lot, I was able to make my getaway.

My husband was so upset when I got home. He told me that he’d gotten a phone call about the near riot at the meeting place. He gave me an ultimatum. I either had to get rid of the fabric or he was going to leave.

And that’s how I got kicked out of FHA (Fabric Hoarders Anonymous), got a black eye, and my husband has an apartment…he forgot about his ice chests in the attic.

This is a work of fiction. Resemblance to any person living or dead is purely a coincidence. This story is copyrighted ©
No part of this shall be printed or reproduced without the written permission of Sherry Ray.

I am going to be published!

I am so excited! I had a short story chosen to be published in an upcoming anthology by a local writers group. I'll let you know when/where/what. If you buy a copy of the book, I'll autograph it for you!