Budding Violinist

I'm doing my best to not go down the "holy hell what did we just do to permanently damage everyone's hearing" rabbit hole. I have ear plugs and headphones at the ready, just in case the rumors are true that it's really that bad.

But, in an autism home, we have that stuff at the ready anyway, because sometimes our hearing gets super sensitive. Usually it's before me or one of the boys gets sick, or if someone else has been yelling and melting and raging at me for hours, like he has been recently...since weeks before the start of the school year...because transition...and his twelfth birthday...and testosterone...sixth grade. The season is changing, the days are becoming shorter, and the air has grown invigoratingly brisk at our house....the Big-Leaf Maples are turning golden-orangey-brown, and the Honey Crisps are fresh and huge and crunchy and amazing...and with a little peanut butter...I SAID GODDAMN!!! 

I'm trying in earnest to let go of the fact that my younger son is merely nine. Not even 9-1/2. He doesn't know the formalities of a proper orchestra. I'm pretty sure he's not even aware that Classical Music is a genre. Or what a genre is.... Or that any form of music really existed before Elvis or the Beatles...or his personal favorite, Iron Maiden. He's not aware that a couple of hundred years before the Beatles were even born, people were composing and playing music in an entirely different way than they do today. I mean, seriously, the only reason they know the name Beethoven is because they've heard the Beatles version of "Roll Over Beethoven"...and yes, I know Chuck Berry did it first...but just roll with me here, you guys, mkay? And Mozart? Fuhgeddaboutit. The fact that the man who is probably the most famous classical music composer died at the young age of 35? My kid's head would explode.

Most days, my older son has a Beatles Bubble Bath Break: long hot soak in the tub, with the Beatles playing on the blue tooth speaker. During the summer, the bath usually occurred after lunch, for an hour or so. And now after school: first snack, then bath. What's your picture schedule say, Mr. Sixth Grade? You have Hapkido and can spend about 20 minutes in the tub today. First Beatles Bubble Bath Break, then Hapkido. I'm setting a timer on Alexa that says "GET OUT OF THE TUB!" in 20 minutes. He is capable of turning on the speaker and telling Alexa to shuffle the Beatles. It's good for him; gives him an opportunity to work on his annunciation. Also, he's completely capable of doing this all on his own. But, I draw the bath...and put in the goddamn bubbles. Because god knows that blue syrupy soapy shit would end up all over the goddamn walls, which would ultimately create more Bitch Work for me. You know, part of the problem with being a mom is our children have this attitude of "Someone will come along and clean this up!" and they run away beating each other like the monkeys that they are. Maybe I should give him a "how to draw your own goddamn bubble bath" lesson. He's probably capable of doing that on his own....

Up here on the North Olympic Peninsula, in my children's school district, they start teaching strings in fourth grade. And the music teachers are fucking serious about it. No fiddle farting around, if you will. They even sent home a letter saying, essentially, that if you snooze you loose and waiting till fifth or sixth grade isn't an option. It's now or never, kiddies. I know because the day the strings teacher introduced strings, my child told me about the letter, saying that is was on Gold Paper. He didn't know WTF was written in the letter. But, dammit it was on Gold Paper! I was told by my 9-year-old that he needed to go to the music store today. And that we needed to sign up for his music lessons today. And that waiting till tomorrow wasn't an option. I communicated to my son that until I read the letter on Gold Paper, and had more information on how much money all of this was going to cost, I was absolutely not going to take him and his brother to a music store right this second. Because it's a little more important to go home, get a Beatles Bubble Bath Break and some goddamn food and then go to Hapkido and get thrown around. I pay a monthly tuition for back up parenting, and we're not missing Hapkido, thank you. So, let's go home so I can read the Golden Letter and gather more information about Strings Night.

The 9-year-olds

I made arrangements with a good friend, who also has a 9-year-old boy, to go to dinner and then go to Strings Night. I think the woman from the music store thought my friend and I we were a married couple. Because my friend and I, and both 9-year-old boys, all have the same last name. As if all Andersons are related. The woman from the music store mixed up our contracts and put my friend's credit card number on my contract, too. So, to make sure that my friend wasn't paying for two violin rentals, I requested that the woman from the music store redo my contract. She became rather flustered, but agreed to redo the contract. We didn't say anything about our marital status. But we did provide different mailing addresses on each contract, just to really confuse the woman from the music store.

Anyway, on the one hand, I see the side of introducing strings early, because the sooner we can start band and orchestra education the better. But on the other hand, as a kid who started on viola in the sixth grade, switched to violin in Jr. High, and played violin all throughout High School, made some amazing friends by making music with them...really? Why are you preventing kids from starting strings in 5th or even 6th grade? What about us stragglers who need more time to think about making life-altering decisions, you guys?? But, ok, that was a long time ago, in a galaxy far far away.... do I really need to culturally reference that one, you guys? Ugh...here....

Fine.... 

Anyway...

So, I have an incredibly deep sense of gratitude for the people who play and teach Classical Music; especially those who teach the greenest, most freshly learning children. I'm the first to admit that teaching groups of fourth graders how to play a stringed instrument is not my my skill set. No, child you need to play between the fingerboard and the bridge. NOT between the bridge and the tailpiece. When you play between the bridge and the tailpiece...well, that's why it sounds like an animal dying, sweetie.

I am happy to step way the hell back and let the teacher instruct her selected area of study and expertise. I'm thrilled to buy the required book for $10. I even purchased a fold-up music stand because it was a reasonable price at $15. But, I'm not buying a shoulder rest for $25, because I know a trick for a chin rest that involves rolled up quilt batting and rubber bands, so we're gonna save a little money on that one, thank you very much. And, besides, if and when he decides to become the next Amadeus, then we can talk about the shoulder rest. He's already working on being the next Bruce Lee and Lionel Messi. And he's planning on winning all the Oscars.... So, let's take the Budding Violinist thing a little slowly...and methodically...if you will....

We are renting his instrument. Because we're not financially in a position to spend several hundred dollars on a new violin. Or even $100 on a used one. Because you're nine. And you've never played an instrument before, and I don't even know if you're going to enjoy playing, so I'm not down with spending a shit ton of money on this little adventure until I know you're gonna be into it for longer than five minutes. Seriously. Bitches. Also, I really like the fact that when we rent the violin, even though I told him to treat it like he'd treat Mrs. Ventura's Bokken, using the upmost respect and awareness, the fact remains that if he accidentally drops his violin and breaks it, or he uses the bow as a Bokken and it breaks, then it's not going to cost me a penny. Because a good friend and I took our 9-year-old boys to strings night and we signed up for a rental and have a contract. Just don't tell the music store if you use your bow as a Bokken. Actually, don't use your bow as a Bokken. Duh. It's not a weapon. Not everything is a weapon, son.

My son asked me to teach him to read music. Um...honey...I'd really love to help you with this...but it's been a really, REALLY long time since I've read music. I think it's best to let your teacher help you with this. Well...let's see...I graduated in 1990...and I was 17...and how old am I now? Yes...I turned 46 in November...so nearly thirty years since I've read music. Yes, 29 years. Thank you Junior Math Prof Rock Star. So, since your music teacher knows how to read music, she will teach you how to read music. #NotIt

But, please, don't call pizzicato "plucking." I'm gonna draw a line in the sand on that one. Seriously. I mean, I know they're fourth graders and you're trying to keep it simple. But really, in my experience, students, even young ones, are capable of meeting you where you set the bar. And, technically, you pluck a chicken. You pizzicato a violin. Or viola, cello, or bass. Also, while we're talking about this, you don't pluck your eyebrows; you tweeze your eyebrows. Just to clarify so that we're all reading the same sheet music, here.

And, I know you're following the curriculum from the book and that first you start with pizzicato, and that bow work doesn't even start until page 16. And I know that eventually, the bows are all going to flow in the same direction at the same time. However, I am curious to know when do you divide up first and second violins...? I haven't talked to my son about this yet because he'll do his best to be first chair, and he's only nine and certainly doesn't need that type of self-induced pressure. And how in the goddamn did I get to be 46?

Dad's Shirts

Dad's shirts arrived in the mail in a plain brown box in April 2017. Understandably, Mom needed to take her time to go through them; they were now incredibly special treasures, containing memories of times gone by and places they had traveled to together. She needed to process, in her own way, what it meant to pack up her deceased husband's shirts to send to me, with the plan being for me to cut some, possibly all, of these shirts up and then sew them back together as a memorial quilt. She didn't know which shirts I would end up working with when she bravely packed them up in Oklahoma, sealed the box and addressed it to my husband and me, and took them to have them shipped all the way up to Northwestern Washington.

Mom and I had many conversations about this project, prior to her shipping them up. I requested creative control, which Mom agreed to. However, she had one caveat: she needed the shirt that Dad had designed and made himself to be in the middle...

...because, obviously, Dad had an incredible sense of humor. And really, you guys, he made it. Because that's what he & Mom used to do for a living before they retired in 2013...about 6 months before Dad was diagnosed. They planned on spending their retirement traveling in their big and beautiful 5th wheel trailer.

My husband's Father was diagnosed with stage 4 prostate cancer in October 2013. And, basically, stage 4 cancer means you're in some serious shit. Like, you really don't EVER want to hear your doctor tell you that. You don't ever want to hear your husband's physician say to your husband, "You have stage 4 cancer." It's the worst of the worst...of the worst.

But Dad, just being Dad, did a bunch of his own research on his disease, he educated himself, and he found a drug study that he was able to participate in which helped to extend his life by about 18 months.

Dad ♡

When my father-in-law passed away in June of 2015, I was going through my own breast cancer chemotherapy treatments. Sometimes life is just fucked up like that. My husband did not attend this father's funeral, which was in Oklahoma. His father was a firm "no" on the topic.

Actually, it was more like an ABSOLUTELY NOT!

He did not expect his son to leave me alone with our two boys, who were 8 and 6 at the time, and home on summer break. Now would probably be a good time to mention that our oldest son has myriad neurological disorders and requires extra supports to get through the day. Because sometimes life is just fucked up like that.

Sorting out child care as a single parent going through chemo...? While I know that there are parents that do not have the choice, I am eternally grateful that my father-in-law was generous enough to not put me through that. I am thankful that he was not so selfish in his dying days that he put his son in a position to choose between staying in Northwestern Washington State with his family who was depending upon him like never before, and traveling to Oklahoma to attend his funeral. A dying father made a decision for his adult child; it was a tremendous gift.

What are ya gonna do?

We visited with him frequently via video chat. We saw him as often as we could all emotionally and physically manage. Being a cancer patient is exhausting. Caring for a cancer patient is taxing. Parenting a child with special needs is incredibly stressful. All of that combined? The amount of pressure we were all under is hard to describe...but at a certain point you have to just surrender that sometimes life happens big time for some families. What are ya gonna do?

While we all emotionally struggled with our own grief in our own way during his passing, we all ultimately respected Dad's dying wish. It was one less decision my husband and I had to make during an already life-altering time for each of us as individuals; for who we were as a couple; for what it means to be parents; and even as adult children, we needed Dad to make this decision...but we didn't know what we needed. Thanks, Dad. I love you.

We all grieve in our own way. There's no "right" or "wrong" to it. It's unique to each individual. So, it didn't surprise me that it took my mother-in-law to take nearly two years to send up the box of shirts. There were about two dozen in all. Not all of them were cotton. I was taught to quilt by old school quilters before my kids were born: cotton.

Cotton-poly blend...ehhh...not so much.

But those 100% cotton t-shirts with all the cool stuff Dad loved? Yup! Gimme those!

However, the box sat in the closet, sorry, Mom, for quite some time. My husband wasn't ready. I was not capable of going through the box myself; at the end of the day, it's his Dad, and he needs to go through it when he's ready. I gently encouraged him when it first arrived...and he pushed back. His own experience with cancer wasn't far enough behind him. His experience as my caregiver during my cancer wasn't far enough behind us. We became busy, as we all do, and the box sat in the closet. For a very, very long time...forgotten...seen occasionally...not quite ready...maybe it was used more than once to cover up a few Christmas gifts for the boys...I'm sure Dad was happy to oblige in a little conspiracy for the boys he loved so much....

Me, texting with my MIL

And then, out of the blue, one day in November 2018, Mom texted me and said, basically, "How's it coming with the quilt?"

I think the first thing I did was say, "Randy! Can you please get that box of your Dad's shirts outta the closet? I gotta get started on that t-shirt quilt for your Mom!"

And then I texted Mom back a few minutes later and said, "Oh, it's coming along...."

The one that got away

My husband opened the box, and he went through the shirts. He separated the t-shirts from the button down shirts. He decided to keep the short-sleeved button down shirts and give me the t-shirts for the quilt. There were a total of 10 t-shirts, however, 9 of them ended up going in the quilt. The last one my husband decided to keep for himself to possibly wear, because it's Batman. Old school Batman.


Now, making a t-shirt quilt is quite an involved process because t-shirts are made from pretty stretchy material...where quilting fabric is, comparatively, less forgiving. It's a tighter weave...and thicker. So you don't use quilting fabric in a wet t-shirt contest.

Also, t-shirt fabric can roll in on itself, and when you're sewing fabric together, you need flat edges...you don't need fabric rolling in on itself because that would make you so frustrated you'd end up throwing your goddam sewing machine through a fuckin' window. So to help keep your sanity from shattering like a pane of glass, you have to get this stuff called fusible interfacing. And this is totally worth it because without it, your t-shirts won't last as long, and quilts are made to be used for years, unlike wet t-shirts. So, the interfacing makes the t-shirt fabric stronger. Got it?

Back of the front of a shirt, with interfacing

It's a necessary step. It's a pain in the ass and it's hella time consuming, but it's not a negotiable thing. First you cut the t-shirts up the seam on each side, then you cut the sleeves at the shoulder...on the seams.

Make sure you check each sleeve because sometimes souvenir t-shirt designers think they are clever and put stuff on the sleeve and you gotta decide if you're gonna incorporate that into the quilt.

Then you gently cut the collar out of the shirt out. You have to be careful here, because some times there can be a design close to the neck, and you certainly don't want to go cutting someone's design. I mean, that's just rude.

Anyway then you take your ironing board and your iron and you have to press, not iron back and forth, but PRESS the fusible interfacing on to the inside of the front of the t-shirt. And you have to HOLD the iron on the fabric for about 10-15 seconds. And you have to have a towel or a cloth diaper or some bullshit piece of fabric between the interfacing and the
iron because you certainly don't have time to get the adhesive from the interfacing off of your iron....

Press the iron. Count to ten slowly. Move the iron. Press the iron. Count to ten slowly. Move the iron. Repeat. A lot. All over the shirt.

On the design wall

I did that for nine shirts. I made each block about 15 inches wide by 17 inches tall. I honored Mom's request that the white Guinea Pig High Powered Drug Control Testing Specimen t-shirt be in the middle. I made sure that the one shirt that had writing on the sleeve was added in. And then I played with different options on my design wall, which is really fancy...it's the underside of a cheap table cloth...the other side is vinyl. And you just put the shirts on the wall...no pins...nothing fancy...just run your hand over it to make it stick.

As I worked on this project in November, with the goal to get it to Mom by Christmas, my family slipped in and out of gastrointestinal illnesses that were going around in our community. Life was telling us to slow down in a way that it hadn't in a while...quilts can wait.

Double border

But we talked a lot about Dad...about Pop-pop...while I worked on this quilt. He was with us. Perhaps he wanted to spend Christmas with us, and that's why I didn't make my personal deadline. Sorry, Mom. But I know you get it better than my own parents do. Thank you for being who you are. 

In our conversations, I asked my husband what his Dad's favorite thing to do was. "Fish," was what #RandySaid

...and as a result, we chose to do a double border: a thin inner border of light blue for water, and a wider outer border full of fishing lures. It was one of those things that just came together.

In the process of sandwiching Dad's Shirts. 

The back of the quilt is also worth considering...and I tend to overthink things. Elvis fabric? They fell in love listening to The King. No. That didn't feel right. Too masculine. After all, it's technically for Mom. Green? Eh...it could work. Brown? Maybe. Purple...of course, because it's Mom's favorite color. But also because no matter what happened, she always had Dad's back. A deep royal purple was in order. The purple is for you, Mom. 

Then I had to sandwich it. No, for real, that's what it's called, you guys.

Basting the quilt

I don't have room in my home for a long-arm quilting machine. But I do have laminate flooring. So, I asked my family to move the dining room table, it was before lunch, and they were feeling really quite helpful throughout this particular project. Then I busted out the 2" wide masking tape, and got down on my hands and knees and taped the back of the quilt to the dining room floor, making sure it was rather taut, keeping the seam in the purple straight. There can be no wrinkles in the fabric.

Then I got the quilt batting and laid that on top of the back of the quilt. And it had to be smooth...no wrinkles. I use the long edge my 24" x 6" flat ruler to gently flatten the batting...kind of a push broom...for the smoothing process.

And then I laid out the quilt top. Again, smoothing it with the edge of the ruler.

And then, finally, I basted the quilt by pinning the shit out of it. I used my flat 24" x 6" ruler again, and safety-pinned all three layers together, in 4" increments, so it'll end up a gigantic grid. I do this so because the old school quilters said. Also, when I eventually untape and pick up the quilt sandwich, it will all stay together and nothing slides around.

The 12 year old sews

And that's sandwiching a quilt.

The final measurements of Dad's Shirts was about 58" wide by about 66" long, so the sandwiching process took a couple of hours of sitting and moving on the floor. It's very grounding, and I think about the type of stitching, or quilting I'm going to do, as I'm moving around and pinning.

And by the way, having quilting as a hobby...it's ain't for the inflexible. Quilting is rather physical. Thank you, me, for giving myself 20+ years of regular yoga practice.

The 9.5 year old sews

Aaaaanyway...so I quilted this bad boy with coordinating thread to match each individual t-shirt. When I was making this quilt, I thought about, and put the call out via Facebook, for quilting with invisible thread. I appreciate the folks who helped and for the loan of invisible thread. However, a very wise quilter at my local quilt shop advised me to not explore invisible thread with this quilt. Why? Too emotional. Dad's Shirts is...and was...a very emotional piece of art for me to be given the opportunity to create. I am very proud to have made something so beautiful. I was, and am, thankful that my Mom-in-law trusted me and loves me and is confident in my crazy ideas and my abilities. But this was absolutely not the quilt to learn to do something new on. I'll save the invisible thread for another time.

So, while matching 12 threads to 12 t-shirts was tedious, it's ok because I added some new colors of thread to my stash. For the bottom thread, on the back of the quilt, I used a variegated purple thread, because I wanted dashes of lighter purples in the back of the quilt. 

Back & binding

I selected a deep burgundy for the binding. The binding of a quilt is the part that goes around the perimeter and part of it is attached to the quilt with a machine. But, the old school quilters said that you are going sit yo'ass down and you're gonna finish that quilt up in your lap, by hand, and use a whip stitch. You do the last step with love. Never with hate. That's only for cooking. 

Label, on the back left bottom corner. Ruler is 12"x6".

It is worth noting, as a Washingtonian, that I did NOT choose purple for the Huskies and burgundy for the Cougars... besides...WSU is crimson, and crimson and burgundy are not the same color. Google it. I did. I'm just too goddamn tired to do a link. I can't give you everything, you guys...be a little bit responsible for your own learning, mkay?

Attaching the label

Because both of my sons sewed on Dad's Shirts, I asked them to help me with the creation of the label. I surrounded the label with dark blue butterflies, because Mom loves butterflies, and Dad loved blue.  The label was attached by hand.

Port Angeles, WA shirt

While working on this project, I remembered fond times of when Dad and Mom came to visit us when we lived in Las Vegas. And I'm thankful they also made it all the way up to Port Angeles to visit us before Dad's diagnosis. Seeing Pop-pop take Angry Birds lessons from my older son, slide down the slide and play with his grandsons is a memory I cherish.

Dad having an Angry Birds lesson

Dad and I's, flying high!

To make sure everything was secure and my quilt was ready to go, I threw it in the washer and dryer, like you do...and it passed inspection. I put Dad's shirts in a large plastic garbage bag, to make sure it was protected, just in case anything happened during shipping.

Hair back; safety first!

And then I put it in a box. Oh! And Mr 9.5 made a couple of one-seam-fleece hats: one for Mom and one for her brother. He was quite proud of these because his entire fourth grade class made hats one day because their teacher is awesome like that! And it would be remiss if me if I didn't include a picture. Boys sew. It's cool, you guys.

And then I put that box into a larger box. Because I'm paranoid about something happening to this one-of-a-kind creation. Of shirts that my Father-in-law used to wear. When he was alive.

It was a stressful couple of days, just after Christmas when I shipped this very special package off. I was regularly checking USPS.com and would get anxious when I didn't know where Dad's Shirts was. But I knew when it was out for delivery. And I made arrangements for Mom to sign for it. Because, you don't cut up your Father-in-law's shirts only to sew them back together and make a memorial quilt for your Mother-in-law and then send it without requesting a signature on delivery. Duh!

Regardless, she texted me when she got it. Thanks, Mom, for trusting me with this. It was an honor and a privilege to create this. Thanks to my husband for always having a keen eye for fabric. Thanks to my sons for helping create something beautiful for Grandma.

Dad's Shirts, 58"x66"