Quilts Have Their Own Ideas

This is the story of a little quilt, just a wall hanging, actually.  It was supposed to be a miniature - possibly a sweet little table mat.  The person making it thought she should try to expand her horizons and chose fabrics in subdued colors such as are all the rage.  She had found some suitable grays with subtle prints and thought she could build a miniature quilt around those fat quarters.  Off she went with her friend and in Glens Falls, she found several more fat quarters.  They, too, had colors that minded their manners and played nicely with others so she bought those fat quarters, also. 

Finally, an opportunity presented itself for the quilter to begin work on her miniature quilt with the quiet fabrics.  Out came the fat quarters, the rulers, the rotary cutter and before you could say, "Bob's your uncle!" the pieces were cut and ready to put together.  Soon six 4.5" pinwheels were completed, and the quilter took them to the design wall.  As she put the blocks up on the wall, she thought she could hear some whispering, but she convinced herself she was mistaken.  Her quiet little blocks couldn't be muttering; they were too well behaved for that.

Backing away from the wall to see better, the quilter looked at her blocks on the design wall.  The fabrics were beginning to lift their skirts away from the block next to them.  The muttering became louder and phrases like "church mouse", "thinks she's too good for us", and "her mother darned socks" began to be heard.  Then the whining started, and it was even worse!

Clapping her hands over her ears, the quilter cried out, "I don't like it.  I simply do not like it!"

One little block whispered to the block next to her, "I told you she'd fold like cheap polyester."

Well, the quilter decided she'd put an end the the budding insurrection and stalked off to find some stronger fabrics, material with more selvedge-backbone.  No more shy and retiring types for her table mat, no ma'am.

Her sewing machine became even busier.  Block after block came off the sewing table.  Piles began to form.  Now between every pale and subtle pinwheel was a bolder, brasher block with broad shoulders, firm chin, and flashing eye.  There were no more mutterings, no more whispering behind the quilter's back. 

Now gone is the notion of a modest wee table mat with 16 blocks.  Now there are enough blocks for a proper wall hanging instead.  Sixty blocks rather than sixteen, that'll show them.  Subtlety has been vanquished.  The quilter is in control!

Or is she?  Was it her idea to add brighter, more assertive colors, or did the quiet sisters put the notion in her head?  Who changed the final product from a table mat that would be under a flashy bowl of flowers or fruit to a self-confident, "look at me" wall hanging?  Was it the quilter, or was is those self-effacing fabrics?  I don't know; I'm just telling the story. 

But if I were you, I be careful around those seemingly serene neutrals!