Make Quilts Not War (2 page)

“They were interesting times,” Mavis said.

“It was the Age of Aquarius,” Connie said with a smile.

“It was also the age of assassinations, the age of the war in
Vietnam, the cultural revolution in China and the six-day war in Israel,” Lauren said.

“Every era has its share of sad things,” Mavis said with a sigh.

“I’m surprised you didn’t mention the invention of the com
puter, Lauren,” DeAnn said.

“The computer wasn’t ‘invented,’” Lauren corrected. “A series
of innovations allowed the computer to evolve into its present state.”

“The sixties were definitely political times,” Robin mused.

“And it was a time of good music,” DeAnn said. “Marjory,” she called in a voice loud enough to carry. Marjory had returned to the retail area of the shop.

“You rang?” Marjory said as she appeared at the classroom doorway a moment later.

“Someone told me you guys landed a big-name rock star for the grand finale,” DeAnn said.

“As a matter of fact, we did. And not just for the finale. We’re
having a ‘senior prom,’ of sorts, and he’s agreed to play at that,
also.”

“Don’t keep us in suspense,” Harriet prompted.

“We got Colm Byrne,” Marjory said with a smile.

“Colm Byrne? The Irish rock star? That Colm Byrne?” Harriet asked. “How did you land him?”

“We have our ways,” Marjory said and laughed. “Actually, Jerry Weber is on our committee, and he apparently knows him. I don’t know if Colm has looked at real estate in this area with him or what.”

Jerry owned and operated Foggy Point’s biggest real estate office
.

“All I know is, we decided we wanted music, and Jerry made a few phone calls, and suddenly we’d booked Colm Byrne and we’re only paying a pittance.” She turned and left the room.

“Wow,” Harriet said and sat back in her chair.

“Wow is right,” Robin agreed.

The group around the table fell momentarily silent.

“Did the Loose Threads go home?” Jorge Perez asked as he
came into the room carrying a large insulated box. “I hear no one speak
ing. This can’t be the Loose Threads I know and love.” He
laughed. “They are never without words.”

“Marjory just told us the festival committee has landed Colm Byrne as the musical entertainment,” Harriet said.

“Colm Byrne the Irish rock star?” Jorge asked. “I think Marjory is telling you stories.”

“It’s true,” Marjory protested as she returned once again. “Jerry Weber has some connection to him or someone influential in his entourage.”

“He will draw a crowd,” Jorge said and smiled. He set his box on the table and removed the lid. “Now, who’s hungry?”

The Loose Threads had arranged to use the classroom all day so they could make serious headway on the projects they were finishing up to make way for their sixties quilts. Jorge had agreed to deliver lunch from his Mexican restaurant, Tico’s Tacos, so the group wouldn’t have to go out.

“Here, Lauren,” He said and handed her a brown paper bag. “Señora Beth said you have to leave early and wouldn’t be staying for lunch.”

“Thank you,” Lauren said as she took the bag. She looked at Beth.

“You said you were dealing with your difficult client when I saw you yesterday. If it’s the same one from before, they seem to have a
nose for when we eat. I had Jorge make your food to go just in
case—seems like I was right.”

“You were, indeed,” Lauren said and put her coat on, then
picked up her sewing bag, tucking her lunch inside.

“What are we having?” Harriet asked.

“I brought cheese quesadillas, pork tacos and chicken burritos and, of course, chips, salsa and guacamole and…” He paused to take a plastic box from his big container. “…a chicken salad for Señora Robin.”

“Thank you.” Robin sounded surprised.

“You think I don’t notice what everyone eats?” Jorge said with a wink.

“What are
you
doing for the festival?” DeAnn asked.

“I’m doing what I always do,” Jorge said. “Making food. My restaurant is timeless, so I don’t need to do anything there. I’m on the food committee for the festival. We’re having a food court at the community center in the walkway between the exhibit hall and the auditorium where the music will be. I guess they’re going to have the high school bands from Foggy Point and Angel Harbor playing music a couple of times a day before the big concerts at night.”

“What sorts of food will be available?” Carla asked.

“We’ll have tacos and hamburgers and hotdogs, but also we’ll
have a cart of foods from the era—fondue, peanut butter and Marshmallow Fluff sandwiches, on soft white bread, of course. We’ll have spaghetti from a can, little pizzas made from round crackers with a slice of pepperoni and mozzarella cheese…” He paused to think. “Instant breakfast in a can, vegetable sandwiches with sprouts—
that was toward the end of the era. Twinkies, Ding-Dongs,
HoHo’s, if we can find some.”

He ticked these items off on his fingers.

“We’re having brownies, but not with anything
special
in them, we’ll have cans of Fresca soda, someone is bringing that gelatin that separated into three layers. And I’m sure there is more I’m not remembering.”

“Lots of us were cooking perfectly normal food every day,” Mavis said, “But those meals weren’t especially memorable—or tied to a single point in time, for that matter.”

“Isn’t that when we got our first Julia Child cookbooks?” Aunt Beth asked.

“Maybe,” Mavis looked at her longtime friend. “Or that could have been in the seventies.” She sighed. “It all runs together after a
while. In any case, Twinkies and Marshmallow Fluff were much
more memorable.”

“Can you stay and eat with us?” Harriet asked Jorge.

“I think I can spare a few minutes to eat,” he said and glanced at his watch. “I don’t have to sew anything if I stay, do I?”

“Who needs a wig?” Harriet asked as she set a large shopping bag on the cutting table in her quilting studio.

Mavis and Beth sat in the two wingback chairs by the bow window in the reception area, each holding a mug of steaming tea. Jenny was in a folding chair to their left, a large black tote at her feet. Robin and DeAnn stood with Lauren at the short end of the cutting table, a pile of clothing between them.

“Sorry I’m late,” Carla said, stripping off her wet rain coat as she came in from the outside parking area. “I’m sorry, did I interrupt?” Her cheeks, red already from the cold, reddened further.

“Harriet was just asking if anyone needs a wig,” Beth told her. “And I’m pretty sure we were all going to say yes.”

“Ewww, where did they come from?” Lauren asked. “You didn’t get them from the thrift store, did you?”

“Maybe,” Harriet said evasively. “I got a deal from a wholesale wig place in Seattle for six of them. I got four more from DeAnn.”

She paused, and DeAnn took up the story.

“When Nana first got dementia and we didn’t know what was
going on, she went on a huge catalog shopping spree. It didn’t matter what sort of catalog came in the mail. If she got it, she ordered something—or many somethings. She must have gotten a wig cata
log at some point, because we found a box with five brand-new
ones in it.”

“That’s handy,” Lauren said. “What about the thrift store?”

“Okay, I did find three killer wigs at Trash and Treasures.”
Harriet reached into her bag and pulled out a handful of black fluff and held it up. “I found this afro, and it was too perfect to pass up. I washed it three times.”

“Toss it over,” Jenny said and held her hands up to receive it.

Harriet carried the wig around the table then lobbed it. Jenny caught it then turned it in her hands to orient the cap before pulling it onto her head.

“Is it me?”

“Tuck your hair in around the back,” Lauren suggested, “unless you like looking like a skunk.”

“Let me help you,” Carla offered. She set the mug of tea she’d just poured on the big table and stood behind Jenny, tucking stray strands of hair neatly under the wig cap.

Harriet laughed. “It’s perfect,” she choked out. “Let me get a
mirror.”

She disappeared through the door into her kitchen and the house beyond. She returned a moment later with a hand-held mirror and gave it to Jenny.

“Oooh,” Jenny said. “It’s definitely me.”

“What else do you have?” Mavis asked. “Anything in red?”

Harriet pulled all the wigs from her bag and passed them
around. After a few minutes of trial-and-error, everyone except Lauren had chosen new hair.

“I’m going to go with my own,” Lauren said and ran her hand through her long, straight blond hair, pulling out a hair clip that had been holding it away from her face. “I’ve been growing my bangs out ever since we started talking about this, so I can cut them just above my eyes like that singer Mary from that old sixties folk group.”

“Well, honey, you’re the only one in this group that could pull that off,” Mavis told her.

“I hope Connie likes her bob,” Jenny said.

“What’s not to like?” Aunt Beth asked and laughed.

“Sorry I missed last week,” DeAnn said. “The kids all had a stomach bug, and I didn’t want to risk sharing it with you-all.”

“And we thank you for that,” Harriet told her.

“You didn’t miss anything,” Lauren added. “A bunch of people went to Seattle to shop for costumes, so only a few were left to work on their quilts.”

“We weren’t just shopping. We were picking up the posters and flyers and some other signs,” Mavis informed DeAnn. “The committee got a donation from a big printing company. It worked out that we were able to do a little shopping for our costumes while we were there.”

Jenny got up and dumped the contents of her bag onto the cutting table as Robin pushed the pile of clothes near her to the center.

“Dig in,” Aunt Beth said. “Mavis and I put the stuff we thought you ladies would be interested in on the table, but we have several more bags in the garage. The organizing committee asked us to bring back some selections for them, too.”

“Where did you find all this stuff?” Harriet asked.

“We found two vintage clothing stores that had a lot of sixties stuff that was reasonably priced. Then, we went to a theatrical costume store. The fringed vests and beaded headbands came from there; some of the bell bottoms, too,” Mavis reported.

“I brought some things from the church clothing drive closet,” Jenny said. “We’ve been pulling out anything that looks to be of that vintage and setting it aside for this event.”

“And we hit a military surplus store on our way back,” Aunt Beth added.

“Is everything here up for grabs?” Jenny asked as she held up a long-fringed cowhide vest.

“Yes,” Beth replied. “Mavis and I already have our costumes.”

“That vest will be killer with your ‘fro,” Harriet said.

“Can I interest anyone in brownies?” Harriet asked when everyone had decided on an outfit and either taken it to her car or stowed it in her stitching bag.

“Even I won’t say no to chocolate,” Robin said.

“I’m not sure why you bother to ask,” Lauren added and got up to follow Harriet to the kitchen.

They returned with a large platter of chewy brownies and a
stack of pink paper plates and matching napkins.

“Anyone need a refill on their drink?” Harriet asked. “I got
some
of that holiday spice tea on sale at the Steaming Cup yesterday if
anyone wants one last cup of it before it goes away until next Christmas.”

Lauren retrieved the coffee carafe from the drip machine in the kitchen and topped off the cups of the three people who were drinking coffee while Harriet did the same with hot water from the electric kettle for the tea drinkers.

“Can we see a copy of the flyers you picked up?” she asked
when she and Lauren were through with their hostess duties.

Mavis reached into the canvas tote on the floor by her chair, pulled out a trifold brochure, and handed it to Harriet.

“Oh, nice. Look, Jenny, your quilt is on the front.” She held up the flyer for all to see.

“I wish they hadn’t done that,” Jenny said, the color draining from her face. She pulled the flyer from Harriet’s hands and examined it. “I told Marjory she could display my quilt, and I didn’t
really
want to do that. She didn’t say anything about putting it on her advertising materials.”

“You must have let them take the picture,” Lauren pointed out.

“I let them take a few pictures, but Marjory said it was just for layout and planning purposes. No one said anything about using it for anything else.”

“It’s a pretty quilt,” Carla said in a soft voice. “And it looks like it’s in really good condition.”

“That’s not the point,” Jenny snapped. “It’s ancient history, and it isn’t anything like what I do today.”

“I think that’s the whole point,” Mavis said. “And if you feel that
strongly, I’m sure Marjory will take it down and give it back to
you.”