Randall Smith, owner of Renaissance Pageants, stepped out of his luxury sedan, flawlessly dressed. In the backseat of his car sat several big boxes. I asked if they were crowns and trophies. 'No,' he said. They were products.
I quickly chose my fabrics, knowing full well that I had little time to meander as life with a newborn baby has me on the tight milk leash. I headed to the fabric table, which I will subsequently refer to as the 'hellmouth.'
I still remember the smell of the newly-dyed material when we walked in and the anticipation of what we would find. In those days, fabric stores got leftover bolts of material and they carried a wide selection of beautiful textiles.
I have a lot of friends who could be called crafty. You know the type: They try new recipes, make scrapbooks, totebags and headbands for your kid. Truthfully, I find them just slightly annoying. It's just so not me.
When we think of quilts, we tend to think of women making them from scraps of material to keep their families warm in drafty houses. The introduction of quilts to this country was actually quite different from this impression.