Here is another post from Mavis Quinn, cub reporter for Where Cuckoo Women Create .com.org.biz
Hello dreary readers… This weekend I was assigned to cover a quilt show in Benicia, California. It was held in a small castle that, I believe, once was an insane asylum, and from the looks of things, might still be in operation.
What a thrill-er.
The weather was delightful and I made it over a big bridge and only clipped two cars in the lot while finding a parking spot.
The fun started at the door – the entry way was an immense medieval affair with a little door in it which lets the trolls out at night.
I stood in line for a while at the wrong table and almost bought a ticket to a quilter’s cruise on the Eerie Canal and to Three-Mile Island.
When I did finally get through security and had put my belt and shoes back on, I headed up the stairs.
I really loved the decorations in the stairwell – so Bijou.
The show was very nice, but I am not allowed to talk about that (by contract from my editor).
I was alarmed to turn a corner and find a photo taken of me at the beach.
Damn the paparazzi! Now I know how Fergie felt when her toe-sucking photos were exposed. Can’t a cub reporter enjoy some bikini time in private?
I was fondling a quilt – really salivating over the soft fabric and rubbing the nubbly quilting – I was just trying to get close to the work – and some lady in white gloves came up to me and scolded me. I wish the editor had warned me that I wasn’t supposed to touch the merchandise! Gees!
So, I scooted away and took stock of my surroundings.
I was relieved that there were bars on all the windows. They clearly had to take measures to keep the cuckoo in! Editor: glad to hear that!
As I backed up and took this photo, I guess I bumped into a pole. Using it to steady myself, I began to fall backwards and ended up under a few of these nice quilts. Some people rushed around and there was shouting, but don’t worry – I was mostly fine! Just a sprained wrist and a scratch on my cheek mole. Whew!
It seems I might have had a tiny part in knocking over a whole row of these nice blankies. Well, the organizers might have thought about the public’s safety before they went and put up all this flimsy woodwork! I will be putting in a worker’s comp claim for injuries sustained to some body parts during this attack by the evil quits!
So then these two ladies came up to me. They introduced themselves and then consented to have their photos taken for my article. They seemed really nice, and then…
Well, they asked how I was liking the show. I noticed that they were walking me through the room and back to a small dark corner.
I thought that this would be a good opportunity to interview a couple of the inmates, I mean members, and I rifled through my editor’s notes to find a question for them.
“How do I join a guild like this,” I purred with all the suavite of Fabio on a date.
At this moment, Myrtle, guild treasurer by day and foxy suprmodel by night had a coughing fit. I offered her some of my sardine-flavored gum for her throat and the next thing you know Inga, ways and means committee chairperson was coughing too! I thought it might be contagious, and since, I have just recovered from malaria and the whooping cough from my last assignment to Borneo – don’t ask – ok, two words – tatoo, titties…
I turned to race out of there and ran right into the GUILD PRESIDENT!
At this point I have to say that I was entranced. I felt like I had met my alter-ego. I felt at home, at peace, strong – like I could lift a whole long armed sewing machine by myself. I was, naturally, tongue tied and weak at the knees. Her hair, her glasses, her fabulous jewelry, heaven! The headband – will she make one for me?
I cannot tell you what happened next, what was said, what I did, as it is all a dream to me now. I don’t know how I got back to my car or how I got home. What I can tell you is that I will treasure the little spool of thread I found hanging from my necklace that I discovered tonight when I looked in the mirror.
This is Mavis Quinn walking on air and signing out…
Editor’s note: no quilts were harmed in the making of this article. The Guild President might not be an actual person and is most likely a wall-hanging made by Valarie Macdonald, called Quilt Diva. Editor trusts that the quilter will feel the love and not think too poorly of the cub reporter.