Wanna Be Hero

A Wanna Be Hero

“Where did my scissors go?” I lifted the stack of graph paper, fingers spreading out to catch the sand-paper cutouts. The rhombus fell to the floor. Best to stick with beginner patterns, I thought. Sewing the diamonds together was no feet for a wanna-be hero's second quilt. I put the cutout in the drawer, thinking I might use them in a later quilt. That first quilt had been a nine patch and embroidery Hero quilt. I glanced over at the yards of fabric the grandson's mother had bought. Making this second quilt would make me my daughter's hero too.

My eyes lifted to the framed card on the shelf, “Logan named Pa as his Hero.” I smiled. I was the one who took the grandson to the Ready to Read Program at the library. Who had held the whole “Hero” reading competition. I laughed, I was the one that enabled Pa to be the “Hero” in his grandson's eyes, and he had expressed his gratitude nicely for that.

I ran my hand over the cool cotton folded yards of superhero fabric, I lifted. The gift to set it closer to the cutter. It would take lots of cutting, but no scissors were under it. My eyebrows lifted, as a thought occurred to me, I had borrowed the neighbor's quilt cutter that included a patterns that had squares. In one quick twist of a handle, I could cut a stack just big enough to cover the outline of the pattern, and roll the stack through the cutter. Batman had Alfred and all his toys to help him in the comic books, so could super Ma. Was the square big enough? Check that.

I laid the confident superhero fabric against the bold solids. “Yeah, a nine-patch like the first quilt.” The contrasting square was soothing to the eye and calming to the mind. I would have to pay special attention while cutting out the Hero's images to give them all equal billing. I had to find the fabric scissors to be able to do anything.

I found the box the neighbor had loaned me. Inside was the plastic cutting die. The thick felt on the card made it difficult to see the shape it would cut, but there in the box was the wedding ring pattern. It included a six-inch square. It would be too wasteful to cut the whole pattern, I would have to cut down the yards of fabric to fit over the cut out just to cover the square part of the pattern cut out. “I need my scissors,” I groaned, looking atop all the stuff I had drug out to assemble this creation.

I reached to move a couple of folded fabric rolls and tossed them into the tote holding my fabric stash. “Found my paper scissors,” I declared and the memory of trying to decide on a pattern was complete. I crumpling up several paper squares, and an uneven triangle, I noted the oatmeal container I use as my sewing table trash can needed to be emptied. I poked my finger up into the air, as the epiphany hit. I had decided against the bow tie pattern at that point and started leaning toward the nine patch

I put my hands to my hips and survived the superhero tools now pulled from under the shelf and the raw materials scattered about for this quilt yet still no scissors. The best way to keep up with stuff was to stay organized. So I began putting stuff away. The quilt books were returned to the bookcase. I picked up the stack of solids, intending to move all the good fabric on the floor beside the cutter, and there when low, there were my fabric scissors. Good, no more fooling around my courageous grandson's quilt was going to be a nine-patch,