My life is a cloth of many pieces; a definite work in progress, though it threatens to get out of hand on a regular basis. Between making sure all three kids are where they are supposed to be and picking them up again, community commitments, school and work, family plans, social events, chores and errands, practicing, teaching lessons, and now regular rehearsals, it’s a wonder I know what I’m supposed to be doing at all.
My large calendar hangs on my basement door in the kitchen, where all can see. The basic premise is that everyone posts what they are scheduled to do as soon as possible, so if alternate plans need to be made, we can get it done. This is rarely a sure thing, however.
“Mom, I need to be at so-and-so’s house in an hour.” Was it on the calendar? Do I have someplace else to either take another sister or to be myself? Did I have other plans for that time? “Was it on the calendar?” “Well, no, but I told you last week.” That just doesn’t cut it with the way my mind works. I need it on paper, preferably on a list.
The last thing I do at night is look at the calendar for the next day’s activities, making sure it all fits together somehow. The first thing I do in the morning is check the calendar again to remind myself of what needs doing today. If I’m feeling very organized, I even look ahead over the week and make sure all is accounted for.
When assembling a quilt, you most often have a pattern. Certain types and colors of fabric in specific places, building up gradually to form a harmonious, beautiful, hand-crafted whole. In terms of my life, I’m more likely to be working with uneven pieces of varying cloth and color, figuring out how to piece them all together like a puzzle so that there are no holes and gaps and the whole family can be covered.
It’s not called a “Crazy Quilt” for nothing.