Tomorrow I will visit the photographer. He will take professional photos of two of my quilts. Then, I will enter them in “that” quilt show. I wouldn’t be telling the truth if I said entering this quilt show didn’t make me nervous. It really, really does. This is nothing new. The process of filling out the form makes me nervous every two years.
Do you remember when you were a little kid and you wanted a particular toy? Maybe you’d seen it on TV, or maybe one of your little friends owned it. I remember it well. For me, it was a Barbie doll owned by my friend Marisa. That doll, beautiful to my childish eyes, was perfect. She was blonde, she was svelte, she was incredibly grown-up with her well developed figure and her high heeled shoes and classy clothing. I wanted her more than anything I’d ever wanted before.
I knew that my mother didn’t approve of Barbie’s grown-up figure, and didn’t want me to have one. So I never asked for her at Christmas or for my birthday. But I wished for that Barbie doll on every star I saw, and I whispered her name at night in my little bed before falling asleep on Christmas Eve. I never said it out loud, though. I never actually said, “I wish I could have a Barbie doll.”
I never did get a Barbie doll. Maybe I would have if I had asked?
Well, I’m not going to let that happen again. I realize that I feel the same way about having my quilt accepted into this quilt show that I did about owning that Barbie doll. I want it really, really badly. In fact, I want it so much that I can’t even say it out loud. Isn’t that silly?
Perhaps not. Perhaps when we want something that badly, we begin to think like little children.
Well, I’m going to try to be an adult about this. I am going to say it out loud (but I’ll still keep my fingers crossed, and hope that saying it doesn’t jinx me).
I really, really want to have a quilt accepted into this show.
Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, get the wish I wish tonight!







