Make Quilts Not War - By Arlene Sachitano Page 0,18
my box of quilting samples right here.” She pointed to a large plastic tub sitting by the studio door. “I have my business cards, order forms, a paper printout of my current calendar, and two thousand pens with Quilt As Desired and my phone number on them.
“I also have a baggie full of cheap tape measures with the same info, only to be given to people who seem serious about having me stitch their quilt. Am I forgetting anything?”
“Do you have some bottles of water? And a healthy snack?”
“You know I do. Now, go, help Jorge. He actually needs it.”
“You’re sure?” Beth asked, causing Harriet to roll her eyes and sigh loudly.
“I haven’t been twelve for a long time, and having a fight with Aiden didn’t change that.”
“I’m not sure why they decided to start this shindig at five o’clock on a Wednesday,” Beth grumbled as she put on her coat then wrapped her scarf around her neck.
“I think it was something about wanting to shake out any problems before the out-of-town crowd arrives on the weekend.”
“Couldn’t we have done that Thursday morning when it would have been light out?”
“I’m just guessing here, but I’ll bet someone thought that Twinkies, Bugles stuffed with cheese from a can, and cocktail weenies were a hard sell as breakfast fare.”
“I suppose, and I guess it would have been too hard to make a brunch out of Instant Breakfast.”
“Jorge told me he’s been working on a few modern twists on the old classics. Something about dipping Twinkie slices in chocolate. Ritz crackers, too.”
“Sadly, that isn’t a new idea. The crackers, anyway. Ten or fifteen years ago, everyone and their brother were dipping any salty snack they could get their hands on in chocolate—potato chips, pretzels, peanuts. You name it, I’ve had it delivered to my door by a well-meaning friend on a decorative holiday plate.”
“Was any of it good?” Harriet asked hopefully.
“That’s beside the point,” Beth said and glared at her niece. “Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should.”
“Oh, live a little, Auntie.”
“I’m going to gain five pounds just working in Jorge’s booth.”
Harriet laughed. Her aunt counted calories like an anorexic both for herself and her niece, but somehow it didn’t seem to result in any noticeable reduction in her aunt Beth’s comfortably plump girth.
“See you there,” Beth called as she went out into the rain.
Harriet was surprised by the size of the crowd that showed up for the festival opening. The aisles of the vendor hall had a steady flow of people browsing from booth to booth.
“Harriet,” Lauren said in a bright voice, “this is Kathy Ramsey. She lives in Sequim and is interested in having you quilt her latest project.”
Lauren handed her a blank order form and a pen on a clipboard. Harriet took them and guided Kathy to a chair at the back of the booth. She pulled the box of quilting samples from under the table and began discussing possible patterns for the quilt top Kathy described.
“Thanks for helping me in the booth tonight,” Harriet said to Lauren when Kathy had placed her order and moved on to the next booth in their aisle.
“It’s purely selfish. Things were dull in this town till you moved in. I’m enjoying my front row seat to the train wreck that is your love life. I don’t want you to pull up stakes and move.”
“Thanks, I think,” Harriet said and shook her head.
“Isn’t that that stage manager guy?” Lauren asked and pointed to the other end of the aisle and the small man with the beaded braids in his beard.
“Looks like it. I wouldn’t have pegged him for a quilter, though.”
“If long-haul truck drivers can be quilters, why not roadies?”
“I’m still having a hard time picturing those hulking, tattooed, beer-bellied truckers quilting at the truck stop between loads. I know it’s true, but still I can’t quite get the right visual on that one.”
“Incoming,” Lauren announced and stepped into the aisle to snare her next target.
An hour passed before the crowd thinned again.
“Do you need a break?” Robin asked. She and DeAnn had been waiting in the aisle for the last customer to move on.
“We’re fine,” Harriet said.
“Yes, we need a break,” Lauren said at the same time.
“Go,” DeAnn said. “We can hold down the fort here. Most of the people are migrating to the food court, so you shouldn’t be busy. The food vendors are doing a sort of happy hour.”
“Each food booth has some offering for a dollar,” Robin