The
Theory
of
Relativity
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I've been struggling with what is supposed to be an easy definition of the theory of relativity. I understood none of it. Nada.
I asked Bill to explain it to me, and he did, sort of. Apparently, the theory of relativity has to do with time and motion and mass and how the combination relates to us. Well, it doesn't take a Mrs. Einstein to realize my relativity is all out of whack.
Let's take the first element in the equation: time. It takes time to make a quilt. This is obvious. Some people make quilts in less time than others. Some people claim to be able to make a quilt in a day, though I seriously doubt this. As for me, when I am seized with inspiration, I sit myself down and plan a quilt. If the quilt is for a special occasion, time is of the essence, and I get at my stitching expeditiously. Birthdays and anniversaries are fairly simple to deal with because if I don't work fast enough, I can always finish the quilt for next year's celebration. A quilt for a new baby is a different problem because a baby remains "new" very briefly. I have heard of quiltmakers who began quilts for a new baby, but time got away from them. They stitched and stitched and finally had the quilt finished in time for the baby's college graduation. Somehow, time is a less than reliable element, and no matter how carefully I plan, holidays, trips, and bad colds always seem to delay my finishing date.
The second element in the equation is motion. I happen to be a hands-on kind of person. Admittedly, I have a lovely sewing machine to make my life easier, but it doesn't replace the feeling of satisfaction I get when my needle takes tiny, precise stitches as it pokes through the fabric. Applique is a case in point. While the rest of the world is busy fusing and zigzagging, I tuck and shape and fasten my applique patches in place slowly and carefully by hand. This takes a lot of motion. I am a hand quilter, too. Other quilters around me sit at their sewing machines and swirl and stipple their quilts, creating three-dimensional stars and squiggles electronically. They outline and feather fast and furiously while their machines bobble up and down. I sit quietly at my quilt frame, running my needle through the layers of fabric, three stitches at a time. I prick my fingers and bend my back, but I like the gentle motion of hand quilting. I like the way it looks, puffing up gently. I like to sit and think as I hand quilt, but the motion takes much more of that first element–time.
So, I use time and motion to produce the third element, which is mass. And somehow, because my relativity is all out of whack,
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