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It’s a quiet night here at Casa Caffeinated. Fuzzy’s sitting at the computer cataloguing his comic books, taking breaks to quench his thirst with warm orange soda. (He’s quirky that way.)

I’m in the bed, a quilt wrapped around my feet, and a dog on my lap. He watches my hands on the keys, then stares at the screen with a quizzical expression.

This quilt was a gift from a family friend, a hand-made wedding quilt from China. It’s suffered more than its quota of abuse at our hands – we use it almost every night, and we’re bad about caring for it, washing it and drying it like any other blanket, instead of having it cleaned professionally.

Quilting isn’t a skill I have, but it’s one I’d like to acquire. My sister-in-law and mother-in-law often combine their talents on gift-quilts whenever someone in Fuzzy’s family gets married, and we always contribute to the materials fund, but I’d like to be a part of the process. The question’s come up, actually – Crystal asked if I’d be interested in learning, and I said yes.

It’s funny, really, because all I know about quilting comes from novels and movies. There’s a great mystery/romance called Stitch in Time that has quilts in it – a curse stitched into one, I think. And then there’s that Winona Ryder movie, which is a great film for when you’re in bed sick, instead of in bed writing. It’s not the best movie, but I have no qualms about mentioning it: How to Make an American Quilt.