Here is Lisa’s wonderful sewing story.

Last year I received one of the worst phone calls of my life.

My sister rang to tell me she had just been diagnosed with breast cancer.

I was so shocked I could barely take in the rest her story.

She said although the lump was large it was not aggressive and her prognosis was good.

All I could think about was how I would react to the same news for myself. I would just want to crawl into bed and stay there and cry.

Cathy’s instincts are not like mine. She is a much more practical, proactive, no-nonsense type of person.

She is in her mid-40’s, married with no children, works full time in the insurance industry and likes to scrapbook in her spare time.

She enjoys going boating, fishing and crayfishing with her husband Gary.

Her way of coping with this frightening illness was to be determined not to let it effect her one jot.

She kept working throughout her chemo and radiotherapy and didn’t seem to miss a step in her path.

I, on the other hand, was left feeling like I had nothing to offer her in the way of care or solace.

What could I do for my sister who was coping so admirably and so very self sufficiently with my worst nightmare?

I had recently discovered the addiction of patchwork quilting. My good friend Julia had gotten me hooked and I was popping out quilt after quilt.

At that time I was poring over the book Community Quilts looking for designs for my next project.

It occurred to me that this could just be the thing I could do for my sister.

I wanted to give her a quilt but they take time.

A community quilt, with many loving hands working together, may just be the expression of love and caring that we could all give my sister, our friend.

I got together a crew of sisters, nieces, cousins, friends and neighbours.

To this group of mainly non sewing women I demonstrated how the block that would be used to make the quilt.

I asked the women to choose two matching materials of light and dark values that Cathy might like.

We had one quick demo day where we all worked on the cutting out together so that everyone went away with a kit and instructions.

10 days later all of the blocks were delivered to my home one after another on the same day.

It was the most amazing thing. The door bell sounded and there was my cousin with her patches and those of other cousins.

She left after a quick cuppa and once more the bell rang. There was my niece’s husband with his wife’s patches. And those of her sister and their mother, my other sister.

He left on other errands and I went to get my children from school.

When I returned there was another bundle of patches were waiting on my doorstep.

They had been delivered by my sister’s neighbours and friends.

What a bonanza of patches for me to sew together!

The quilt evolved effortlessly from there.

Miraculously, the colours chosen by Cathy’s loved ones all melded together with wonderful ease.

It was sheer joy to join them all in a blanket that I knew my sister would love.

I didn’t see Cathy cry throughout her whole ordeal, but she cried the day I gave her the quilt.

My sister recently told me she was keeping the quilt in her cupboard.

She was scared it would get dirty and if she washed it all the names of the contributors that are printed on it would wash off.

I told her, “Those names are written in permanent ink and they will be there for you as long as we will.”

*Community Quilts - How to Organise, Design & Make A Group Quilt by Karol Kavaya and Vicki Skemp, published by Lark Books.

Have you ever given a child a present only to see them ignore the gift and play with the wrapping?

It has happened to me and as a Mum I have seen it happen to others.

So I know that rule number one about sewing for babies or children is don’t expect them to like it. The joy is in the making.

With this in mind I set out to make my friend Imari a toy cat.

My sewing buddy Lisa cut out a paper pattern for me to work from. The pattern was by Shawna Waters.

I sewed together a collection of bright quilting blocks I had left over from various projects.

This formed my base fabric. Next I cut out front and back and two arms and legs.

As Imari is only four months old I decided to applique felt eyes instead of using buttons that might be chewed off.

I bought three enamel bells that I put in with the stuffing. I liked the idea that this cat made a bell sound.

I have to say the finished cat is very bright and unusual. The quilting fabrics come together and bounce off each other. Dingle is certainly one of a kind.

There were minor technical hitches along the way. Eventually he was finished and I couldn’t wait to hand him over.

The timing was less than ideal.

Imari was very tired, hungry and having a big yell. Her Mum told me to hand Dingle over anyway.

The two of us stared in amazement as in an instant Imari stopped crying and held out for hands for the toy.

She smiled at it with real affection then looked up at us as if to ask, “Is this mine?”

I am not making this up. It was an incredible moment of love at first sight.

I cannot tell you how amazed we all were. She just loves him.

To me this is not just a sewing story but also a sewing miracle.

There was once a handsome young man who came to be called Fanta. He was a surveyor who had a job making maps for the military during the Second World War. On five occasions his plane was shot down in the jungles of New Guinea.

After the war he became a bit of a clown and a problem drinker. His war experiences were rarely discussed. What is known is that he once sat with a dead friend for a day before making his way out of the jungle.

One day I started stitching a series of aeroplane shapes on a background of different patterns of bright green fabric. It took ages and when the squares were finished I felt dissatisfied and put them away for a year. I then cut these squares into strips. I still wasn’t sure what I was making.

I cut up lots different green fabric strips and randomly sewed in the sliced up plane shapes. Out of the sheet of fabric I had created I cut a big plane shape and tacked it into a three-layered quilt. Over many months I hand quilted small plane shapes over the whole quilt.

The finished aeroplane quilt is big, (2.1m x 2.1m) took three years to make and hangs on my ceiling. It shows scattered pieces of plane in the jungle. All these pieces are contained in a bigger plane that just keeps flying.

I think the quilt is a story about Fanta who just kept going in life. Back in the jungle the plane wreckage rusted. He went back to his job in an office; he paid bills, went camping and argued with his wife.

This quilt is about the extraordinary way ordinary people keep going. What takes the greatest courage for our soldiers? Is it the dangers of war or the challenge of fitting back into an everyday life when it’s all over?

You crash, you survive. That is what the quilt means to me. It is not practical, or useful, or even traditionally beautiful. The strange thing is that whenever I look at this quilt it gives me strength. Maybe you have had a mystery sewing project that evolved over time? I’d love to hear from you.

About six months ago I found a hole in my favourite quilt. My husband and I were hanging this big butterfly quilt on our bedroom wall. The quilt had lived several lives and now it was to be a wall hanging.

In the orange swirly border section was a thumb size hole that went right through all three layers. This is the first time I have had to deal with a major mend in a quilt. I felt daunted. How would I mend three layers?

I thought about matching it with exact fabric patches. I might just have some scraps somewhere. I considered finding some sewing guru to do it for me. The quilt was damaged now. It was spoiled. I didn’t really know how to fix it.

Months passed and every time I looked at the quilt I felt bad about that hole. The quilt was ruined I thought sadly to myself. Over six months the quilt mending job built up to be a bit of a problem.

Finally yesterday I took it down and inspected the damage. I considered what I could do. It was like looking at an old friend fallen in battle. After a few sad sighs I decided to give it my best shot. I found my coloured thread box and carefully matched the colours. Then I thought to myself - I can’t take this imperfection away I can only mend it with as much love as possible.

I took my time and I darned gentle stitches that I have seen my mother sew. Stitch by stitch I felt better. As I worked I thought about how my quilts are working quilts. There are carried around, snuggled under, picnicked on, laid over sleeping children or shivering pets. They have been children’s cubbies and hiding places. In all probability this hole started as the mark of some child’s jam covered finger. My family life had been here.

The mending slowly transformed from a loathsome fixing task to a gentle homage. I was honouring the site where some living had taken place. This was the place where the life of a perfect quilt ended and business of living just kept on going.

I smiled to myself as I surveyed the little ridges of the final mend. Not so much a fix but an outcrop of love. It is also a small milestone on my learning journey. In fixing this quilt hole I came to understand what really matters.