Progress report - Dad's Schimpf quilt.

What follows is a progress report on the quilt I'm making for Daddy's 70th birthday, which will be on the 31st of December.
So far it's title will either be That Fucking Quilt, Schimpf, or if I'm suddenly feeling horrifically racist by the year's end, The Yellow Peril.

The Yellow Peril was a 1970's quirky jigsaw puzzle that had no map, 1000 pieces which were all the same shade of yellow, was circular and as if all of that were not nasty enough, it was saddled with a rather vile and racist name, the significance of which really only dawned on me as I was sewing today.
Yuk.
The 1970's WTF?

Anyway, so I'm thinking that I won't be calling it that...


The manufacturer all but dared people to finish it and rewarded them with a certificate in exchange for photographic evidence upon completion.

Somewhere, buried beneath a million other ghastly 1970's snaps, we have said photograph. Right next to it is my dad, looking really, really tired.

But as my family has always considered it proof that my father has some sort of jigsaw OCD, we thought it best not to send it to any sort of authorities, even the jigsaw bigots.

And rightly so.

Dad has always enjoyed (and loathed) a good jigsaw.
It's something we were able to share as I was growing up. Just watching how his mind worked was fascinating to me.
Laborious, logical, methodical, compulsive, yet joyous at his task.
And stamina! Fuck me dead this guy's machine.

I used to love it when we'd do a puzzle together during summer. With the cricket day/night match on TV, fresh fruit, leftover Xmas biscuits and a cup of tea, we'd sit hunched up for hours as Dad methodically sorted the pieces according to differences I had never noticed in them. And, he turned them all over before proceeding. Who does that?!

During all of this, he would complain strenuously to me about how much he hated jigsaws, sing the occasional silly song and punctuate any other silence with, "...bowled him!" or "...bullshit!" if he happened to glance up at the cricket.

Eventually, I would pack it in for the night - probably due to a cat who was sleeping in the puzzle box lid that I was using, or worse still, on the sorted pieces themselves.
Dad would exclaim, "...bloody pussing katzens!" and "...shit!" whenever he noticed such feline misdeeds, but I never once recall him actually moving a cat. I do remember him shifting his own seat though. Perhaps this was simply a coincidence though. ;O)

In the wee hours of the morning...you know, the wee hours... when I'd stumble out to pee, there would still be the shape of this diligent creature, moving somewhat slower perhaps, but nevertheless, still absorbed in his work of finding that three legged piece with the crooked leg.

When he realised it was me geistering (ghosting/wandering) around rather than Adrian (no jigsaw puzzle lightweight himself, although not inclined to procure them), he'd yell out, "...shit, Simone, shit, what are you doing to me? Shit! This is awful."

And so it was awful, I guess.
But not to me, I always found it reassuring to recognise so many aspects of my own personality in my father. I childishly hoped I'd be able to keep them as I matured and expand upon them. I like to think I've done just that too.
I recently overheard Dad remarking to a friend that yes, his daughter looks like him, but that more importantly, "...she thinks like me."
Best compliment I've ever received. Certainly the only one I can quote.

So, in addition to the jigsaw component of the quilt, I'm planning on (probably) bordering it with two plain yellow borders that I plan on doing various stitcheries on, plus one with a printed fabric.

The first border will have the prose from a William Wordsworth poem about daffodils that Dad used to read to me at bedtime rather than fairy tales.


I wander'd lonely as a cloud... *sigh *

I love it, but to this very day, it does make me very tired.
Just call me Pavlov's dog.

Then a border of daffodil fabric.
Daffodils have a special significance in our family.
Apart from the nightly poetry readings, my mother adored them. When she died, we chose a headstone with daffodils on it for her.
Also, daffodils represent the fight against breast cancer and are in bloom during August and September the months of Mum's birthday as well as the anniversary of her death.

Finally, I'm doing a larger plain yellow border that will have all of Dad's favourite swear words on it. Well, not just his obscenities, but his silly words as well.
I'm even including the Yugoslav word for c*@&.
A family fave.
Plus his new favourite, which is taken from his second wife, Vivien, a gorgeous Maltese lady...Ma-donna!

So far we have:

• Ma-donna
• schimpf (meaning to go crook on or berate)
• pitchka (C@#& in Yugoslav)
• pfuitsch (Dad/German hybrid for yuk)
• verschlagen (from MAD magazine - I thought for years that it was Yugo)
• schmutz (Dad/German hybrid meaning to make a pig of yourself)
• goodie gums (Eric for lollies and chocolate)
• yebem te sunse (motherfucker - Yugo)
• verflixt noch mal ( Dad/German hybrid meaning damn or for god's sake - sort of)
• umdrehen (German for turn around - what he used to say when we were little kids and he'd towel dry us after a bath)
• compulsories (referring to Vitamin C tablets which he insisted we took...prescribing vitamins is genetic?)
• extra wurst (mostly German - meaning a food bonus or treat)
• hops (a command he developed for our dog, Holly, so she would jump over stuff thus saving him time and trouble)
• a good cleansing panic (Holly was a Doberman cross Rottweiler, but was a sooky nervous Piscean dog who would freak out with monotonous regularity, in fact, she would panic on command too - Dad thought it was good for her)
• sugar, scheissen, shit! (this quintessential Dadism begins with an attempt to be reasonable, but quickly gives way to common sense)
• runter! ( German for get down - often heard and ignored by cats)
• yumich ( NFI from whence this comes) it means something delicious
  
• 14-14 (his favourite football score - who has fave score? FFS what a weirdo)
• and finally, my contribution as a 6 year old...bernarner (I was asked to spell banana, and sounded it out, with what I still maintain was good success...Dad still belly laughs at this regularly, in fact I've never seen him eat a bernarner without giggling)

So, there it is. My masterpiece.
I have no concerns about littering a perfectly good quilt with obscenities because, eventually, I shall inherit it anyhow, and I like it.

When I told Viv of my idea, she pissed herself laughing and then said in all seriousness, ..."but not bright yellow, buttercup yellow."
So I'm guessing that the thought of having Yugoslavian obscenities draped across her lounge is of little concern to her so long as the colour tones in with the curtains.
And with little wonder.
Viv's surely heard it all by now, so I guess nothing I can stitch onto this quilt will come as a surprise to her. :O)
I'll try though.


I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..