Make Quilts Not War - By Arlene Sachitano Page 0,2

with headlines from the era,” Robin said, rejoining the conversation. She and her friend DeAnn Gault had been concentrating on the binding they were hand stitching on a lap quilt they were making as a gift for Robin’s elderly grandmother.

“They’re offering very affordable advertising,” Marjory chimed in from the kitchen across the hall. She came into the classroom. “The staff will help you tailor your ad to the theme. They got into their archives and made copies of representative advertising from nineteen sixty-eight.”

“Wow, they’re really getting into it,” Harriet said.

“My mom is digging out a couple of macramé pieces she made for the county fair,” DeAnn said.

Carla looked up, clearly confused.

“Macramé was a popular craft back in the day,” Aunt Beth said.

“People braided polyester cord into intricate designs,” Mavis added.

“They made hangers for potted plants, or sometimes you could put little glass or mirror pieces into them and make a hanging shelf,” Beth continued. “We all tried our hand at it.”

“People made belts and guitar straps and choker necklaces, too,” Jenny said. “They usually used hemp cord for the bracelets and neckwear, though.”

“Sounds…interesting,” Carla said, her cheeks turning pink as she spoke.

“They were interesting times,” Mavis said.

“It was the Age of Aquarius,” Connie said with a smile.

“It was also the age of assassinations, the age of the war in Vietnam, the cultural revolution in China and the six-day war in Israel,” Lauren said.

“Every era has its share of sad things,” Mavis said with a sigh.

“I’m surprised you didn’t mention the invention of the computer, Lauren,” DeAnn said.

“The computer wasn’t ‘invented,’” Lauren corrected. “A series of innovations allowed the computer to evolve into its present state.”

“The sixties were definitely political times,” Robin mused.

“And it was a time of good music,” DeAnn said. “Marjory,” she called in a voice loud enough to carry. Marjory had returned to the retail area of the shop.

“You rang?” Marjory said as she appeared at the classroom doorway a moment later.

“Someone told me you guys landed a big-name rock star for the grand finale,” DeAnn said.

“As a matter of fact, we did. And not just for the finale. We’re having a ‘senior prom,’ of sorts, and he’s agreed to play at that, also.”

“Don’t keep us in suspense,” Harriet prompted.

“We got Colm Byrne,” Marjory said with a smile.

“Colm Byrne? The Irish rock star? That Colm Byrne?” Harriet asked. “How did you land him?”

“We have our ways,” Marjory said and laughed. “Actually, Jerry Weber is on our committee, and he apparently knows him. I don’t know if Colm has looked at real estate in this area with him or what.”

Jerry owned and operated Foggy Point’s biggest real estate office.

“All I know is, we decided we wanted music, and Jerry made a few phone calls, and suddenly we’d booked Colm Byrne and we’re only paying a pittance.” She turned and left the room.

“Wow,” Harriet said and sat back in her chair.

“Wow is right,” Robin agreed.

The group around the table fell momentarily silent.

“Did the Loose Threads go home?” Jorge Perez asked as he came into the room carrying a large insulated box. “I hear no one speaking. This can’t be the Loose Threads I know and love.” He laughed. “They are never without words.”

“Marjory just told us the festival committee has landed Colm Byrne as the musical entertainment,” Harriet said.

“Colm Byrne the Irish rock star?” Jorge asked. “I think Marjory is telling you stories.”

“It’s true,” Marjory protested as she returned once again. “Jerry Weber has some connection to him or someone influential in his entourage.”

“He will draw a crowd,” Jorge said and smiled. He set his box on the table and removed the lid. “Now, who’s hungry?”

The Loose Threads had arranged to use the classroom all day so they could make serious headway on the projects they were finishing up to make way for their sixties quilts. Jorge had agreed to deliver lunch from his Mexican restaurant, Tico’s Tacos, so the group wouldn’t have to go out.

“Here, Lauren,” He said and handed her a brown paper bag. “Señora Beth said you have to leave early and wouldn’t be staying for lunch.”

“Thank you,” Lauren said as she took the bag. She looked at Beth.

“You said you were dealing with your difficult client when I saw you yesterday. If it’s the same one from before, they seem to have a nose for when we eat. I had Jorge make your food to go just in case—seems like I was right.”

“You were, indeed,” Lauren said and put her coat on, then picked up her