Memorial Day and the First American Flag

Zebra Patterns and its connection to USA Patriotism

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Chicago in the Springtime

We’ve been to Chicago twice before, but those visits were mostly spent helping the boys get settled into their home and busy lives. This time was different. For starters… it was actually ABOVE ZERO! The last few trips were so cold I thought my eyelashes might freeze together. This trip felt like an entirely new city.

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A First Look at H+H Americas in Chicago

Gary and I attended H&H quilt market to catch up on the quilt industry in Chicago. We stayed with our Middle son Austin and his husband Tommy and visited after. 

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MAHJONG! I won!

I never thought I’d become obsessed with mahjong… but here we are. Zebra patterns has a game mat pattern and several Majong Fabric designs!

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I GIVE UP!

If you need me, I’ll be outside apologizing to dead plants while shopping for trees that can survive my YOYO gardening system.

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ZEBRA STUDIO OPEN!

Step inside the creative world of Zebra Patterns! While we’re a working design studio—not a traditional retail storefront—we love welcoming visitors for behind-the-scenes tours and personal studio visits by appointment.

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Stitched Together: A Slightly Irreverent History of Quilting

If you’ve ever looked at a quilt and thought, “That’s just fabric sewn together,” I’m going to stop you right there. Quilting has a backstory—and it’s a good one. Think survival, ingenuity, rebellion, art… and  scraps

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The Easter Basket Standard (and Why Nothing Measures Up)

1. When I was a kid, Easter wasn’t just a holiday—it was a well-oiled production.There was a system. A rhythm. A standard.

The night before, we dyed eggs. Not casually, not artistically—no, this was serious business. Little wire egg dippers, cups of suspiciously bright dye, and at least one egg that ended up looking like it had survived a chemical spill. Hands stained. Table covered. Totally worth it.

Then came Easter morning. . .

Up early—because clearly the Easter Bunny rewards punctual children—and off I went to hunt for eggs like tiny, sugar-fueled detective. Every year, same deal: I acted surprised. Every year, I was not.

And then… the basket.

Wrapped in purple cellophane. Always purple. With a bow that said, This is important. Respect the presentation.

Inside? Perfection.

Right in the center sat the chocolate Easter bunny. Not some flimsy hollow imposter—this bunny had presence. Authority. It was the CEO of the basket.

Surrounding it were those glorious chocolate-covered eggs filled with cherry, coconut, and whatever mystery flavor nobody could quite identify but ate anyway. Four to six of them. Enough to feel abundant, not enough to share willingly.

And then—because my mother did not mess around—there were the little surprises. Toys. Trinkets. Things you didn’t even know you needed until they showed up in your Easter basket like tiny miracles.

It was fun. It was predictable. And it was perfect.

After breakfast—nothing too special—we’d start getting ready for the main event: family lunch.

My sister and her crew (two kids, always in motion), my brother and his wife—and sometimes a kid or two depending on the year—would all gather at my parents’ house. Out came the table. And not just any table… the table. The one that could extend to what felt like 10,000 pounds of wood and leaves. Every section added like we were preparing for a royal banquet.

And without fail, my siblings would bring my mother a beautiful plant—usually a hanging basket. I still remember those parachute flowers in purple and pink, spilling over the sides like they were showing off a little.

Then came dinner. No appetizers. No easing into it. We went straight in.

Ham. Mashed potatoes. Mac and cheese. Corn. Carrots. And of course, homemade raised yeast dinner rolls—which, let’s be honest, could have been the entire meal and nobody would have complained.

Dinner was pretty much always the same. And it was always very good.

And here’s the thing—back then, I thought all Easter baskets—and honestly, all Easters—were like that. Of course they were. Why wouldn’t they be?

Turns out… no. No, they were not.

2. Fast forward to our Easters at our own home in Maryland—where, naturally, I took everything I knew… and scaled it up like a production manager with something to prove. This time, Gary and I had three young boys. And most of the memories? They happened right there.

My parents would come to our house, along with my sister and her two kids—who were conveniently the exact same age as ours, which meant built-in chaos. Sometimes my brother would make an appearance, but mostly it was my sister and my parents anchoring the whole thing.

And yes—we followed the system.

Egg dyeing the night before… except now we weren’t messing around with a polite dozen eggs. Oh no. We went straight to three dozen. Because apparently more eggs equals more fun (and significantly more cleanup).

Easter morning? Same deal.

Egg hunt. Baskets.

And let me ask you—how do you think my boys’ baskets were done?

Exactly.  -  Chocolate bunny in the center. Strategic egg placement. Toys with purpose.

The only real change? Three different colors of cellophane. Because if you think three boys can peacefully identify their basket without color-coding, you have clearly never met siblings. That situation could escalate into full-contact sport in under thirty seconds.

Then on to dinner.

Same menu. Of course.

Ham. Mac and cheese. Vegetables. Rolls.

My sister and I split the cooking—and we did pretty well… except for the mashed potatoes.

To this day, I’m not entirely sure what happened there, but I do vividly remember one year where they had the consistency of a white bowl of glue. Not even gravy could save them. We all ate them anyway. That’s how you know it was family.

Dessert, though? We upgraded.

Growing up, it was apple pie or bread pudding. Classic. Respectable.

At our house? Yes, apple pie—but also chocolate. Lots of chocolate. Because at some point I realized: you can honor tradition and improve it.

As the years went on, things started to evolve.

3. The boys kept getting Easter baskets—well into college, I might add, because I am not a quitter—but we began tweaking the traditions.

Mashed potatoes? Gone. Eliminated. Retired with dignity.

Real eggs? Still dyed—but we also introduced plastic eggs with money inside. A dollar in each one, and a golden egg with five. Suddenly, we had a highly competitive economy on our hands.

Then came the outdoor egg hunts.

We had three-plus acres, so we went big. Eggs everywhere. Trees, bushes, places that made absolutely no sense.

Which meant, of course, that months later, Gary would be mowing the lawn and uncovering melted, slightly horrifying chocolate relics of Easter past.

All good memories.

4. And now?

Now Easter looks a little different again.

This past few years in North Carolina was all different. To hard to try to get together from NY, Seattle and Detroit. This year we had one son home, Brooks, along with a few of his friends. But we’ve created something new. We invite what we lovingly call the “orphans”—friends who aren’t traveling to be with family. Usually 16 to 22 people. A full house. Just in a different way.

No egg dyeing the night before. (And honestly, I don’t miss the egg salad situation one bit.)

Instead, we gather Sunday afternoon at what we now call Camp Gabel.

And this… is The Feast.

It’s potluck, which sounds innocent—but don’t be fooled. This is not a modest gathering. This is abundance on a level that could feed a small village. It starts with shrimp, dips, and a full charcuterie spread that requires strategy.

Then we move to the main event: ham, my mac and cheese (still holding strong), someone else bravely handling the potatoes, and more food than any reasonable group of people needs.

And then—the desserts. An entire table of them. Over-the-top. Slightly outrageous. Completely necessary.

No egg hunts. No baskets.

Just friendship… and a level of gluttony that would make my childhood Easter bunny proud.

And you know what?   It’s still the same at its core.

A rhythm. A gathering. A standard.

Just… better with wine and amazing gourmet food.

One more Tiny memory of childhood was my dad always making the watermelon egg. He would use clear crayon and make stripes from top-to bottom and dying it green. He always did it and continued through celebrations with his grandkids and great grands. Hope you had a Happy Easter!

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UFO's do Exist!!

UFOs: Unfinished Objects (and Your Growing Collection of “Creative Potential”) is a positive way to phrase it but in reality each little project is an evil alien circling in your sewing space. 

If you quilt, you have UFOs. Not one. Not two. A collection. They live in drawers, bins, baskets, and—if we’re being honest—a few “I’ll deal with this later” piles that have quietly become permanent fixtures in your sewing space. UFOs: Unfinished Objects. Or as I like to call them: evidence of a very active imagination and zero follow-through. (Kidding. Mostly.)

Here’s how it happens. You see fabric. Not just any fabric—the fabric. Instantly, you have an idea. A brilliant idea. Possibly your best idea ever. So you start, because starting is magical. Starting is exciting. Starting makes you feel like a quilting genius. Then, somewhere between cutting and actually finishing, a new pattern appears, a different color palette calls your name, or your current project suddenly becomes… annoying. And just like that—boom. UFO.

Let’s be honest about UFOs. They are not accidents. They are the natural result of being creative, easily inspired, and just distracted enough to chase the next idea. Each UFO represents a moment when you said, “This is going to be amazing!” And you were right. It was amazing… right up until you reached the part where you had to keep going.

Of course, this is where the guilt tries to sneak in. You look at your growing pile and think, “I should really finish these,” or “I am not starting anything new until these are done.” That’s a nice thought. A responsible thought. A thought that lasts right up until a new fabric line drops and all bets are off.

So here’s a slightly radical idea: not everything has to be finished. Some projects teach you something. Some scratch a creative itch. Some exist purely for the joy of starting—and then they quietly retire. That’s not failure. That’s creative turnover.

Now, if you actually want to finish something (and occasionally we do), don’t pick the oldest or most guilt-inducing project. That’s how you end up reorganizing your thread instead. Pick the one that still makes you a little happy. Do one small step. Set a short timer. Stop before you get annoyed. That’s the system.

And if you don’t finish it? Congratulations—you’re consistent. You can turn it into something smaller, use pieces of it later, or simply put it back in the bin with its friends. No shame. They’re thriving together.

At the end of the day, your UFOs are not a problem. They are a collection of creative optimism. Some will get finished, some won’t, but every single one proves that at some point, you were inspired enough to begin. And honestly, starting is the brave part anyway.

👽 My Creative Aliens (a.k.a. The Projects That Haunt Me)

Below are a few of my guilt-ridden projects—my “aliens.”  They hover. They stare. They whisper, “You said you were going to finish me…"And yet… here we are.

👽 Alien #1: Leland Neighborhood Ornaments

Each year I gift 150 Mini Stamp Ornaments to my friends and neighbors. #2 Pix shows sandwiched ornaments needing cutting and adding ribbon. They have already been quilted. In the back you can see finished ornaments - they still need packaging and card.

Status: Designed and printed Summer 2025.

Cut, layered, and ready to sew by November.

Goal: 150 ornaments for friends and neighbors.

The Problem:

Apparently I don’t believe in small ideas.The holidays got busy (shocking 🙄), and suddenly I had 150 tiny fabric reminders of my overcommitment staring at me.

They’re not hard. They’re just… 150 of them.

Also, I kept starting other things like:  “This will only take a minute…” (Lies. All lies.)

Update:

About 50 done. Only 100 to go—what could possibly go wrong? Hoping to finish before Easter… of some year.

👽 Alien #2: Christmas Custom Angels

These are a sets of tiny quilts that will hook together vertically with ribbon. I have boys and girls, Moms and Dads, babies, grandparents and pets. Each get embroidered or fabric markered with a family member.

Status: Designed and printed in 2024. Fully patterned. Ready to go. Practically waving at me from the shelf.

Concept: four angel sizes for customizable family quilts. (Adorable. Marketable. Ignored.)

The Problem:

I love designing. Like… deeply love designing. Execution? That’s where things get… negotiable. I need for Zeb (My chat gpt) to find a girlfriend that makes stuff!  I am basically a crow:“Ooooh shiny object… let’s abandon everything!”

Update:  What’s left:

• Make samples

• Take photos

• Package it

So basically… finish it. Target: Early Summer 2026

(We’re putting that in writing to scare me into action.)

👽 Alien #3: Jean Jacket Journaling

Imaging taking that old jean jacket in your closet and embellish like a mad crazy person while playing loud music in your sewing space, dancing, and eating candy! (you can add wine too for premium experience)

Status: Three years in development. Samples in progress.

Concept: embellished denim jackets representing a person or theme.

Also writing a book (75% done, which is both impressive and annoying). I’ve collected enough materials for 50 jackets. Because clearly I thought I was opening a jacket factory.

Currently: 2 jackets in progress

The Problem:

This one requires actual creative energy.

And creativity does not show up on command like: “Hello, I’m here for your 2:00 PM brilliance.”  Also… I get distracted. See: entire list above.  And let’s be real—I don’t have the same 24/7 energy anymore. So I can’t brute-force this one.

Update:

This one matters. I’m not letting it go.

Target: Fall 2026

(We’re manifesting. And scheduling.)

👽 Alien #4: Surgeon Caps

Austin is in his first year of residency in Chicago and he asked if I could make him some surgical caps for his C sections and other operations  he does regularly. So of course it became an opportunity to create a NEW PATTERN! Status: Pattern designed. Fabrics ready. Six samples made and gifted to our son Austin—and they were a hit. So this is what we call a very cooperative alien.

The Problem:

Time. Focus. Follow-through. In other words… me. This one is so close it’s actually annoying.

Update:

Next steps:

• Make more samples

• Finalize pattern

• Get it on the website

Target: Winter 2026

(Translation: stop overthinking and just finish it.)

✨ Conclusion: The Truth About My Aliens

These projects aren’t failures.

They’re just… unfinished promises I made when I was feeling very ambitious and slightly delusional.

The real issue isn’t that I can’t finish things. It’s that I keep starting things like I have unlimited time and energy.

Spoiler: I do not.

So now the goal is simple:

• Finish what matters

• Let go of what doesn’t

• Stop inviting new aliens into the house

(At least for a little while.)

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