Cambria Heights

The Cambria Heights Queens library website calendar said, “Please join us Wednesday mornings for workshops on machine quilting. We will learn basic sewing stitches to create beautiful individual and group projects that will be showcased in our annual art exhibit. All are welcome, supplies will be available for use during the sessions.” The key words: “Please join us, basic, supplies available, all welcome” made me think this would be an interesting adventure. (My mom says that maybe Laurence should stop some of my adventures, but Laurence is the one who opened my world to such. He’s fine as long as he feels like it’s safe.) Not that quilting is my thing. It isn’t, but I thought it would be kinda nice to be able to relate a little to all my crafty, quilter Mennonite friends.

Cambria Heights is not someplace where we have spent much time. I know very little about it. It’s on the edge of Queens and not near a subway line. I told Laurence, “I expect to be with a group of elderly White ladies.”

I rode the M train to Forest Hills where I switched to an E train to Jamaica Center.  From there, I followed the signs to the  Q4 bus. The wind blew in the below freezing temperatures as I waited and waited for a bus (maybe 30 minutes). I didn’t wait alone. Several times, a van drew up and some boarded. Dollar vans to where? I didn’t know the system and wasn’t brave enough to get on. The Q4 finally came and I rode 26 stops until I reached the library. Clearly, I was in a Black section of Queens, and yes, the ladies were all African American and on a first name basis. Like, “Oh Joanne is back. How’s your Dad?” I’m thinking I felt like any one of them would have if they’d go to a Holdeman Mennonite Sewing day! They each had their projects – some amazing work – as they are getting ready for a quilt show during Black History Month. They were nice to me. Greeted me and all, but I just didn’t fit in, and when I could comfortably leave, I did.

I took the bus back to Jamaica. White folks don’t go there much either, but we occasionally do, and I felt comfortable walking there. Years ago, we used to go to a food court, and now I found that it’s still open. I went in and had some scrumptious pupusas, feeling content with my lot in life.

I came home and sewed with my own machine. The ladies told me to come back after the quilt show, but I’d decided it wasn’t a place for me. However, while ironing the facing on a new dress, I started having second thoughts. What if we could get acquainted, learn each other’s names, could ask how their dad is doing, and tell them I lost mine in July. Maybe they’re Southern Baptists, and we could discuss the Gospel.

I’ll see how the Lord directs my steps. For now, Laurence is home and it’s time to make supper.

Berniece