Then life got busy. We built and moved houses a couple of times. I had another baby. I discovered scrapbooking with a vengeance. I went back to work. I rediscovered quilting, this time modern.
Occasionally I'd pull my highly organised Dear Jane box out from under my bed, complete a few blocks, then get over it. Fast forward twelve years and I've done 32 blocks out of the 225.
At this rate I should get it done when I'm about 120.
Or I can rethink and accept that I will never, ever get it finished. I don't love the whole concept any more, I don't enjoy this kind of hand piecing. I admire the amazing workmanship of anyone who's ever made a Dear Jane, but it's just not for me.
I pulled it out again today and took a look at what I'd done. For a moment I was all sentimental about how wonderful it was, then I realised how much more work there was to complete this quilt.