Last week my in-law's gave me this quilt:
It belonged to DH's great grandma Kate:
I love the odd square thrown in here and there to fill an empty space when there was no more of a particular fabric.
Today we go out and buy more. Maybe I need to stop doing that.
No one in my family ever sewed or quilted. How sad is that? And then why do I have this burning desire to do so? Have we been married so long that DH's family has truly become a part of me through some form of Osmosis? I mean. I had no desire what so ever to even become acquainted with fabric until we had our first child. And even then, my MIL showered us with her quilts. Me? Quilt? I was overwhelmed by the thought.
So now I am over the moon that I have this quilt and as I sat with it in my lap, running my fingers tenderly over the patches of fabric, I wished like crazy that she was sitting beside me. I have so many things I would like to say,
"Where did this....and this....and this piece come from?"
"What did you make for supper the day you stitched this block?"
"Did your mother quilt?"
"Here, let me cut some more squares for you."
"Do you want me to bring in some more wood so that you can continue stitching?"
"Did your children sit under this quilt as you stitched?"
"Where did you live when you were making this?"
"Who claimed this quilt once it was finished?"
Then she would look at me as if I had grown a second head when I tell her about the tools we have for quilters today and the never-ending selection of fabrics we have at our fingertips and she would shake her head.
I imagine she would tell me, "Hush child. You are quite the chatter-box", but then she would smile.
And I would sneak in another, "When did you find the time?" She would glance at me with wise eyes and I would simply say,
"Thank you. I will treasure it forever."