This past weekend I set out to start on a quilt. I had gone to a fabric store several weeks ago with a friend who quilts and crafts a lot and who had, incidentally, given me the pattern for this quilt. She helped me select the colors and cheered me on. I dutifully washed my fabrics, then ironed them and cut them according to the pattern’s instructions, using equipment that I inherited from a relative. I began sewing the fabric squares and strips together using an old Singer sewing machine that was my mother’s. I had taken it out of its ancient cabinet years ago and had it put in a portable case that I could store more easily and set on the table to use as needed.
For several hours I sewed and pressed, matched and trimmed. I got a good start on the project. Finally I laid it aside, finding that my back was achy and my eyes tired.
It’s been some time since I’ve tackled such a large project. But it felt good to do it. It reminded me of seeing my grandmothers sewing and quilting when I was a child. I have several of their quilts. Some on display, some folded away in a chest.
This quilt is for my husband. He enjoys resting in his recliner or on the sofa with a blanket. This quilt will be the perfect size for him. It will have red cardinals on it. Each stitch will have been put there by me. As I work on it I will have been thinking of us together and remembering others from my past who taught me the skills to make the quilt and taught me the value of creating something of beauty and functionality myself. And when it’s done, I hope that he will use it and think of me.