When my mother was pregnant with me, she started a quilt. Unsure if I was a boy or a girl, she chose fabrics in burgundy and cream – an interesting combination that was fresh and new in 1983. Being the over-achiever that my mother is, she chose the hardest pattern available, and then she decided she'd hand piece it. When people see the quilt, they tell her she's crazy for doing this.
Mom toted a million little pieces of fabric around in an oversized Estée Lauder box which (when not in use) consumed a whole drawer of the secretary in the entry way of the house I grew up in. She meticulously cut each piece then drew sew lines on the back of each one. After some time, I think that this daunting pattern got the best of her, so it sat untouched for awhile (and by awhile, I mean a few years). She decided at some point that she wanted to have it finished by my 18th birthday, so she harnessed all of her chi and put the pedal to the metal (or the needle to the fabric, as the case was).
And then the unthinkable happened... She ran out of fabric.
What do you do when you're finishing a quilt that you've been working on for 18 years, and you run out of fabric? You can't exactly go to the store and buy more... We went to Cabbage Rose thinking that we'd be able to find a complimentary fabric to help finish the job. The ladies at that shop are always so helpful! And then the unthinkable happened (again): one of the ladies in the shop had the same fabric we needed in her attic.
The quilt was a team effort – the labor and love from my mother, some random scraps of fabric in a stranger's attic, the time and skill of a woman at church who bound and quilted the entire thing – all to yield one incredible and beautiful quilt (which I forgot to photograph for you).
We have chests and cabinets and drawers of quilts between my grandmother's house, my mother's house and my house – years of heritage all folded up and tucked away, each unique in style and color (some good, some bad). But I enjoy these things. I love pulling these quilts up to my ears and thinking about the time that went into making them, the passion that the people who made them had and all of the other people who have snuggled underneath them before me.
But I feel even more special that I have one made for me. I didn't go to the store and buy it. I didn't special order it from the internet. My mom chose the fabric, cut it up, lined it, sewed it and then gave it to me – a tangible expression of love and dedication that I'll always keep.