Quilts are stupid

While I didn’t start quilting till after I left home, I thought I at least had respected the Mother’s prolific and masterful quilting. And though I surely do now, apparently that wasn’t always the case. When I was back at the old familial abode to pick up the Princess, I helped clean out the Mother’s enviable sewing room, where she unearthed an unfinished quilt top she had started making for me when I was about to finish high school. I vaguely remembered her making the center with carefully chosen fabrics—newsprint because I’d written for our local paper, cows and cow spots ’cause I’d had an inexplicable affection for all things bovine, scraps from the bed quilt she made me when I was a kid, and even fabric I’d used to cover a book I made for a fifth-grade English class. But I’d more or less pushed the entire quilt out of mind. (Forgive the rubbishy photo—was rushing out to the airport when I took it.)

“Why do you think I only sewed one border on?” the Mother reminded me. “You said quilts were stupid, so I wasn’t about to spend the time for some ungrateful teenager!” I had been a little shit, too concerned with what my potential friends in college might think about me sleeping under mummy’s quilt to appreciate what I was being offered. We had a good laugh upon seeing the quilt, since I’ve clearly got over the “quilts are stupid” mindset. Sorry Mom...

Going through her stash was a revelation—it was the first time I’d seen her accumulated quilting gear since actually becoming a quilter myself. Quite a history lesson, too: some of the older fabric was so stiff that I was sure it was about to get up and walk out of the room by itself.

All this gear is now in storage waiting for her new home in China. So Mother’s Day is over in her time zone, but love you anyway Mom! Sorry for the teenage embarrassment.