Mother's Day 101 Redux

It's that time again.

I said it once and it bears repeating.   As a reminder, "Mothers Day 101" - check it out.

Labors of Love - Quilts from the Heart

The Why Quilts Matter post went live today - here is the link!    

February is the month for giving and receiving expressions of love.  Mothers, fathers, friends and dear ones all given love tokens in a variety of shapes, sizes, colors, mediums, and all-important flavors of chocolate.I have always considered quilts to be among the greatest expression of love but only recently have I fully appreciated the depth and scope of their significance. Quilts I made over the past 20 years have been displayed in homes, been unfolded, used, refolded, comforted babies, warmed bodies and family pets, all the time witnessing and absorbing the history of their lives, the growth of their children, the pack-up-and-moves to new cities.
Baby quilts are always a satisfying labor of love. I have a nephew who was so desperately attached to the shredded remnants of his baby quilt and a receiving blanket that he loved to bits (literally) and squeezed them into a ball of shreds. He tucked it up inside his pillowcase (so no one would know) and held on to it well in to his early teens. Mom was insistent the baby quilts she made for her  grandchildren be used and washed, and was keenly pleased to see how long her grandson held on to the quilt she made just for him.
My favorite baby quilt was one made by my mother when Joe and I were newly married and confidently planning a family.  Fate intervened and no babies ever came. The quilt was always in our bedroom, draped over a quilt holder for about 20 years.  When my god-daughter had her first child I decided it was time to let go of that quilt and find it a home with Mom's new great-grandson.  The emotions surrounding the giving and receiving of that quilt cannot be expressed in words.  For me it defined a four-generation gift of love in so many ways, with both a melancholy ache and tears of joy.

Quilts are visual and tactile manifestations of love.  Who hasn't been sick and wrapped up in a quilt and felt just a little bit better, or at least comforted? When missing my Mom overwhelms me I grab a quilt she made and roll myself up, inhale the fabric and trace my finger over her carefully hand quilted stitches, taking to her and feeling a bit of her presence in my needy soul. So many pioneer brides crossed the frontier with a signature quilt packed among her belongings, a physical reminder of home and loved ones she might never see again.  How cherished those quilts must have been even as they were pressed into service warming bodies or blocking sod house drafts and windows with non existent-glass.

[caption id="attachment_2354" align="aligncenter" width="467" caption="A heart Mom made for me, on my design wall."][/caption]

In the late 70’s, when my Grandma Major (Dad’s mother) was in the nursing home, my mother made her a lap quilt out of scraps of our old dresses and pantsuits. We still have the precious keepsake and it was covering Dad the night he left us. While Mom was waiting for him on the other side, a quilt she originally made for his mother was keeping him warm.

The Family Quilt

At both of their funerals the double wedding ring anniversary quilt made by their three daughters covered their caskets with beauty and love.

I invite you to look back over the years and inventory the quilts you have seen, given, been given or were just privileged to see in a show or exhibit. Every one of those quilts matter - every one that you or I or anyone has ever made, regardless of shape, size, color or intricacy.  No such labor of love should be judged anything but the most wonderful gift from the heart. It blesses both the giver and the recipient with the greatest gift of all -- a colorful, tactile and enduring expression of love.  When the flowers have faded and the chocolate a memory, the quilt endures as a lasting and constant assurance of true love. Happy Valentines Day – to you and to all you love.

NOTE:
I was asked to write a guest blog for Why Quilts Matter and the above entry  was the result.  Why Quilts Matter is a scholarly, entertaining and visually stunning DVD. A copy should be in the home of anyone who loves art, color, and beautiful quilts. I do not in any way benefit monetarily from this - I just believe in it, and as one who loves art, color and beautiful quilts I bought two copies and donated one to my local library. Do the same. RESPECT and support for quilting begins with each of us.

What Makes a Woobie?

Everyone needs a woobie. Your woobie can be a doll, a toy,  or even a special old sweatshirt, but more often than not your woobie is a quilt. One of the great things about being a quilter is being plugged in to groups who specialize in woobies.  Check these out:

• Project Linus -  the ultimate in security blankets


• Quilts of Valor - no better way to say thank you to returning wounded veterans.  It's not about politics - it's about people.


• Operation Pillowcase - for the troops overseas, a little comfort all their own.  Many local groups with similar names operate the same way - Google one up near you.


• End of life quilts, hospice quilts, quilts for babies in neonatal units - there are groups everywhere creating gifts of loving comfort. You need not make an entire quilt - you can make a quilt top and send it to a volunteer who does longarm quilting, or vice versa.  There are entire systems in place to make it happen.

My woobie for over the past decade has been one of my Mom's quilts - one she called "Green Propellers." I found the pattern and sent it to her, bought her the book in fact (HINT HINT HINT Mom) and she did it up in cream and greens.  Really beautiful, but she always thought it looked like airplane propellers, hence the name.  When at last she gave each of her 6 children the Christmas gift of selecting one of her quilts, I dove for the Green Propellers.   (I wanted the  "Blues in the Night" quilt but that one was not on the offering list. Seriously. More on that later. )

After we lost Mom to cancer I  spent a LOT of time under that woobie, wrapping up in her love, in something she touched and handled,   hoping to absorb some bit of her into my soul and ease the grief.   As the years have passed   I still climb under that quilt when I am  missing her, or when  I'm sick, feeling stressed out, or just need a protective barrier to shut out the world for a while.     Tracing my finger along the seams, the squares and the lines of  her hand quilting is a zen-like experience that enriches my spirit and channels her love.  (Love never dies, you know, it simply changes and takes on the most amazing forms.)  Woobie quilts have that crinkly, wrinkly softness that soothes your body and soul.  They can cushion  you against whatever the world can throw at you.  Pull someone you love beneath that woobie with you and the whole world will look even better after a bit.

Not all quilts are woobies, but each quilt has woobie potential. I try to remember that when I am working on a quilt,  that everything I cut, sew, touch, fold and stitch should be done so with tenderness.   I would love to think that at least some of my quilts will find their way into their recipient's heart and become their woobie someday.

See?  That's what I mean about different kinds of love taking on the most amazing forms....

Uh Oh - I'm Becoming My Mother

I caught myself doing something today that I promised myself I would never do "when I was grown up and had a home of my own."  I took a shower this afternoon, and when I headed back downstairs to the main floor, I went down the stairs backwards and mopped the wooden staircase with my damp towels.  That rates right up there with brushing your teeth with one hand, and using the other to clean out the sink and wipe down the counter to remove hairspray residue.  I was NEVER going to do that. My MOTHER did that, and  it drove me nuts. I have no idea why, I just thought it was so not cool.  That kind of multi-tasking was never going to be me. But now it is - and I'm feeling a little elderly-esque. What about you?  Does this happen to everyone?

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