<\/a><\/p>\nIt begins with collecting the fabric.\u00a0 <\/span>Could be shirt, could be pants, could be pajamas, could be long johns, could be feed sack, could be anything, but for a quilt, the good stuff is always old, and better yet, sentimental. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\nIt might be grandfather\u2019s old barn jacket, or grandmother\u2019s old Easter dress.\u00a0 <\/span>Sometimes a quilt has a piece that represents family good news, pieces of a baby blanket of someone now grown, turned into a quilt for their children.\u00a0 <\/span>Sometimes a quilt has a piece of fabric that represents a great loss; when grandma died, they cut up her favorite table cloth, where so many family meals were eaten, so that a piece of those memories would live on in the quilts of her daughters and granddaughters.<\/p>\nSlow Like A Pregnancy<\/strong><\/p>\nThe fabric is cut into pieces, into a pile, which to the child observer, looked like scraps.\u00a0 <\/span>The scraps were sewn together, to make a block. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\nThe blocks were sewn into a pattern.\u00a0 <\/span>There are many traditional patterns: log cabin; star; bear paw; nine patch; sixteen patch; crazy quilt\u2026 the list goes on and on.<\/p>\nMaking a quilt is labor, but it\u2019s labor of love, which might explain why quilt making is such a feminine project.\u00a0 <\/span>The stitches, so small, so many, like all the little things of family and motherhood.\u00a0 <\/span>There\u2019s reverence in the unspoken, an awareness that she is making something that will outlive her.<\/p>\nThere is a quiet patience to a quilt\u2019s creation, slow like a pregnancy, with one great difference, because a quilt is made of old pieces, it\u2019s never a newborn.\u00a0 <\/span>Because it\u2019s handmade, it outranks everything that is store bought.<\/p>\nIn my years in the antique business, I found very few orphan heirloom quilts.\u00a0 <\/span>Finding one gave me the same sad feeling as when I found an orphan family Bible, with flowers pressed between the pages.\u00a0 <\/span>A family that would disrespect either, had lost the tie, that binds.<\/p>\nA Quilt Of Whys<\/strong><\/p>\nWhen someone asked me what it was like to be 65, I found it surprising, that of all the things my subconscious could reply with, how curiously perfect, to compare aging, to being a quilt.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s so accurate.\u00a0 <\/span>I am a quilt.\u00a0 <\/span>I was born singular, this one neutral baby, but aging has made me a collection of pieces, joined together atop the original me. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\nI am scraps of moments, that form blocks of memories.<\/p>\n
I am a little of this, a little of that.\u00a0 <\/span>I am both bright and faded.\u00a0 <\/span>I have been cut apart, subtracted from, stitched together, added to. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\nParts of me show heavy use, but much of me has been wasted.<\/p>\n
In some places I am frayed, hanging by a stitch.\u00a0 <\/span>In other places, I\u2019ve been improved by the healing needle and thread.<\/p>\nI bear the odor of being soiled by bad times, and bad people, who have done bad to me.\u00a0 <\/span>I also bear the good fragrance of the good people, who added to me, in like, and in love.<\/p>\nI am a quilt of days, and what I did with them.\u00a0 <\/span>I am a quilt of thoughts and feelings, that only I thought and felt.<\/p>\nI am a quilt of my Yes\u2019s and No\u2019s and Maybe\u2019s.<\/p>\n
I am a quilt of questions.\u00a0 <\/span>I am a quilt of Whys.\u00a0 <\/span>Some of my Whys are sacred, like the Whys of being a witness to unfair deaths, of innocents and betters.<\/p>\nWouldn\u2019t Change A Thing<\/strong><\/p>\nWhen I was young, it was a clich\u00e9, to be listening to an elder, them telling about their hard times and bad licks, but no matter how rough their road, they\u2019d all conclude with the same words, \u201cI wouldn\u2019t change a thing!\u201d\u00a0 <\/span>That made no sense, until I got to be their age. \u00a0 \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\nThe great mystery of having a life is figuring out who you really are.\u00a0 <\/span>The quilt of me is the uniqueness of me, my good-est good, my bad-est bad, my each and every.\u00a0 <\/span>As I\u2019ve aged, it\u2019s becoming clear that random isn\u2019t so random.\u00a0 <\/span>I sense the unseen hands of Complexity.\u00a0 <\/span>I feel orchestrated by Purpose.\u00a0 <\/span>Like the old folks of my childhood, I want to see how it all comes together, for this One and Only Me. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\nOne day we\u2019ll meet our Maker, wearing the quilt of ourselves.\u00a0 <\/span>Wouldn\u2019t surprise me a bit, if He said, \u201cI know every scrap and stich of you.\u201d<\/p>\n———————————————————————<\/p>\n
This edition of Uncle P\u2019s Bedtime Stories is dedicated to the manual labor of being ourselves.\u00a0 <\/span>The most respected quilts are hand-stitched, no cheat with the machine.<\/i><\/p>\nUncle P\u2019s three books can be found at Expressions, 3100 Ryan Street.\u00a0 <\/span>Uncle P can be reached at eightyoneantiques@gmail.com.<\/i><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Dear Reader, Someone asked me what turning 65 was like. \u00a0 I thought, \u2018Aging is like being a quilt.\u2019 Every House\u00a0Had A Singer\u00a0 I am old enough to remember a childhood where every house had a Singer sewing machine, and all the children knew not to mess with Momma\u2019s fabric shears. It was common, to [&hellip<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":15,"featured_media":279,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[58],"tags":[59,894],"yoast_head":"\n
We Are Each A Quilt - BestOfSwla<\/title>\n \n \n \n \n \n \n \n \n \n \n \n \n\t \n\t \n\t \n \n \n\t \n\t \n\t \n