Yesterday my husband and I went to a yearly indoor yard sale at the Methodist Church. It is always a fun place to go not only for the things on sale, but the folks you meet there; both old friends and acquaintances and visiting with friendly folks that you've never met before.
I picked up some pretty tops for fifty cents a piece and was pretty proud of my purchase. As we were going out the door there was a quilt displayed over a trunk. It was twenty dollars. I picked it up and it was so very soft. I looked it over and noticed that it was machine sewn but had some hand stitching also. I also noticed that it had no batting like I used to use. I decided that that quilt needed a new home and sent Fran to pay for it. An elderly lady came up to me and said, "You really knew what you were buying didn't you? That's an antique you know." I smiled and said, "I think I will cuddle up to it when I get home. I'm old too." We both chuckled and felt a camaraderie even though we didn't know each other.
When we got it home Fran and I noticed that it needed to be washed and also notice a frayed square that needed to be repaired before it was washed. Today I was carrying it into my bed and Fran said, "I thought you were going to wash it before you used it." I told him I needed to inspect it to see if the one square was the only one that needed mended. We saw two others so I got out my needle and thread and proceeded to repair and inspect. As I was sewing Fran watched me very carefully. We visited about the news and family, especially his mother and her beautiful quilts she made. and her niece that does beautiful quilting. But I was thinking of my mother's quilt that was hanging in our bedroom that she hand stitched while she was carrying me in 1944.
We remarked on the many repairs that the quilt needed. I told him that I thought the lady that made this quilt so many years ago had not had much money or that she cherished the quilt because I could tell where she had replaced a pattern with hand stitching over a place that had been completely worn through with newer material. Or as I later happened to think, it could have been handed down to a relative.
I kept saying this quilt has been washed so many times the material feels softer than the very finest material. All this time I was thinking about my parents. My dad would read to my mother while she was mending. I never remember interrupting; it wasn't my place. But I do remember my mother darning socks as I found that I was in fact using darning stitches to repair some places that only new material would strengthen it. I didn't want to do that. This quilt was old and just needed a boost so that I could put it on my bed. I knew that I didn't need it for warmth, but the smile it will bring to my face every time I look at it. Oh the stories that quilt was hiding.
