Every winter I pull this quilt out of the closet and put it on my bed. After it's on the bed I spend a few minutes twisting the yarn ties, running my fingers over the seams and looking at all the different blocks of fabric that don't really match. My sweet grandmother made it. She made a quilt just like it for nearly all of her 53 grandchildren.
Having grown up during the Great Depression, she was very frugal and threw nothing away. Many of the blocks of fabric used to make these quilts were scraps from other projects. Some of the blocks I recognize as the same fabric as a bathrobe my mother had, or a blouse one of my aunts wore.
My quilt wouldn't win any contest or even sell for much money. It was made to keep me warm and it does, in more ways than one. It is one of my most treasured possessions.
As I straighten the quilt on the bed, I can hear my grandmother's voice counting out how many quilts she's made and how many she has left to make as her fingers push the needle through the layers of fabric. I feel blessed to have known her, to have learned from her and to have been loved by her.
I miss her.
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