I’m the youngest one by far in that well-lit room full of grandmas and mamas.
That’s just how I want it, how I need it. I need to sit in the presence of women who come from generations before, whose hands know so well the cloth, the needle, the thread; whose minds bear the beauty and experience of life; whose hearts are welcoming to a girl like me.
They quilt. And I am amazed.
Cut, pieced, sewn, tied, stitched, folded, and stacked - an artisan collection, all to comfort and warm those walking the rough cancer road.
It’s their making with needle and thread.
I sit and sew. Little things like linen tea towels. They say it’s okay that I don’t quilt. They say that it’s okay if I just sew.
The images in my mind are worked out with my hands, my machine. I love how, slowly, those ideas become.
The mamas and grandmas come over to see. And they say, Ruffles on a tea towel?
I laugh.
Yes!
Yes! Ridiculous, wonderful ruffles on a tea towel!
It’s my making with needle and thread.
