Carla Edmisten

Pieces of the Past

I felt so inadequate as I made the first cut. Quilting was not my thing. That precise, intimidating craft belonged to my grandmother. The mysterious quilting frame, strung by its corners just below her living room ceiling, became magical once it was lowered. With thimbled fingers, Grandma patiently stitched row after row, forming rhythmic patterns across colorful scraps. I treasure these keepsakes now, seeing bits of my childhood dresses and pieces of my mother's blouses of years gone by. There is nothing more comforting that snuggling up under these memories.