I love quilts. There's something so comforting and inviting about these hand-stitched blankets. It's not just their utilitarian purpose, to provide warmth, it's all of the love and care that goes into their creation. I have fond memories of watching my grandmother and great-grandmother putting hours and hours of labor into their quilts. My favorites were always the ones that were pieced out of the leftovers from previous quilts, or old shirts that found new life within the patched blanket. Those quilts often times had crazy color schemes which fantastically clashed, but that's what I loved about them. They were energetic and funky, and bright.
Gangy (my grandmother) always kept a box full of scraps in her quilting studio for her grandkids. She taught her grandchildren how to thread a needle, piece the scraps, and hand stitch them together to create a quilt that I'm sure any tiny creature would have marveled at. I think about the patience she showed when teaching us each and every little step. I often think about those moments when I'm frustrated in teaching my own children tedious tasks. It takes a lot of patience to make a quilt. It takes a lot of patience to teach your children. And I'm not always the most patient person. Sometimes, like having to rip a seam and start over, I have to take pause, and start again with my children. But hopefully, with each little stitch sewn, each little patched seam, each little lesson taught, some crazy, beautiful, fantastically bright thing will emerge.