I got a basket beside my chair catches every scrap that ain't big enough to save, and I been meaning to clean it out for I don't know how long. Yesterday I finally did and child, you should have seen it. Three generations of dresses in there. My mama's Sunday apron print. A piece of the curtains from the house I grew up in, which I didn't even know I still had. Bits from baby blankets I made for grandbabies who are grown now with babies of their own.

I couldn't throw none of it away. Just put it all back in the basket and set it next to me again. Some folks would call that hoarding. I call it remembering, and there's a difference though I can't always tell you where the line is.

Every now and again I'll pull a piece out while I'm waiting on something and just hold it. That's the whole of it. That's the quilt work, before the needle ever comes out.