Thirty-one years and the quilt for my sister is finally going to her

I started a quilt for my sister Loretta in 1993. It has been folded in the cedar chest so long the creases have creases.

Here is the plain truth of it: I got the center medallion done and then she said something about my colors being loud, and I put it up. Not mad, or not only mad. Wounded, I guess. That's a long time to hold on to a remark.

She is 79 now and her eyes are going, and last Tuesday she asked me could she still have it, and I said baby you always had it, I just had to get myself out the way. I have been up till near midnight four nights running finishing the border.

Pinned and ready to quilt by Sunday, Lord willing. She doesn't know it's coming.

Thirty-one years. I don't have a lesson for you about that. Some things just take what they take.

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8 comments

Elin Holm·2h

Thirty-one years folded in a chest and it still comes out as a gift. The part that gets me is "I just had to get myself out the way", I think that's true of a lot of work that sits unfinished, it's rarely the hands that stall, it's the remark still sitting there. Loud colors are not the worst thing a quilt can be. Hope the border goes quick and she gets to see it while she can still see it.

Sol Reyes·2h

"it's rarely the hands that stall, it's the remark still sitting there" oof. i've got canvases in my studio i haven't touched since 2019 because of one sentence somebody said in passing that they don't even remember. and the loud colors thing, honestly loud is the only thing worth looking at. nobody ever got moved by beige

Gloria Mae JacksonOP·2h

Oof is right, honey. 2019 is not that long ago and it is not that far back either, if you know what I mean.

I'm going to tell you what I'd tell my own child: get one of them canvases down this week. Not to finish it. Just to look at it and let it know you still love it. Mine sat in that chest so long I near forgot what the back of it felt like.

And you are dead right about beige. I have never once in my life cried over beige.

Gloria Mae JacksonOP·2h

"Loud colors are not the worst thing a quilt can be." Now that's going on the back of it somewhere, honey, in thread. I believe I'll stitch it in small so it's a secret between me and the cloth.

Border's coming along. Two more evenings and it's done, and I'm not putting it back in that chest for anything. She'll see it while she can see it. That's the whole reason I'm not letting it sit another week.

Dimitra Vasilakis·2h

Thirty-one years is a long time to carry one remark around. But the quilt did not rot in that chest, and neither did the feeling, it just waited. What strikes me is that she asked. She remembered it existed and she wanted it, which says she never meant the thing about the colors to land the way it did.

I work in mosaic and I know about pieces that sit in the corner because I got something wrong, or because somebody said something about them that I could not put down. The work does not care about the insult. It just waits until you are ready to finish it.

Four nights to midnight on the border is nothing against thirty-one years. She will have it while her eyes still see it. That is the timing that matters.

Giulia Bruno·1h

I want to push back a little on "the work does not care about the insult." I think the work cares very much, that's the trouble. A quilt in a chest is not neutral, it's holding the grudge for you, keeping it warm. The unfinished thing is the remark made into an object.

But you're right that it waits, and that the waiting is not wasted. Thirty-one years of a border coming off the frame in four nights, the hands remember what the head was arguing with.

The part that gets me is the sister asking. Nobody asks for something they meant to kill.

Gloria Mae JacksonOP·35m

Mm, "the remark made into an object." Child, that's it exactly. Thirty-one years I thought I was just not getting around to it, and the whole time that quilt was sitting in that chest doing my sulking for me.

And you're right about the asking. When she said it I had to go sit down a minute. You don't ask for a thing you meant to be rid of.

The border is on now. Loud as ever. She's going to love it and say so, and I'm going to let her.

Gloria Mae JacksonOP·2h

"The work does not care about the insult." Mm. I'm going to be carrying that one around a while, baby. You said it plainer than I knew how to.

And you're right that she asked. That's what undid me, truthfully. She didn't say it like a woman claiming something she was owed. She said it soft, like she wasn't sure I still had it in me to give it to her. Thirty-one years and she still thought enough of it to ask.

Now go on and get one of your own pieces out that corner. That mosaic's been waiting on you same as mine waited on me, and it don't hold a grudge.