Once upon a time I made a quilt.
I made a LOT of mistakes.
(You can read about those by clicking here.)
I don't actually remember what possessed me to make a quilt. I had never done such a thing before. (And haven't since)
When it comes to sewing I have a passing acquaintance with my grandmother's Singer Featherweight machine, inherited in 1984 and used, over the years, approximately 37 times to make a small variety of projects comprised primarily of rectangles.
Tote bags, throw pillow covers, a sort of "fort of curtains" for my boys' bunk beds, that kind of thing. (I did once make a couple of dresses - they did not fit well and have been justly relegated to a bin of mementos in the attic.)
Perhaps, because I had seen some nice quilts that seemed to be composed of patterns using straight lines, I though the thing would be easy and a shot worth taking.
At any rate I worked on the quilt on and off for about 8 months and proceeded to give it away to a friend.
"You just gave it away?!!"
Yes.
Because back in those days my husband and I made art all year long and then, just before Christmas we would threw a big party, invite our closest friends, and give it all away.
There was one small catch.
The gifts had to be fought for.
If you've ever played the "White Elephant" game or the "Dirty Santa" game you already know what I'm talking about.
For the uninitiated the game goes thusly: Everone draws a number from a hat. The first person opens a gift. The second person can either open a different gift or steal the one the first person opened. This goes on and on, opening and stealing, until the dust settles and everyone winds up with something. Perhaps not something they actually wanted. But something.
Over the years we made, and dispersed, some very cool things. In the case of the quilt, it went to a friend whose mother was a quilter and that seemed fitting.
I like to say I have never regretted letting any of these items go. And mostly that's true.
But I have to admit that there have been two pieces I've secretly wanted back.
One of them was the quilt.
It had been so long. Did she use it? Did she still love it? Was there any tactful way to ask for it?
Then, out of the blue, my friend contacted me and wanted to meet for lunch. We had a lovely "catch up" chat and she told me she was moving.
And downsizing.
And would I be terribly offended, because they really were NOT going to have much room in the new place, would I be horribly, awfully, irretrievably upset, if she gave me back a couple of things?
She turned to a backpack and unzipped and I saw the hint of red and black that meant my quilt.
I kept my cool.
I did NOT jump up and down.
But I kind of wanted to.
And now the quilt is back. And will not leave again unless it departs with one of my children or grandchildren.
And I smile when I think of her nervousness to ask if I could take it back and my nervousness to ask her for it.
And I am so thankful for friends who love handmade things.
And don't sell them for a dollar at a garage sale.
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