I write for many reasons that primarily live in my heart, and mind. I write to think, to pray, to listen, to hear, to express, to give voice to faith, to give voice to how faith influences quilt making. I write to preserve the memory of life as it is sometimes beautiful, sometimes messy, always interesting.
Writing to remember is a good thing. I can go back and read how I managed through a particular situation, what I was praying about, what my heart longed for, moments enjoyed for simply enjoying them.
There are two stories to share today.
I’ve worked retail on and off for years. Customer service is of primary importance as it affects everything. More often than not I’m pretty good, sometimes customers touch something and pretty good leaves and the internal fight begins to be kind and charitable. Thankfully this wasn’t one of those situations, my response was eye opening rather than diminishing. The customer said, “I wish this was free.” My response, “I like having work and being able to support my family.” Customer, “Oh, I’ve never thought of it that way.”
Customer understood in that moment the value of needing to pay for the items being purchased. There is dignity in work. There is dignity in compensating someone for the work they’ve done to bring whatever item being purchased, from milk and bread, to fabric and patterns. The person doing the work deserves compensation whether monetary or in-kind.
Quilters, quilting teachers, sewists of many types deserve compensation for their knowledge and experience. I’ll leave that there.
A memory flooded back recently, one that I’ve not thought about nor have I shared, with anyone, I think. My sweetie and I took my Memere for dinner one evening. I didn’t get to see her very often as we lived 6 hours from one another. This was the last dinner we had with her, as the next time I saw her, Memere passed from this life to the next. We were sitting at a table in the middle of the room, I remember quite a few looks from other patrons as we laughed and joked. And I remember having the “I don’t remember how we’re related but I know we are, and I know I love you.” conversation, more than once during that meal. Memere knew she loved me, knew we were related however that was about it. I remember trying to explain a couple of times, choosing to accept this moment as it was. Memere was succumbing to dementia, losing her family one by one.
As I write that I can see my Gramma the last time we were in each others company and hear her telling me that she loved me and how pretty I am. These memories are sweet. They are the stuff of life.
Quilts are very much part of the memories, and the journaling of life. The quilts often have a story all their own to tell. I can just imagine “Moon Over Manhattan” sharing the story of her alternate name, “Little Miss Sassy Pants” as she was a vocal miss demanding to become all of who she was meant to be. She is a model for speaking up for herself, and eventually owning all of who she is. On the surface she is quite the beauty, on the back she’s a bit of a hot mess, and one that I love so very much. She and her sister are inspiring the design for the Lucy’s Nickles Quilt.
As I wander off for the day I request prayers for a few things, trusting that God knows the intentions. Thanks.