A piece of patchwork from my childhood heart lies dormant in my attic to this very day. The design and hue of colors of my heart are wrapped well in my Mother’s tattered and torn quilt she hand-made for warmth, out of necessity for her family of a dozen.
The Holidays awaken the inactive emotions showing like a candelabra with dark and light. I have come to see, through each new holiday pictures of children’s faces in each little design of my Mother’s hand-sewn quilts.
Quilt made by Ada Patrick Craddock (Oct 26, 1904-May 16, 1971)
Rituals and heirlooms invite me to embrace and celebrate the good of family while burying the pain of rips and tears. The value of an old hand-sewn quilt, like my patchwork heart, has turned into a golden antique hue making a mark of an old aristocrat. When I feast my eyes upon the delightful patches and touch with care these heirloom with my very own hands, I remember my better self, and it gives me noble thoughts that hopefully will endure a nobleness for her ‘now’ generations.
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