Layered in Love

My mother is a quilter.  My grandmother is a quilter.  My sister quilts.  I, knit.

I keep blaming this on my lack of sewing ability, which is true.  Though if I was a bit more ambitious there are several women  around me who would gladly give me a brush up on how to use a sewing machine.  Despite the, ahem, years of absence.  There is also that I watch the women of my family have more fabric than they know what to do with.  Not saying that I do not also have a healthy stash of yarn, I do.  But it's a lot lighter to move.

The prevailing reason why I don't quilt, is because I am at no shortage for quilts.

There is something magical about a quilt.  Not only are they beautiful, but functional.  Warm, cozy.  Being wrapped in one during a windy day in Minnesota January with a coffee cup in hand, well, that's a feeling of spring and a taste of why winter is the warmest season.

Besides that, my quilts are a reminder.  That though I may be apart from my family, every night I go to sleep and am wrapped in the love of generations.  On my bed there is a blue and pink Grandma's fan quilt my mother made me when I was a girl.  It doesn't cover the whole width of the full bed, it was made for my single childhood bed, though I remember the nightmares it chased away then, as it does still.  Layered next a field of irises cross-stitched by my grandpa (now passed) and stitched together by my grandmother.  I was given this quilt for my wedding, it comes to be a symbol of the love between them and the love that's possible.  Not only that, but it was also a ribbon winner at the county fair-- my grandmother was so proud of that, the gift was accompanied by that purple ribbon.  The icing for the very cold nights, is a white afghan, knit by my other grandmother back when her hands would still hold the needles.  It is also the favorite sitting spot of my calico cat; grey, white, and orange hairs stick between the yarn stitches.  When my mind dissolves into sleep, or when a dream disturbs, I am blissfully reminded that I am warmed by the love of generations, and blessed with the simple gift of beauty, color, and time.

As I said, I don't quilt, but I do knit. Mostly mittens.  And the same theory of warmth and love applies.  A gifted mitten, from me, is a blessing to travel through the coldness of the world.  To stave off the chill of winter with a warming hope of spring, an invitation to wonder about the whiteness and stark beauty that only winter has.  And an accompaniment.  Mittens we carry with us as we go.  Each stitch a benediction to watch your comings and goings until we next meet.  Through lanes, commutes, and winter walks, all to be blessed with the warmth of love between us and around us.