Memory Lane

I have an old quilt to show you below, but first I need to vent a little.  Not that there is anything anyone can do (except slip me a Xanax), but here goes.  

We live on a quiet street one block off the main drag in this city.  It's a bit of a winding street on a rolling hill, no curb, gutter or sidewalk.   The city just oils and pea gravels the street every few years to keep it relatively intact.  On my daily walks, I deal with an occasional car, which usually gives me generous berth (see: no sidewalk). 

Well, yesterday was the official beginning of road construction season.

Said main avenue is getting fixed for a several block stretch, which is all well and good in the end.  But traffic has been diverted and guess who doesn't live on a quiet street anymore?  There is a constant stream of vehicles out my front door.  And the background music to all this is made by some ginormous hammering machinery that is busting up the old concrete on the main thoroughfare.  It sounds like a marching band with a hung over drum section that can't get its stuff together.

There.  I feel a little better.  Then again, it may be because the drum section just went on break.  Maybe they'll find a rhythm and stick to it after knocking back some Joe and Krispy Kremes.

Moving on.  

Guess what my sister found last week while sorting through boxes, getting ready to move?  A quilt from our childhood!  I wish I could say "my old quilt," because I've been searching for it for a few decades, but I can't tell whether the one she found was mine or hers.  

We had matching quilts on our twin beds, made by Mom.  I used to be able to tell them apart because hers was a couple years older, a bit more worn, and had a slightly different red fabric in the sashing.  But after all these years and without the other for comparison, we don't rightly know.  I thought she had left hers behind when she moved from California back home, but she thinks this may be it, in which case mine is still MIA.

It is in totally "loved up" condition.  Weathered and worn, tattered and torn.  I've soaked and gently washed and dried it.  Some of the stains came out, not all.  But beyond that and the overall yellowing, the fabric is simply falling apart.  The funny thing is, this quilt (circa 1961) has a polyester batting that remains in excellent condition.

Still, I love looking at the fabrics in the dresdens (or sunflowers, as Mom called them) almost as much now as I did back when the quilt covered whichever one of us nightly.  

Each block is entirely pieced, not appliqued.  There are 20 "blades" per block—that's 20 Y-seams for the small white pieces that occupy the space between the pointed ends of each blade.  Then the whole circular plate is set into the outer part of the square, which is pieced in four segments.  It is hand quilted.

I found the pattern templates for this block a few years ago as I was going through Mom's things (blogged here).  I don't know why she didn't mail the letter, but it's nice to have that bit of provenance in her own words.

So this is one of the quilts that started my lifelong fascination with fabric.  In the early morning light, before the school day began, I'd study that quilt.  Something to keep in mind when you give someone one of your works.  You may be fostering a budding artist or sewist (or architect or math teacher...).

I'm happy to foster this old quilt for a while again as it has come back to roost.  Here's to a happy homecoming!