My Mom's hands showing me how to create binding for a quilt.

Learning to Quilt

In my memory, I can clearly see my Grandma quilting in the sun porch of our Iowa home. Sitting at the colorful, pieced-together creation, Grandma bent forward with needle in hand to apply the impossibly teeny stitches. I can recall the awe I felt when I realized those stitches were moving through three layers: the front panel, the back panel, and the batting in between. Grandma offered to teach me how, and I remember attempting (briefly) and giving up quickly. I wasn’t ready for this knowledge.

That was in the 1980s.

I married my first husband in 1991, and this same Grandma made my husband and me a quilt—a cheery green and pink tulip pattern with my married name embroidered in the center. We divorced in 2010, and now I have a quilt with that no longer-used name on it. As a result, it is stored in a closet.

I consulted with my Mom and my aunt. Can I change Grandma’s work? It felt wrong to pull out stitches that her hands made. I was assured that Grandma would want me to use that quilt, and if the name on it stopped me, then editing would be perfectly acceptable.

Time to revisit quilting.

My Mom now lives in Texas, and I live in California. I visit once or twice a year. During a January 2023 visit, I asked Mom to give me a quilting tutorial. We chose a pattern called Road to California. As Mom walked me through creating a template for the pieces of the block, sewing the pieces together, creating binding, and stitching the layers together, she patiently let me take photos of everything.

I experience a certain amount of fear, anxiety, and hesitation when facing the unknown. I’m going to mess up. I’m going to screw this up and, well, and then what? What is going to happen because I threaded the sewing machine incorrectly? What tragic outcome will transpire because I stitch the wrong sides of the material together? Answer: I examine the machine and rethread it. I rip out the stitches and do it again. I learn. I gain confidence. I think of my Mom, my Grandma, my Aunt, and my sister and the joy I feel when the finished keepsake is given to the recipient.

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