Mom's Quilts
My sister was particular, she had a definite color scheme; my father was tickled that I asked for all the colors Mom could get into one quilt. He always bragged that I got "the pretty one". It is phenomenal, a keepsake that I dare not put on a bed, because I have a dog who is not careful with anything and the stitches are minute, and perfect, done by my mother's hands. She developed arthritis in her older moments, and yet, she quilted, one teensy tiny stitch at a time, a labor of love. A legacy to be handed down to future generations. I feel her love when I take it out and hold it to myself.
soft cotton batting
puffing up those fat quarters
fluffing up mom’s quilts
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