quilt repair and how to live

quilt repair and how to live
Originally uploaded by run lily.

I spent another evening yesterday mending tattered quilt blocks. This time, the new ones are the pale green with pink paisley blocks on the lower right. Selecting fabric, cutting, pressing, and sewing in place is taking an hour per block, and I catch myself thinking that I should do what they say about old quilts: put it on a bed in the shadier spare room, keep the door closed so that the cat stays off it, and cover the quilt with a white sheet when we're not looking at it. This is how treasures are passed down for generations. I do value this one, even though it isn't one of the fancy pieced quilts that my grandmother made for each of her daughters, and now makes for the new greatgrandbabies. Some of the blocks must have been old sheets, others remind me of the "dust-bowl farmer aprons" (I wish I could remember who used this phrase!) my other grandmother always wore, tiny floral prints in dark primary colors. And this simple one-patch seems to be a different quilt in every room it's been in. When I first took it from mum to live with me in Montreal, I was in a student coop and painted my room to match the deep blue blocks. For a while, I turned it over, to show just the hand quilting. These days, it's in Peter's room, I notice the robin's egg blue, mustard yellows, and tomato reds that reappear in almost every room of our old house.

I don't want this to be a museum piece. I don't want my life to be that kind of life, one filled with precious things that can't be used or, even worse, with a frenzied consumption of objects that I worry aren't stylish enough even before I buy them and take them home. As I mend, I notice discreet little repairs, other blocks that were replaced by some other sewer, and I wonder what she thought about mending.