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Sunday, May 22, 2005

my grandmother and the quilt
This is what I was going to write about yesterday, before I got sidetracked by the mail from Mrs. Cletus's personal injury lawyer. I've decided to be over the impending lawsuit and everything that may entail because a) I haven't even discussed it with the insurance company yet, b) as my mother says (or at least I remember her saying it to me once) there's no sense in borrowing worry from the future, and c) I can't think of anything more irritating than me when I'm whining.

So, in light of that, I'm going to write about my favorite subject. That's right. My grandmother. Specifically, today I'm going to write about my grandmother and the amazing technicolor dream quilt (ignoring the fact that it is not actually technicolor). And here goes:

My grandmother has been working on this quilt for years. Five of them at least, if I were to count. It was going to be a birthday present for me, and then it didn't get done, so it was going to be a graduation present. My graduation came and went, quiltless. I knew that there was some sort of quilt business going on, but I never knew that it was meant for me, or that it was actually ever going to get made. But then in the past few months, my grandmother went on a quilting spree, enlisting the help of her partner in crime (and really good quilter) Lola, and making my mom take her to fabric stores. It was during this time that I became aware that the quilt was going to be mine upon completion, and furthermore, it was now supposed to be my wedding quilt. Or at least it was meant to be my wedding quilt, but somehow my grandmother got snapped into reality and figured that there was no point in making it a wedding quilt, since my wedding is entirely hypothetical and isn't going to happen anytime soon, except perhaps in a world known as Grandma's Fantasy Land. As such, my grandmother decided that she didn't need a reason to give me the quilt, because grandmothers can give granddaughters presents anytime they want to, and she went into full quilting mode.

For a few weeks, it occupied her attention almost entirely. It was a magical time, wherein there were no stories about her crazy neighbor Edna, because, well, who has time for Edna's antics when there are quilts to be made? Friday night, she called me and asked me if I thought it was done enough. I said I didn't know because I am no judge of such things, and anyway, how can I tell when I'm talking to her on the phone and can't see what she's talking about?

Yesterday, I went to her house because she wanted me to dig up some hollyhocks (we never really got around to this, so I guess it'll be a project for later) and she showed me the quilt. I said it looked fine, because, uh, it did. And before I left, she had me take it with me (along with a set of sheets she got because they matched the quilt). So now I am the proud owner of a brand new quilt. Here are some bad pictures of it:

the quilt

the quilt, again

And here comes the sappy portion of the post. See, my grandmother and I have long had a tortured relationship, mostly because I have felt tortured by her. She always means well, and I know this, even though when I'm in the midst of being annoyed by her nagging me because I straighten my hair, or I slouch, or I smoke, or I'm a spinster, or I drive too fast, or whatever, it's hard to have perspective. The truth is that my grandmother and I are exactly the same (except I'm taller and younger). We read road signs out loud as we travel down the street. We know the price of gas (and all of their one-cent variations) for most of the gas stations in a 20-mile radius and point out these price variations every time we pass a gasoline-selling establishment. We are world-class worriers about things we can do nothing to change. We both have voyeuristic tendencies and watch the comings and goings of our neighbors (she from her kitchen window, me from my living room window), but I'm not as bad as she is, and I don't invent conspiracy theories about them. We're hypochondriacs. We obsess over expiration dates on food. We're tenacious and stubborn and fixate on projects and ideas almost obsessively until we've seen them through to completion. We say exactly what we think about people, but usually not to the people we think those things about (which is not really a good thing and I should stop that). My mother says we're both drama queens, but I'm not admitting to that one.

I could go on forever, but I think you get the point -- I am Grandma, Jr. Yet, despite all of the quirks I seem to have inherited (or learned) from her, I think she's a pretty outstanding woman, and I'm glad to be like her.

Anyway, before I got stuck on that, I was going to say that this quilt thing has nearly made me cry on about fifty different occasions, and now that I have it in my house, I get misty-eyed every time I look at it. I sense that this may become a problem, because I have this issue with admitting that I have those pesky things that other people refer to as feelings, and really, having to break out the kleenex every time I walk into my bedroom is a bit excessive. I don't have words to write what needs to go here, so suffice it to say that I got a new quilt, nay an heirloom, na na nanaaa na.





posted by jamelah
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