Each person’s story is a patchwork quilt of memories sewn together by time. If I had a quilt to tell my storied past, what would the squares of fabric reveal?
It might begin with a singed blue baby blanket that smells of the house fire my mama saved me from when she wrapped her infant in it and ran through the flames wearing nothing but a bathrobe and house shoes. Maybe on one corner there would be clippings from my Winnie the Pooh shirt from the Sears Roebuck catalog, the navy bow tie from my kindergarten graduation, and plaid pants from Easter stained by tiny fingers messy with melted chocolate bunny rabbit.
Perhaps my quilt would have a piece of the regal red toile draperies that hung in Mama’s bedroom or the brown ones that framed our living room as our family grew together watching television shows like the “Gospel Jubilee” before Sunday School at Dykes Chapel Church, also westerns with Roy Rogers. My tapestry of memories would be colorful with patches cut from the Coca-Cola sweater I begged Mama for from the Waldoff’s Department Store window, the bleach-splattered jeans Daddy never understood, and a bright piece of turquoise from the zip-up hooded sweatshirt that saw me through many high school days.
The quilt would be trimmed along the edges with an assortment of neckties from my early adult years — the one with tiny pink roses I wore to Papa Creel’s funeral, the brown and gold striped tie that I fumbled nervously with during my first job interview, the cowboy motif one worn just for fun, along with all the others Mama helped me select and Daddy showed me how to properly tie while standing next to each other in the blue bathroom. Our reflections clear in the mirror, he talked me through the perfect knot: “Up and over, and through the loop, then we pull down.”
My quilt would not be finished without a square cut from Mama’s fur coat she wore while living in Alaska, my Dukes of Hazzard T-shirt from fifth grade, the first Burberry raincoat I could afford, the matching polka dotted socks Chris and I wore on our wedding day and velvet from my vintage Santa Claus collection.
There would be a peacock taken from the favorite shirt of my second mother, my sweet Peggy, but the problem with the quilt is that now she’s gone, too, and she’s the one who had the skill to sew it for me.
Right in the heart of my quilt wrought from love, pain and all the good and bad times life affords would be sparkling rhinestones from the collars of my beloved dogs.
We can all imagine the fabrics of our quilts, even if they never get sewn together, and the memories will keep us warmer than any blanket through whatever winters may come. Why not design your quilt today?
Email reaches former Columbus resident David Creel at [email protected].
The Dispatch Editorial Board is made up of publisher Peter Imes, columnist Slim Smith, managing editor Zack Plair and senior newsroom staff.
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