It is the dark of winter, the holiday season which for me symbolizes family and love, but not this year. My divorce is almost final and it feels like I am also losing my children in the process. By necessity, I have just moved to a much smaller home in a new area. The loneliness is unbearable. I check the mailbox, not really expecting anything. There is a handwritten personal letter from my Aunt Glenna. My heart skips a beat as it is flooded with the memories and love.
I have always thought of Aunt Glenna as my second mom. She has two older sons, but when I would go to stay with her for a week at a time, she gave me her undivided attention and I felt like an only child. Undivided attention is a big thing for an oldest child of ten children. When I think of Aunt Glenna, the first thing that comes to mind is the incredible food, including Crazy Crunch Carmel Popcorn on the 4th of July and her famous cinnamon rolls. One week, while I stayed with her, she taught me how to make those delicious cinnamon rolls. I watched and helped as she scalded the milk, prepared the yeast, mixed the ingredients, kneaded the dough and added just enough flour to get it to the perfect consistency. Then we let it rest and rise. When it was ready, we rolled it into a rectangle, sprinkled it with delicious toppings, rolled it up, cut it with a string and waited for it to rise again before we baked it. She taught me many things. She was also one of my favorite teachers at church and now I appreciate the example she set by faithfully attending church every single week and dutifully caring for and loving her non-member husband and sons. I don’t remember them ever attending church with her.
As the memories flooded my mind, I opened the letter quickly. I expected her to join me in my pity party and give me sympathy. Instead, I saw a six-inch square appliqué quilt block. It was white with a pink flower in the middle and green leaves. I read the letter of explanation. As my Aunt Glenna was going through a box of stuff she inherited from her mom, my grandma, she found the quilt blocks. She decided to send a block to each one of the granddaughters. We were to add to the block, send it back to her and she would finish the quilt. When the quilt was finished, she would draw names from all those who worked on it to determine who would get the quilt.
I put the letter aside. I didn’t have time to work on the quilt block right then. Little did I know, the magic of the quilt block was already starting to work. It evoked memories of sitting around a quilt with Mom, Grandma, Aunt Glenna, and other women. The multi-generational group of women each put in their hand stitches of love. Some of the stitches were more perfect than others. We talked of children, husbands, our latest projects, the gospel, and life in general. I remember as a young girl how grown-up I felt to be included with the group of women working on the quilt. After I was married, I joined in Relief Society quilting projects. In recent years, I have taken a quilt top home when I go to visit and enlisted the help of my mother, my sisters, my Aunt Glenna, and my own daughters to do the quilting.
I start creating in my mind how I will add to the quilt block from the letter. I love the color combination of pink and green. I go to my scraps of fabric and pull out a matching plain pink and a green with pink print. I place the fabric scraps with the quilt block and the letter so I can work on it when I have time.
As I think about the quilt block, I realize this is one last chance to work on a quilt with my grandma. Memories swirl in my mind. I walk into Grandma Stott’s house to the smell of fresh-baked bread. There is a candy dish with pink peppermints on the counter that is a special treat for her grandchildren. Grandma sits in her chair appliquéing a quilt block. She has made quilts for each one of her grandchildren in their favorite color for a wedding or graduation present. When I was a child, on those days that I felt unloved or neglected at home, I would walk to Grandma’s house and her door was always open. She would surround me with her loving arms, talk to me, play a few games with me and then send me on my way home again. By the time I went to high school, Grandma had moved into town making it possible for all the grandchildren to gather at her house between school and mutual. Every Tuesday evening she would feed us dinner before we left for mutual.
As I work on the quilt block, I think of other quilts. There is the quilt my mom has on her bed made by her ten adult children. Each one of us designed a quilt block that symbolized our family and represented our spouses and children. The creativity and variety represent the posterity she has greatly influenced and is our gift of love and appreciation.
I have carried on the quilting tradition by making baby quilts for each of my grandchildren to start their life wrapped in my love. Each quilt is a personal representation for that child and a work of art. Some start with a special request from their parents. Just before the birth of her daughter, my daughter-in-law, Jaspenelle, had a dream of her baby girl wrapped in the wings of a giant Luna Moth. Jaspenelle’s spirituality and practice of beliefs is very symbolic. She has influenced me to pay more attention to the symbolism in my own faith which has deeply enriched my understanding. She gave me a picture of the moth and asked if I could make a quilt like it. I welcomed the creative challenge.
As I ponder on the initial disappointment I felt as I opened the letter and saw the quilt block, I realize that my Aunt Glenna gave to me just what I needed at that time in my life. She pulled me out of wallowing in self-pity by giving me an opportunity to do service, be creative, and feel surrounded and comforted by many memories of loving, nurturing women who have had a great influence on my life.
Although the finished quilt didn’t get awarded to me, I was glad to be a part of it. It was given to the oldest granddaughter. Here is a picture of the finished quilt
and a picture of the Luna Moth quilt I made for my granddaughter.
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