I inherited some quilts, some put together by my grandmother, some made by my mother. The picture includes my grandmother's name, her age 91 and the year the quilt was completed which is one year before she died.
The quilts are thrifty housewife quilts, using up the leftover material from sewing projects and portions of garments that were still ‘good.’ There was no scarcity of quilts to choose from, I know my sister-in-law still has many, but whatever my process was, these are the ones that came to me. However, they didn’t fit my beds, and only one was pretty enough to put on display.
I’ve used them, perhaps you might have noticed, as covers on the tables at our cowboy action matches. There was a household discussion over that but I said, ‘either they get used for this or they get thrown away now’ and I cut many of the quilts in half for the job. ‘Plus,’ I added, ‘Mom was all about putting things to use.’ She was, and I did. It was a nod to the past to use them this way.
Now that it’s time for them to go, I felt moved to acknowledge the heritage involved. In the days of my mother and grandmother, it was a noble and worthwhile pursuit to piece quilts, nothing was wasted. They chose to use their time and resources in this way, it was right for them. But for me, in my day, there is no justification to keep these quilts. I have no use for them, none. I’ve thought this through and cannot imagine another recycled use. I don’t need them as a memory prompt. They have become unused, unwanted and to keep them is to indulge in a form of hoarding. Times change, and while I am respectful of the past, I’m choosing to let the quilts go. It’s right for me.
