When I was a kid, my great grandma, Wilma, always had a quilt in the making, stretched out in her big quilt rack. She probably made hundreds of quilts in her lifetime, but I unfortunately never got my hands on one for myself.
Last summer, at my family’s annual Christmas in July celebration (there’s too many of us to try to get everyone together around the holidays… July just seems to work better for us!) one of my aunts came armed with a box load of Grandma Wilma’s quilt blocks, all framed, as gifts for the family.
My aunt had come across a box of unfinished quilt blocks and had thought long and hard about what to do with them. She wanted to share them with as many of us as possible, so putting them together into quilts was out of the question. Like I said, there are a lot of us (my dad has 11 brothers and sisters living… I think… I always lose count!) (more…)
I never used to like purple. It was always way too girly for me.
When my older son was little, he insisted (much to his father’s chagrin) that his favorite color was purple. My son was about 3 years old when we bought our house. We asked him what color he wanted to paint his room, and he said, “Purple.” His dad threw a fit.
We asked this question again and again, and always the answer remained the same. We eventually painted the poor kid’s bedroom Buzz Lightyear Blue. He was happy enough with the new color, but once in a while, he would confess to me that he really wished it was purple.
Although my son eventually outgrew his purple fetish, the color had begun to grow on me. The fact that my brave little boy could stand up to his dad and keep asking for purple knowing that it would only get him in trouble was a symbol of hope for me. My son had a voice of his own, and he was not afraid to use it. (more…)