The little girl, lips enveloping a tiny thumb, crawled into
her grandmother's soft, over-sized lap.
"Whatcha doin', Gram?"
"I'm making a quilt," the woman set aside her stitching to hug her
granddaughter.
"What're these?" she tugged pieces of cloth from a paper sack and
held them up to the light.
Re-positioning her glasses, Grandma smiled. "This one here Betsy is a
piece from your Daddy's first pair of overalls. He was so cute in them." A
far away look glazed her watery blue eyes.
"What 'bout this one?" Betsy pushed a red piece into Grandma's shaky
hand.
She let out a little chuckle. "This is from your first red dress. You were
just a baby." She stretched her arms only a few feet apart.
"And this one?" Betsy chose a patch of blue flannel, rubbing it
against her pink cheek. "It's soft."
Grandma took the cloth patch from Betsy and smoothed it with a crooked finger.
"This came from your Pappa's pajamas. They were his favorites." She
gingerly removed an antique frame from the side table and stared into the eyes
of the black and white photo.
"He was such a handsome man, your Pappa. You would have adored him."
Betsy nodded in agreement. She thought the long, handlebar mustache was neat
and surely must have tickled.
Grandma's hands, although snarled and rough, grasped the silver needle
delicately. She swiftly guided it back and forth through the fabric, not only
with thread, but with love.
Many years later, a little girl, lips enveloping a tiny thumb, crawls into her
mother's lap, now heavy with an unborn child.
"Whatcha doin', Mommy?"
"I'm making a quilt," Betsy sets aside her stitching to hug her
daughter. "Kind of like the one that rests on the foot of my bed
now."
"That Great-Gram made?"
Betsy nods and smiles, a far away look glazing watery blue eyes ...
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