This spring I am working on three wedding quilts. Last fall I sent around instructions to dozens of friends, and aunts, and cousins who in turn spread the word. Blocks started to come back in February and I have gradually pieced them together. 

Several are made by grandmothers of the bride or groom. It is sweet to imagine the affection that is expressed by that gesture. Others were sewn by childhood friends or college roommates. Two of the quilts include blocks by the bride's fathers and brothers. As of this week one of them is quilted and ready for another woman to hand sew the binding, one is sandwiched and waiting for quilt lines, and a third is poised for ironing in preparation for batting and backing. 

The reality is that at some point in the construction, I want to take the l out of quilt. The blocks aren't all the same size, or aren't square, and I need to doctor them. Or my kids arrive home just as I have it taped to the floor and am trying to get the last pins in before anyone is tempted to tromp on it. Or a block comes in the mail after I have completed the top and I have to either take another block out or hand sew it to the back. It can be frustrating. 

But my hope is that any negative energy I feel while pushing through the obstacles will crystalize in the fabric as tenacity. Maybe when the recipients are four years in and feel overwhelmed by two small children they will glance at the bed. Their eyes will travel over the initials, and remember the people who threaded needles, and cut carefully, bent over fabric with aging eyes and thought lovingly of them.

And they will be renewed.