As the seasons sashay through their rotations, I enjoy changing the quilts on the walls. I am lucky enough to have three spots with rods for displaying them, and many to choose from. Recently I brought one out for her time in the light. She has been at the bottom of the pile for awhile. Twenty years ago my mother bought an old top at a yard sale, which she gave to me. I sandwiched her, quilted her and bound her in orange. That color celebrated the happy tulips in each of twenty baskets. Every block has twenty four triangles that comprise a basket, as well as five or six pieces in the handle. The quilter embroidered stems on each of three flowers. 

 

It is not a work of precision. But that does not decrease the value to me. In fact I enjoy imagining the whimsy of the woman who chose to mix up the direction and prints of the triangles. I think she was having fun. It is likely that the fabric was harvested from old shirts and dresses, rather than purchased as new yardage from the store. Times were more frugal then. I wonder if the whole design was inspired by an especially bright skirt, that she wanted to make into flowers that won't die in winter. 

 

I don't suppose the blocks can see one another, at least not as easily as I can. Gazing at my wall they are a canvas of hues and textures. I am grateful for all of them. Even having one be missing would be a loss. 

 

It is suggestive of the way we fit together as a community. Yogi Berra said it well. 

 

"You are unique, just like everybody else."