I am waiting to hear from my cousin. I sent her a birthday present for her significant birthday. The number can’t be named, just like Voldemort in the Harry Potter books.
Anyway, I sent her a vintage, hand-sewn, hand-embroidered quilt, made in the double wedding ring pattern. I know she will appreciate the meticulous handiwork that went into making it.
I bought the quilt on eBay. It was sold by a woman who, for some reason, has a hoard of handmade, vintage quilts and is selling them off to buy hay for her Arabian horses. In the descriptions of her quilts, she assures potential buyers that they are in pristine condition, washed by her, and dried in the eastern Texas sunshine. Eastern Texas sunshine must add value, or magic, or something you can’t get elsewhere.
My cousin will love the vintage aspect of the quilt. Our mothers, who are sisters, taught us to recognize and appreciate the quality work and materials, as well as the finely honed skills, that went into making objects before mass production became the norm. For us, discovering one-of-a-kind items gives us a thrill. So, I’m not worried about my cousin. It’s her husband who worries me.
I don’t know if he will allow an old quilt, no matter how beautiful it is, to be put on their bed. He might, rightly, wonder what else is in that quilt besides eastern Texas sunshine. Who knows what could have crawled between the seams as it hung on a clothes line in a field filled with wildflowers swaying gently in the breeze?
Actually, it might not have hung in a field at all. All that was guaranteed was that it was dried in the sun. It could very well have hung on a rusty hook in a dirty, smelly barn that is missing its roof.
I hope their dog enjoys her new quilt.
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