The Quilt

My Great-Aunt Susie gave me this quilt last week.

It was an early Christmas present, and, she said, a thank-you for my monthly trips to visit and take her apples.

I feel very much like a heel who doesn't deserve a thing for my efforts. She lives about 30 miles away from me, but in this day and age such a distance really isn't an excuse not to visit more often.

I would call frequently but she doesn't hear well and I end up just yelling into the phone. "It's --. It's Melba's granddaughter." Or something. Many times I call and she hangs up without knowing it was me. I, at least, know then that she is okay.

Taking the quilt seemed the polite thing to do, but the truth is I haven't a place for it or a need of it. But, isn't it lovely? So colorful, hardy, yet delicate.

It is handmade. She stitched it in the 1970s and placed it in a trunk. It never saw the light of day again until she decided last month that it should be mine.

I should mention that my great-aunt is 86 years old, I suppose. I can only hope to live that long, but my grandmother is also living and she is 83.

Quilts are things of beauty and they hold pieces of people. I will hold this one as dear as I do the others, even if all it does is sit in the dark in my closet. It was made with care and given with love, and what more could you ask of any object?