Friday is the day I give something away. I make something to help me create an altared space in my life and offer you the opportunity to find an altared space in yours. Enter the random drawing by leaving a comment here or by sending me something for my garden. Entries are due by Thursday. If you are shy about commenting, you can also email me at rbcamullen at hotmail dot com. (sorry about the funny formatting, it helps with spam).
I’m giving away a baby blanket. I made this from flannel my mother left me and sewed it on her sewing machine. There is a special softness in touching fabrics that she once touched.
I was not done relating to my mother when she died. That’s why I’m grateful for these boxes of fabric. I’ve made curtains for rooms in my various homes. A wacky quilted tapestry walls off my water-heater so we need not look at it while we play ping pong.
The first thing I made after she died was a myriad of napkins. My mother was a quilter. She left behind boxes and boxes of fabric. I remember going to the fabric store with her and laying out combinations of colors to design something new.
I love nothing more than color. Matching all those colors and textures made me feel like my skin was alive. It was a feast for my eyes. We’d laugh as we sorted through bolt after bolt of fabric trying every possible combination.
She was more conservative than me, and I was regularly tossing in large floral prints. She’d tame the combinations down with tiny calicos. She kept me from too much bold and I stretched her to expand. It was a nice balance.
Several years after she died I laid out fabric on my living room floor with my daughter. I was going to make a quilt for my bed. My girl helped me pair through the multitude of fabrics in those generous boxes and I told her about her grandmother, Oma.
As I talked to my daughter I felt the resentment of what I didn’t get from my mother melt away. Even then, when she was only eight, I could feel how much I’d already failed my daughter. And I’d tried my very best.
My mother was guiding me even after she’d gone. How very like a mother, to continue giving even when it seemed impossible.
This blanket is a little altared space to my continuing relationship with my mother. There is softness there. A growing forgiveness for what I didn’t get and a continued warmth for what we shared. I hope someone will love this fabric as much as I do.
How about you? Do you have any links to people who’ve passed? Anything you’d like to plant in my garden? Enter this week’s give-away with your name, a short story, or an altared space of your own. I’ll gently plant it in my garden and, together, we’ll watch the garden grow.
Congratulations to Lynn who won the prayer flag from last week. She wrote about her 2-year old granddaughter who taught her about prayers by shouting out things to be grateful for then shouting, “Yippy!” while everyone at the dinner table cheered.