Years ago I made a small doll quilt with my grandmother.  I chose a fabric that Grandma had mad a skirt for my mother out of and I liked.  Who in the world likes brown fabric with abstract chickens on it?  I remember sitting on the stool sewing the straight lines and tying the quilt.  I still have it in my living room in a dynamite box that holds stuffed animals that are available for my neice and nephews to play with when they come.  Though my grandmother was an award winning quilter that is the only quilt I ever made with her.  Why I didn’t like it more then I don’t know.

A few years ago my foreign exchange student wanted to learn about quilting.  She and I took a class and each made a quilt.  I was hooked.  Antonija on the other hand had to be poked, proded, and sometimes strongly reasoned with to finish hers.  Last I heard she does keep it on her bed at home.

Now my siblings are asking for quilts.  I never thought my baby brother would ask for a quilt.  He does apparently like to have a nicely decorated house when he is able.  My latest quilt is for my sister.  It is hanging in pieces on my wall.  My roommate and I were just looking at the parts and trying to make them work with each other.  Quilts are grownup dominoes.  Every time I move a piece ten others have to be moved.  Jessica walked out of the room asking “Why does this have to be so hard?”

Angel, I hope this looks good to you so far.