Quilts, Africa and Mom

Yes, they are all linked.  I will explain.

When I was young, seven years old, we lived in Tanzania for two years.  My dad was working there, helping the newly independent country set up its university.  My mom was a bit apprehensive about taking three small children (my brother was three, my sister six) but once there fell in love with the country.  Those two years were magical for me; I was fortunate to be old enough to understand and remember our time there.  My mother always sewed our clothes and that did not change while we were overseas.  She bought local fabrics and made dresses for herself and shirts for my dad.

When my mother died, my sister found some of the fabric buried in my mom's closet where she kept her yarn for knitting and her fabric for sewing.  Marie may have mentioned the fabric to me; I vaguely remember a conversation with her.  She wasn't sure what to do with the fabric but she wanted to do something special.  I forgot all about it.

When we were up at Shaver Lake last month she brought out a big gift bag while we were sitting around the kitchen table.  "It's an early Christmas!" she announced.  Then she presented me, my brother and my dad with quilts made from the fabric.  I cried.  Of course.  They are perfect.

I hung mine from the upstairs landing so it is visible as soon as you come in the front door.  My dad has his on his bed.  I'm not sure where my brother put his but I know that he treasures it.

The quilts are all a bit different in color and the backing fabric was picked, by Marie, to match our personalities and the primary color.  The backing on mine is a blue print and the quilting pattern resembles a wave -- perfect.  My dad has a green quilt with a leopard print backing.  We all got a laugh out of that -- and it is perfect.

A short update on Brett: he continues to do well.  He took a walk this morning out to the chicken pen and back by himself and then again with the physical therapist.  I think he'll be on the couch for the rest of the afternoon.