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Once a year, we would make the long journey to visit my grandparents. During those short visits, I was taught how to sew, bake, quilt, and crochet. My grandmother did it all; she quilted blankets, sewed fabric for clothes, cooked homemade meals every day….. Times had changed so much, but at their house it was still like the old days.
By okayfine on 04.09.2018
My grandmother quilted a blanket for my bed when I was 10 years old. It was blue with white stars and I loved it very much. When I got married, I put it on my bed and the dog bsrfed on it.
By Deann on 04.09.2018
that push against each other like tectonic plates,
silky magma woven under
an earth of woolen blankets
By Ev on 04.09.2018
Look at how the snow has quilted the plains despite the fact that it is April. It is a bubbling cauldron of turmoil in the Arctic Circle, and yet here we are, freezing in the midwest of North America. When will the seas rise high above to flood our coastal brothers and sisters? I see how thick and dark the glasses are that the elites wear. They blot out the truth from them. If only they could truly view the calamity.
By Belinda Roddie URL on 04.09.2018
So we walked around the quilted marble of the den and sank our teeth into its many corners, and Tom held out his hand and brushed against the jewel-dust air that clung like lint to every edge, and I looked at my own hands as they turned slowly into blue, blue, blue sky.
By Riannon URL on 04.09.2018
I was gping to my gramas house. when I got there I sure A quilted. it was lovely
join together, put them together, profoundly. Instantly. That give sense of smooth, of soft cotton, soft sensation.
By Jimena Zaga URL on 04.09.2018
‘Gently, don’t go gang-busters now.’
We were at the end of the piecing stage and the corners needed to fit together in this and the next square for it all to be joined. To be quilted nicely and finished, without lumps and ridges, all the joins must be even and flat.
By Meredyth URL on 04.09.2018
My mother liked her quilted cloth. It never became much more, for like the threads she used, her life was much too short.
By LifesGrey on 04.09.2018
The slippers were a soft, velvety material. They were quilted with a delicate silk and tufted into little squares which screamed luxury. As he slipped his feet into the slippers, he sighed with relief at finally being home and able to put him his feet with a whisky and a good book.
By Alexandra Halls on 04.10.2018
The coffee taste is strong, but so long ago before the day was here, I left all my worries in my sleep under a quilted sense of timelessness.
By Robert Kohlhammer on 04.10.2018
The quilted bag hung on the chair.
By Jessica on 04.10.2018
They quilted as a team. They had a timeline they were working towards. When I thought of quilters, my first impressions were of little grey haired ladies, looking like my great grandmother. To my surprise, I walked into a room full of young mothers with babies strapped to their hips and fronts as they worked on completing their project. They were a team all right but not the team I had envisioned in my mind.
By Cris Nole on 04.10.2018
its warm here all cosy in my hole no sounds or distractions just silence me and my rabbit hole
By Tooqeer Choudhry URL on 04.10.2018
its warm here. All cosy in my hole, no sounds or distractions. Just silence Here in my rabbit hole
My grandma loved to collect bits and pieces left over after stitching clothes for others to wear, to make ends meet as she had lost her husband early in life. She quilted all these to make the most beautiful works of art.
By Sushma Koppikar on 04.10.2018
My mother once tried to teach me quilting, but failed. I was a tomboy in my grade school days and only succeeded at sports.
By Shalini on 04.10.2018
“Hi-ho, Silver!” Exclaimed Long John Sailor as he rocked the boat on his hobby horse named Captain Knobbs.
“Hey,” I said to the camera. “Do you wanna know a secret?”
The camera nods.
“Sometimes a name resides on my tongue. But I never say it even though inside I scream it. Isn’t that some shit?”
The camera freezes and we go back to our jobs.
By Quilted Northern URL on 04.10.2018
She laid there holding the child in her arms. The pain from birth was gone, everything still and now she was able to lay in the silence of the bedroom with her daughter. How much she wished her mother could have been there to see her, the beautiful pink cheeks; each finger and toe… She brought the quilted blanket around the child a little bit tighter, the only touch of her mother she had left. It was soft, gentle, and if you paid attention close enough to the smell – you could find her mothers floral perfume on a few of the squares.
By Alexis Corinne URL on 04.10.2018
their ways never stopped
nor came still
after all these time
you wonder aloud
are as they are
have they not realised
and the memories they’ve
By Lynn on 04.10.2018
I was young, but old enough to no longer need a baby sitter. However my Grandma felt like she needed to be there. I would do homework, while she would crochet or quilt. I enjoyed my time with her, but a part of me felt like I was old enough to spend my afternoons alone or with friends, ripe old age of 12. A few years later, I lost her. Now that I am in my 40’s I look back at those pieces of crochet and quilts that she never got to finish, and I cherish them so much, as that is all I have left. Those stands of fabric and yarn quilted together, hold my tears, my joys, my memories, and regrets.
By Cat on 04.10.2018
I am quilted, round, patchworked, unique.
By Jenny Serban URL on 04.10.2018
i love quilted. their are so many to choose from. I love my quilted that my grama made
By Deann on 04.10.2018
Her mind went blank. The quilted blanket fell against the couch and she ran to pick it up, watching as William ran his fingers along the stem of one of the roses. She didn’t know what had come over her. ‘He’s a boy,’ she thought, ‘just a boy.’
By Britt on 04.10.2018
The fleece is pierced over and over, like Julius Caesar. But what comes out at the other end isn’t the end of a government. It’s something new, something brought closer together than ever before. From pain sometimes comes hope.
By Michael URL on 04.10.2018
I had to google the word. which is strange as I talk about myself as being a copywriter. weaving stories together, connecting the dots, interconnecting various aspects to make a bigger picture is what comes to my mind. this is what I have been doing my whole life. right from the morning to evening,
By Anamika Joshi on 04.10.2018
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.