After I opened these, Sylve presented me with a bundle of maroony-red fabric. Slowly unfolding it - some pieces of my Mother. A quilt that she was making, working on over years - I imagine. Hand-stitching little scraps of colour together. Using fabric that had had another life somewhere else in her life. Pieces of my Dad's lungi; scraps from my Mum's worn and used sarongs; left over fabric from the tails coat my Mum and I made for my brother's year twelve formal (that's a whole story on it's own!); here and there, pieces that I remember from coats and dresses and bedspreads and lengths of material my Mum owned, pieces that permeated my childhood - vague memories mostly.
(I love this one best, I think. That peachy silk next to the green turquiouse one).
Hmmm, this post was meant to be about the quilt. And about my anticipation to have the time to sit down and take all those patches and put them together. To piece a quilt that my Mother made. My Dad has given me this honour, this gift, this treasure. I feel so blessed and lucky to have this opportunity to finish what my Mum started. To show her life, to have it in my house, to wrap around myself and my babes. I may need some help and advice (from all you experts) when I finally get to it - and I'll give details when.
(Just look at this cluster and combination of patterns and colours!).