It was one of those fall gray days when I felt slightly gray myself. I was a bit depressed for little reasons that I will not bore you with, but as I sat to write, the good Lord gave me a story, that immediately warmed my soul.
I am not surprised, as remembering my grandmother usually brings joy. She could be humorous without trying and could be counted on to say or do something that would make me smile.
At the bottom of her cedar hope chest was an old, pieced quilt that was not quite finished–it still needed quilting. The top was hand-stitched with tiny pieces of folded men’s clothing material. Old ties, shirts, and suits were cut into strips no wider than a half-inch, forming an utterly stunning log cabin design.
“Well, shoot, I reckon I should just throw this old thing away!” Grandpa declared as she held it up for mom and me to view.
“Mama, did you make that beauty?” My mother questioned as my mouth refused to close to ask anything. The intricacy of this work of art left me speechless.
“No, I didn’t stitch it; I bought it at a flea market a long time ago for fifty cents! I kept thinkin’ I would quilt it ‘cause I thought it was kinda pretty, but I never did. It sure was a waste of half-dollar, though.”
When I could finally speak, “Grandpa, if you are going to throw it away, may I have it?”
“What do you want this old trashy thing for, honey?” She responded.
“It would make a lovely wall hanging, like a tapestry!” I answered.
Mother agreed, but Grandpa was still shaking her head as I carefully folded it and put it into a plastic bag.
A few years passed, and when I moved into a new home, I finally had a wall in my living room to hang Grandpa’s trashy quilt. It was perfect, mixed with my antiques and family treasures.
After I was settled, the group came from Tennessee to Georgia to see the new house.
It was lovely to spend time with Grandpa, my mother, my mother’s sister, Mary Ruth, and Aunt Helen. By the time we sat in the living room, my cheeks were already sore from the laughter. They were the best of the best, the cream of the crop, and I adored each one. When the Good Lord put me amid these delightful girls, it was a gift I never took for granted.
As we sat around the room, I noticed most of them were staring at the old log cabin quilt as it proudly dominated the room.
“Where did you find such a pretty quilt?” Mary Ruth asked.
Grandpa remained silent.
“What is that made from? It’s so unusual!” Aunt Helen asked.
Grandpa remained silent.
Mama chimed in, “I saw in a magazine the other day, that a quilt just like that one was going for over $100,000!” She then pulled out the magazine page she had saved to show the group.
Grandpa remained silent.
“Well, shoot!” Grandpa finally shouted. “I reckon I should have bought the other one! They were two for a dollar, but I didn’t want to spend another fifty cents!”
While she confessed to keeping the quilt in the bottom of the hope chest, getting ready to throw it in the trash, and could have purchased another priceless beauty for fifty cents, I was curled on the floor in laughter.
We teased her about that half-dollar until the day she died. I believe Mary Ruth and Helen were still miffed that they didn’t have first dibs on the trashy quilt until they passed away years later.
The antique quilt now hangs over the rail at the top of my upper stairwell. Folks walk through my door and spy it above them, but they do not see what beauty lies between tiny stitches and old stories. Those memories are made just for me to hold in my heart, to chase cold gray days away, and to remember the priceless souls who still bring me blessings every day.
Is the quilt worth 100,000 dollars today? No, it is worth far, far more.
