Unmade Quilts

Recently my mother sent me a few large boxes from Tennessee.

I had some idea of what was in the boxes. Mom and I had spoken on the phone, and I knew there would be quilts and them some quilting things that Betty, and even Frances, had used.

I didn't expect my reaction to be so emotional.

I cried.

This morning I finally started going through the boxes and sorting through the materials in there. There were so many projects that were never finished, hundreds of little round fabric circles for something or other, squares that had been quilted but not backed... yards of what looks like polyester pant material.

I started laying things out on the bed, trying to decide what I should do with it all. And in the process I realized that, even if I did decide what I was doing, I would have no room to store it. Every single drawer in the guest room is stuffed with my own projects - boxes of pockets,  squares of denim, old stained shirts and used curtains...

I really do mean to get around to these projects someday, but the time is never really right. There always seems to be something else to do.

I think that, this morning anyway, I was saddest because I wasn't sure I was ever going to get around to finishing anything, either. And then, when I die, someone will pack up all of the boxes of off fabrics, and the odds and ends of ribbons and such, and ship them off to someone else.