I got the quilt that Dad and I where working on done today (when I say done I mean top done not done done). As you can see it is made from old flannel shirts (and a lest one dress). Dad came with a bag full of them and we cut them up, laid them out (much fun for the cats), and got all the rows done before he left. I spent the last couple of days working on getting the rows together in one quilt (it would have taken less time if I had not been feeling so bad the last couple of day, but that is life and I am just happy that I felt well enough to do as well as I have).
We used a couple of pockets and some buttons (adds a wonderful touch to it don't you think?)
While I was working the last couple of days I was reading Erin Mckean's book
The Secret Lives of Dresses. Her book is about a woman that writes stories about the dresses that she sells in her shop (this is a VERY short and not a very good description of the book.... ie it is much better then I make sound, but I only need to tell you about this part because I decided to write a little story about this quilt). Let us be clear about this I DID NOT come up with idea, but I loved. It was fun to write it and thinking about the times I had as a kid watching my Dad wearing these shirts. So all that said and now you can read the story:
He wore me all the time when I was newer. He would put me on to go out to get wood in the winter for their fire. He also wore me when he chopped and stacked that same wood. I was the shirt that helped him work and kept him warm. I was not the “hang me on a hanger” kind of shirt that others at the thrift store where he picked me up, I was a work horse kind of shirt and I loved to work. But as I got older he picked me less and less out of the pile of shirts. Then one day I got put in a big bag with lots of other shirts (and even a dress was added to our community at one point!) and we waited. I do not know how long we waited, because shirts and dresses do not have any sense of time.
We waited and waited, most thought we would be put in the trash or had been put in the trash, but I knew that he had other plans for us. He brought us to her. He called her his daughter although the daughter I remember was much smaller (more like his daughter’s daughter, but what do I know I am just a shirt). And together they cut us up and put us together in a quilt. We are all part of one big quilt now and it feels wonderful to be useful again. I know that we will keep him warm and help him get his work done just a well as I did all those years ago.
PS the last 2 photos are of the shirts that this story was written about/from. If you like this you can read more of her post on the secret lives of dresses on her blog
A Dress A Day. (I only just found her blog today, but I love it already.... just what I need another blog to love..... oh well go on click on it and see what you think, then stop back here and let me know what you think).
