Ok, so the quilt rack is in the way. I move it downstairs and stick it behind my chair. It fits, but it makes the room look over crowded. I move it again. Now it is out of the way in front of the clock. It’s still in the way. It still overcrowds the room.
I love my quilts. I really do. And I would love to display them…these are only a few. But I haven’t found a place to put them on this rack. I’ve already gotten rid of as many as my sense of humor will allow. Unfortunately, last week we got two more. “I” found. Not “we.”
One is a star lap quilt with the center of the star trapunto’d. Trapunto means stuffed. The other is well over a hundred years old done in red and white cotton. The star quilt has blood and other things on it, but it has labels from a quilt guilt and makers I know. G hasn’t been able to get the blood out. The red and white quilt is totally tired and shredded to boot.
Once long ago when I was homeless, I slept in a friends bathtub. I was the cleanest, drunk, homeless person you ever knew. Today I appreciate the simplicity of that experience. There are these delicious moments in life when all you can do is laugh at yourself. Imagine the luxury of having too many beautiful handmade quilts.