My great-gran has been gone for decades now. She was in her 90s when she left this world. I didn't know her well, as she departed when I was 22 and lived a thousand miles away.

I am lucky enough to have 2 of her quilts, one just a smaller version of the other. I have had the larger one for many, many years, but saw the smaller one at my dad’s last week and fancied it for myself. He gave it up, not even realizing what he had.

With the chill in the air last night, I covered myself with one of them for the first time in the many years I have had them. It seemed a shame to just let her labor of love sit in a vacuum-sealed box. How was THAT doing any good or honoring her memory? I decided she would like it if I were using them. It’s like saving fine china for a "special occasion". Every day is special, right? What occasion could I be waiting for to use a quilt?

So I spread the smaller one on the bed and snuggled in. As I lay there waiting for sleep to find me, I could see in the dim light every stitch she made by hand. It was assembled with tiny stitches on every little piece and patch, and the border all the way around. Here and there, I can see a tiny knot. Later it was machined on top.

The kind of activity that goes into stitching for hours on end gives you a lot of time to think. I wonder what she pondered? Hopes, dreams, fears, joys, and pain? I drifted away thinking of all her endless hours of contemplation while making these treasures with the expectation that her descendants would use them and feel her love from a not-so-distant past.

This morning, I decided, indeed, my slumber was better under the blanket of the musings and protection of a woman who was born 120 years ago. This photo is from her wedding in 1919: