| As a southern girl, sewing was a rite of
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| | the field, watermelon juice circling the
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| passage. You never questioned if you
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| | curve of a sticky, ashy elbow.I am
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| should learn, it was a matter of when.
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| | convinced that if today's youth were
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| Though I possess the skill, it was rarely
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| | taught to occupy their hands with more
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| put to use. One day, while shopping for a
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| | than buttons on a video game, they would
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| quilt, I went back to my roots.Searching
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| | learn patience, pride, and develop
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| for a quilt with an ethnic feel, I went
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| | confidence. And just maybe, we would have
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| to several department stores. I found
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| | fewer troubled youth today. As Grandma
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| nothing that appealed to my sense of
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| | used to say, "Idle hands beget the
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| color, style and culture - nothing that
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| | devil's work."At nine, you don't relate
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| spoke to my soul. So, I gave up, went to
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| | to that sentiment. But as I designed,
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| an African fabric store, selected
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| | cut, and sewed, the hours zoomed by. I
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| fabrics, and made my own.As a child in
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| | felt as if I was lost in a good book,
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| rural Alabama, this routine restored
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| | only I decided the characters, the plot,
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| memories of the first quilt I ever made.
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| | the ending.Now that Zola (my sewing
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| I was nine and in fourth grade. Around
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| | machine) has unleashed her magical
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| this time, my grandmother made a quilt
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| | powers, she refuses to occupy her once
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| for each of her grandchildren as a
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| | familiar place in the bottom of my old
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| Christmas gift. Now, my nephew of nine
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| | college trunk. She sits atop her new
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| sleeps on that same quilt. Tattered and
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| | surroundings proudly, beckoning me, as if
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| re-stitched in several places, it remains
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| | to admonish my idle hands.There are days
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| a familial favorite.While making my most
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| | when I tell Zola to leave me alone, but
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| recent quilt, I rediscovered that
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| | in no time at all the fabrics in all
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| quilting is more than sewing, it's a bond
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| | their fanciful colors and patterns
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| from generation to generation. Wrapped in
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| | beckon, and we are one again, creating in
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| my grandmother's gift, I feel her
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| | unison, literally sewing the seeds of our
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| presence. Hair askew, laughing in her
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| | destiny.This article courtesy of
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| lap, I'm nine again, with all its
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| | You may freely reprint this article on
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| incumbent joys.Cutting and stitching,
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| | your website or in
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| there is a powerful rebirthing of a time
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| | your newsletter provided this courtesy
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| gone by - the smell of honeysuckle on a
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| | notice and the author
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| fence, the clang of cow bells heard from
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| | name and URL remain intact.
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