Quilting

Over at “Suture for a Living,” you will often find a quilt, because the author is both a plastic surgeon and a quilter. Today, I have a quilt on my blog, as well.

This is a quilt that includes all of the names of members of White Oak Presbyterian Church, the country church in southwestern Missouri to which my great-grandparents, and later my grandparents, belonged. The quilt is dated November 6, 1897.


Missouri was a border state during the Civil War and a major battle was fought in Carthage, Missouri, about twenty miles from the site of my great-grandfather’s homestead. The memories of the war were still fresh, as evidenced by the flag of the Confederacy in the center of the quilt.

The quilt contains the stitched names of the church members, including my great-grandfather, George, my grandfather, Harold, and his twin brother, Warren. My grandfather would have been nine years old at the time. My grandmother’s family, the Briggles, are also represented since theywere also members of the church.

The church membership dropped after World War II as farming and rural life changed. The congregation is no longer active and the building was recently sold. Running my hand over the carefully-placed hand-stitching reminds me, however, that the quilt remains intact and is as vibrant as the day it was completed.

PIN Night

We went to PIN Night at the high school last week to follow our youngest child’s class schedule, meet her teachers, and hear about her upcoming year. (“PIN” stands for “Parent Information Night,” so I guess we went to Parent Information Night Night.) Because our oldest started grade school in 1988, this was our 20^th year of PIN Nights. These events are important venues for understand grading policies, classroom rules, and curriculum objectives; I applaud the school district employees for the time and effort it takes to mount these events each year.

However, as my lifetime of attending these events is drawing to a close, these are the things I will actually remember about PIN Nights:

- When I started attending PIN Nights, most of the other parents looked REALLY old. Now most of them look REALLY young.

- The teachers always looked young. Now a lot of them look even younger.

- At each PIN Night, I realized that many of the classes sound really interesting; This year, I wish I was the one taking Environmental Science, AP Biology, French, or World Literature.

- PIN Nights have reminded me that I remember next to nothing of the math I took in school. I don’t even understand the stuff posted on the walls in the math rooms. The calculators have too many buttons.

- PIN Night shows me how schools have changed – more technology, more expertise among the faculty, more services, truly outstanding music programs, and more awareness of individual differences

- PIN Night also reassures me that a lot hasn’t changed.

As we sat in one of the classrooms last week, I scanned the blackboard looking at all of the reminders, assignments, and information. Most of our kids have had this teacher in this classroom; I once spoke to students in this room about what I do for a living. The room reflects the educator who works within its walls – as I listened to the presentation, I sensed again that students passing through this place experience high expectations and stringent standards. I was able to sense how intimidating that could be for a kid, yet very rewarding.

But, of course, we are done with PIN Nights. Now, we are experiencing college parent orientation events. Unfortunately, college events just aren't quite the same as PIN Nights. Fortunately, the college parents still look REALLY old - at least for the time being.

Bear in Mind…It’s Wednesday

What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others.
-Pericles

I was rummaging through our rag bucket of old shirts, towels, and sheets a while ago. Out came a faded dish towel with a hard working needlework bear and the phrase, "Bear in mind...it's Wednesday." I looked at it for a minute.

I had seen this towel many times before. There used to be an entire set of them, one for each day of the week. The needlework was done by my father’s mother’s brother’s wife (get that? My great-aunt) many years ago. Given the fact that she was in her prime in the 1920’s, the piece of cloth in my hand was lovingly decorated at least 70 years ago.

Now it’s a rag. Should we regard it as a family heirloom? Should we find a way to display it and preserve it?

Perhaps.

Still, I am certain that touching the rag prompts me to stop and remember my Great-Aunt Helen much more frequently than I would if the towel had been lovingly folded and stored in a chest of drawers. Both the rag and our memories of a long-departed relative still have tasks to perform in our home.