Lois was proud of herself and rightly so. She had always worked hard. Even when she was raising her seven children, she had the biggest vegetable garden in the neighborhood, volunteered one day a week helping the poor, and taught quilting to girls at the local high school. In those days, Lois was known for her sweet and sour pickle preserves and her intricate original quilt designs, which year after year brought her blue ribbons at the local county fair. Early in life, she had decided that being happy had a lot to do with keeping busy and so the years had slipped by, one season flowing into another.

A number of years ago, Lois decided what nicer gift could she give each of her newborn grandchildren than a lovely handmade quilt to remember her by. In all fairness, she couldn’t stop with her grandchildren, and had simply continued making quilts now for her great grandchildren. She always had plenty of remnants on hand, leftovers from here and there, mostly from the days when she took in sewing to add to her dear husband’s income.

Even in those days, it wasn’t easy to raise seven children what with dentists and doctors bills, not to mention how fast they outgrew their clothes. It seemed the minute they got a little ahead, one of the kids would fall down and break something or the old furnace would need repairing again. Always something—to be expected in a household filled with hand-me-down everything—refrigerator, stove, clothes, you name it.

Lois smiled as the memories marched through her head, like so many soldiers lined up in uniform getting ready for inspection. Which one would capture her attention today, she wondered. Oh, the flowers were in bloom again—red, yellow, and there were those little white ones again. Why wasn’t it just yesterday that snow was covering the view outside her bay window?

No matter, she needed to concentrate and get busy. Today was no exception—she was currently working on a quilt for the 32nd grandchild who had been born prematurely five weeks ago. She had started the quilt a year ago—expecting that another great grandbaby would surely be on the way and knowing that each quilt seemed to take a little longer to make. Lois was beginning to wonder if someday she would design a pattern that would be too complicated to finish!

Her hands shook a little when she worked now and her eyes weren’t so good, but she could still see better than most fifty year olds; so at ninety-two years old, Lois considered herself lucky. She had her sight and her hearing, though she did notice that people seemed to be speaking more softly with each passing year. This she rationalized by believing that it was out of respect for her age. She didn’t have any major disease that she knew of, and she was grateful for each and every day, especially when one of the children or grandchildren stopped in for a cup of tea or a fresh biscuit that she still liked to bake. Oh, she knew that her days were numbered but that just made life all the more interesting, didn’t it?

Today she was finishing the quilt for little Ashley Ann Thompson, born June 5 this year. (Lois said every year was now “this year”—she had simply gotten tired and stopped counting the years after 2000). Ashley weighed 3 # 6 oz.—not very big, but it was amazing that these little ones could be saved and have normal lives. Things were different when Lois was having kids and in fact she had had three who didn’t live.

Lois came by quilting naturally—her mother and grandmother were famous for their original quilts. They were a hardy Irish family and quilting wasn’t a craft back then as much as a necessity. All the women in her family quilted. They saved every piece of material they could get their hands on and asked all their friends and family to do likewise. Lois was very proud of the fact that there had once been a feature article in “Quilting Today”—back in the 50’s when even Mamie Eisenhower was quilting. She still had several copies available to share with anyone who showed the slightest interest in her work. One never knows when someone might just decide to do another story, what with the rising popularity of the craft.

Now today, she was going to finish the quilt. She had only one square left to sew in. Lois sat down in her easy chair and lifted up the quilt to begin her work. She always felt a little sad when a quilt was about to be completed, as if she was about to say good-bye to an old friend who had come on a long visit. She had made the quilt in pretty gay colors of red, pink, and orange—and now to sew in the last little square of material and she’d be finished. She reached into her basket for the square of pink flowered material. She had already sewn in about two hundred squares—and this was the last one to finish a perfect design.

Well, where was that piece of material? It wasn’t in her basket, yet that was impossible. When she put her work away last night, it was there. She had even considered pinning it into the quilt. Now where was it—that lovely piece of pink with all those small rosebuds on it? It was absolutely essential in order to finish the quilt. One small piece missing and the whole thing would be ruined.

Oh well if Lois couldn’t find it, she would simply have to cut out another square. Luckily, she still had plenty of material and it was spread out right in front of her. So she took her scissors and cut out a new square just as the nurse walked in.

“Oh, Lois, what are you doing? Now why did you cut up your pretty new nightgown? Did you think you were quilting again? Now, Lois, you know you haven’t been able to sew for years. Come on, honey, let’s change that nightie. Raise your arms now.”

Lois grinned as she quickly hid the new quilt under her bedcovers and obediently raised her hands over her head.

Phoebe Lauren is an American author, lecturer, and workshop leader, specializing in issues of self-empowerment. She has published six books, including Star Children Among Us (2004, English), L'Enfant des Etoiles (2000, French), La Porte d’Or (2002, French). MmePhoebeLauren@aol.com.