Sunshine and Shadow

Thanks be to you for all your sweet and touching comments about my brother-in-law’s passing away this week.  I read all of them to my husband (it’s his sister’s husband who died) and will mention them to her a bit later, when the family has all gone home.

The drive up the state was snowy, yet in between being worried about the roads and driving and those semis, the snow would stop for a few minutes and I would see winter scenes like the one above.  I stitched the binding on as we drove (the first picture is a shot of the quilt on my lap).  We stopped in a snowstorm to buy a ribbon for the quilt, then I needed a place to photograph it before sending it on its journey.  But where?  There were lots of beautiful old farmhouses, but we were in the middle of huge snowstorm.

Then I thought of the Springville Art Museum, where I’d seen a quilt show the summer before.  It was perfect.  I explained my story to the docent at the front desk and she was enthusiastic. ( This may be the closest I ever come to having my quilt in a museum.)

Draped up their curving staircase.

And over the top of the grand piano in the Grand Salon.

I loved this painting of a woman looking mysteriously out from underneath her hat.  Title: Lady in Black.  So I titled this picture, Lady in Black with Yellow and Blue Quilt.

By now we thought that Janice was back from picking up the last in-coming daughter from the airport so we drove over to her house to drop off the quilt.  There were tears as we talked, visited with her family, discussed the plans for the funeral and burial tomorrow.  More tears, and she apologized for crying.  We hugged.  I told her the quilting was hearts and hands–hands to give her a quilty hug when I wasn’t there, and hearts so she’d know that she was loved.

The title of this quilt is Sunshine and Shadow, taken as much from the colors in the quilt and gradation in colors on the backing as from what life hands out to us on a regular basis; you know what I mean.  As I sit here tonight typing this, my husband is writing his talk for the services, my other sister-in-law has started the laundry for her mother who took a fall and can’t live by herself anymore, and up on the wall behind me is a sampler declaring “Tis a gift to be simple,” made for them by a young married daughter who has rheumatoid arthritis and can’t stitch anymore.

Those shadowy times are in all our lives.   But we look to the sun, and go forward.