Idle Hands Beget The Devil's Work

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