Sunday, June 2, 2013

Here's a story based upon the Christmas when my Grandmother Stainbrook made me my Sunbonnet Sue Quilt.  Although she died when I was quite young, I have some truly special memories about her.  Enjoy the story! 
 
SUNBONNET SUE

She lowered her reading glasses down to the tip of her nose peering at me with those warm, brown eyes.  “Why’s my little Miss Sunshine so down tonight?”

Indeed I was moody that Christmas clinging to my grandmother’s side and dogging her every step. 

“My new dolly is lonely and cold,” I muttered. 

“Maybe she needs a blanket and some hot cocoa.”

“Uh, huh,” I nodded.

 “Fetch your doll teacups; I’ll make cocoa for you and your doll.” 

I complied returning to her kitchen where she gingerly filled each teacup with steaming, rich hot cocoa.  She then turned to my mother and me proclaiming, “Let’s make a doll quilt; we’ll have our own quilting bee—the three of us—like in the old farm days.”

With that, we scurried to my grandmother’s sewing room where she retrieved the Sunbonnet Sue pattern and a box of scrap material; she carefully pinned different parts of the pattern to material.  Then, she wrapped her hands over mine guiding them through the thick fabric.  “This is how you cut out the fabric using the pattern.  Now, here’s the scissors; you’re on your own…get started little lady!”

 After carefully cutting out six bonnets, skirts, arms, and feet, my grandmother propped me up on a stool as I watched her and my mother sew the pieces together.  Her sewing machine hummed and evidently slowly sang me to sleep.  

So, the next morning I awoke with my doll lying next to me wrapped in a cherished memory—a Sunbonnet Sue quilt of pinks, yellows, reds, and calicos.  A few months later, my dear grandmother died unexpectedly of a massive coronary.  Although her death saddened me, both my doll and I remained covered by her quilt of joy and love that warmed us like no other.  Even now—50+ years later—I still feel my grandmother’s eyes watching me and her spirit guiding me.  Sometimes when the house is silent, I even hear her voice—golden threads of wisdom and encouragement—and am reminded that our lives are like quilts—bits and pieces, joys and sorrows—stitched together with love. 


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