A Patchwork Quilt – Sarah’s “Comfort”

a wabi-sabi treasure

Wabi-sabi Treasure © 2009 Bo Mackison

My great-grandmother, Sarah Margaret Smulling, was 18 years old when she made what she referred to in her diary as her  “comfort” and entered it in the county fair. She brought  home a blue ribbon. (still attached)

Embroidery Sampler © 2009 Bo Mackison

Sarah was born in 1866; she sewed and painted this coverlet c. 1884. She lived on a farm in Clark County, Missouri, near the town of Kahoka, where her older sister and brother-in-law had a millinery shop. Her sister brought home the scraps from her shop, and shared them with her younger sisters. Most evenings, after completing the farm chores, Sarah and her sisters would gather and each would sew or decorate their “comforts” or other pieced items.

Fan Applique © 2009 Bo Mackison

Since the girls were using scraps from a well-established and profitable shop, they had access to the finest of materials. Silk, damask, moire, chintze, brocade, velvet, and fine cotton – all were available for their use. Sarah  appliqued many designs on this piece, including this elaborate orange fan in the above photo.

Painted Swan © 2009 Bo Mackison

Sarah evidently had some talent in the arts. She was the only girl in the family who actually painted on her fabric. Most of the small paintings are of the more common varieties of flowers–daisies, violets, wild roses–but she also painted several butterflies and this swan.

The quilt is done in mostly browns, neutrals, and oranges. Sarah added a five inch wide swath of bright pink chintz to her quilt, a rather usual finishing touch. Though there are worn places in the more delicate fabric, I consider this a special heirloom.

More close-ups photographs of other sections of the quilt are in this flickr set.

A Child is Born

Walking in the Woods

Walking in the Woods © 2014 Bo Mackison

Grace and I walk early on the morning of your birth day.

A few siskins chitter, hidden high in the pine trees, but raindrops patter their song with greater insistence.

The skies, gray for days, remain the color of slate. The winds are silent, though.

Our walk in the neighborhood woods is quiet, peaceful; I hold great hope as I await your birth.

Anticipation. Wonder. The most common is the most exquisite, the ultimate in miracles.

We know you are on your way, making ready your entrance into this unknown world.
And though we have yet to meet, the love that connects is deep and wide.

The day passes, a few messages.
Slow progress, discussions continue throughout the day –
keep going, change procedures, or move to the OR for a C-section.

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Whitaker Reid © 2014 Grandma Bo

 

Finally, good progress in early evening
and on December 23, 2014 at 6:25 pm
this wee one, Whitaker Reid, arrives,
almost a month early.

Weighing in at 5 pounds, 4 ounces,
hello, grandson.
Welcome to the world.

Practicing Conversational Skills — Gracie and Her Friend

 

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Negotiation © 2014 Bo Mackison

This is how the conversation goes, interpreted in adult English for everyone’s benefit. Most of the conversation was in, as to be expected, dog and baby talk…

“Grandpa! Dog has a toy!”

“Mmm.”

“Grandpa! DOGGIE has a TOY!

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“May I Play?” © 2014 Bo Mackison

“I really, really want Gracie’s toy!”

“You have toys all over the house. Get one of your toys, sweetie.”

“But Gracie’s toy is MOST fun!”

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“Drop” © 2014 Bo Mackison

“Ask nicely and see if she’ll give it to you?”

“Drop, Gracie. Drop.”

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“Good Doggie” © 2014 Bo Mackison

“Good doggie, Grace. Thank you for sharing!”

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” Gracie’s Toy!” © 2014 Bo Mackison

“See, Grandpa? Grace gave me her TOY!”

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“I love Grace!”

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Love! © 2014 Bo Mackison

“GOOD DOGGIE!”

Cloudy Skies, City Lights — and the Gift of Presence and Time

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December in New York City © 2014 Bo Mackison

There is something reviving about colorful lights, dangling stars, a mesmerizing light show, all against the backdrop of cloudy skies and rain-soaked streets.

There is something precious about a reunion of family, the reconnection of a mother and her two daughters, and a day that stretches forward at a leisurely pace with no plans, no hurrying, no outside commitments.

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Bakery overlooking the City © 2014 Bo Mackison

There is something priceless about an unhurried conversation, face to face. No cell phones, no Skype interface. Conversations that are funny, serious, full of hope and longing, conversations that range from the past, to the present and the future beyond.

There is something about a comfort food lunch. Grilled cheese and tomato soup. Rice pudding for dessert.

More stories and laughter, memories and wonder, questions and pondering and even an answer or two.

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December in NYC © 2014 Bo Mackison

There is something, oh so special, about the waiting, the anticipation of that first child. Something equally special about the waiting of your first child’s — your daughter’s — first child.  The endless wondering — will the baby be a boy or a girl, what names are still in the running, oh, and what will the next six weeks bring forth?

That is how I spent a part of this past weekend — in conversation and connection. With hope and anticipation. Soaking up the gift of the presence of time and  togetherness with my girls.

Priceless gift.

Transitions – Saying Good Bye and Thank You

Desert Labyrinth

Labyrinth Connection © 2013 Bo Mackison

“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.”
from an Irish headstone” ~ Richard Puz

Today my dear cousin and friend died unexpectedly.

Karen was the girl cousin closest to my age and we were fast friends from the time we were young children.

She loved her solitude in a way few people truly understand, and yet she was one of the most generous and kind people I have known.

Although she worked in a bank in the days of the first computers — computers that were so delicate they required special air controlled rooms, often were “down” for unknown reasons, and did surprisingly little compared to the smart phone we now routinely accept as a part of our lives — and she worked with computers when employed, she never herself owned a computer.

She didn’t have a Facebook account, she didn’t write emails, she didn’t have internet accounts. Her phone was just advanced enough to transmit photographs and send text, but she only did so on special occasions.

More typically she wrote letters, talked to her friends and family on the telephone, did her business with paper and pencil, checks and the post office.

My first vivid memory of her is not exactly a flattering memory for me, but I remember it in color and detail. And so I will share it.

I was nine years old; she was nearly twelve. Her family lived on the other side of the Mississippi River, thirty or so miles away from town, and so family visits were special, all day affairs. I was an only child, and so when I knew Karen was coming to town I would plan a day of activities, the kind of play that required two kids, not one. Often we would play our way through a pile of board games.

One October day, Karen and her family came for a visit. I had the pile of games ready. On the top of the pile was a less than classic game involving a cartoon character called Huckleberry Hound. I had the table set with the game board, in excited anticipation. But Karen didn’t want to play with me that day. All she wanted to do was hold my newborn sister. Oh, the pangs of jealousy flared their green eyes that day!

The novelty of a newborn didn’t last long, however, and we were soon the best of pals again.

Transition - A Desert Wisdom Card

Transitions © 2014 Bo Mackison

There are simply too many memories to recount, but they are preciously held in my memory. If I were to describe her, I would use words such as kind, generous, and always grateful for the little things in her life.

If I sent her a card with one of my photographs, she would send me a thank you note for the card. We exchanged letters, especially when she knew I was in Arizona and on my own.

When my grand-daughter was born, Karen shared in the excitement, and joyfully noted every sent photograph, not with a simple word of thanks, but a paragraph comparing father and daughter, a noted dimple, a funny expression.She would tell me how the photograph brightened a rather ordinary day.

This past week she was admitted to the hospital for tests. Nothing serious, she said. She asked for new photographs so she could show the nurses in the hospital a baby she’d never met, but nonetheless loved.

I sent new photos on Friday and we messaged back and forth.

This morning the call came. Karen’s heart had stopped and she could not be resuscitated.

This afternoon I walked a nearby labyrinth and said my goodbyes to Karen. The labyrinth was…a thin experience? I talked to Karen, not really talking to her, but I did say my goodbyes to her, shed more than a few tears. As I walked away, I felt a calming and a peace I have not felt for many a week.

Good bye, dear Karen. I miss you already. And thank you.