
It
was a rainy late September evening when the ladies gathered in the community
room of the
Congregational Church, woman of different faiths and
traditions. A collection of mostly older
woman, it appeared to be a gathering of grandmothers. They had come together with the idea of
making a community quilt to sell for charity.
Agnes, a woman of eighty, tried to run the meeting as best
she could but everyone had an opinion and many were intransigent. Coming together with a meeting of the minds
on a single quilt was soon tossed aside and it was decided they would meet
through the winter and each would work on their own quilt. The idea soon morphed into a spring quilt
show. Mabel was the oldest and sat
quietly off to the side.
Each week through the winter the group would gather to share
stories and hand sew another patch or two to their quilts. Mabel watched, said little and only sewed on
small patches each week. As the other
quilts grew in size the others realized Mabel was doing things a little
differently.
Mildred soon reached out to Mabel and asked if she needed
help.
Mabel simply explained, “My hands are frail and I sew a little
slower now, so each week I come to enjoy the company, and work only on parts
for my quilt. During the week I sew each
of the pieces slowly together at home when I can think about the meaning of each
new patch and how it fits, into the total picture, it would be hard for me to
haul the quilt here each week.’
The cold New England winter nights were warmed by the
chatter and laughter as the women stitched.
Olga was proud of the progress with her Scandinavian design, she had
learned to quilt at her grandma’s table.
Anne was creating a tribute to her granddaughter and her love of
flowers. Holly thought her town
historical theme would surely win grand prize.
Nobody paid much attention to the little squares of cloth Mabel slowly sewed, they were more
consumed by their own quilts and the appearance of their neighbor’s quilt.
On the last Saturday of May just before Memorial Day the
woman all arrived early at the community room, each to hang their quilt for the
afternoon show. There was a buzz in the
air, as each lady hung her finished quilt, the judging would be at noon. At 11:00 Rachael noticed Mabel’s spot was
empty and word quickly passed as thoughts of concern spread from mouth to ears.
At 11:20 a tall young man with a big box opened the
door. There coming slowly up the steps
was Mabel, “I hope I am not too
late, I just could not carry my quilt”.
She showed her grandson where to put the quilt and asked if he could be
the one to hang it. “I want the next
generation to understand, who we are” she said.
He opened the box and ever so gently with reflection of
reverence he lifted the quilt sewn by his grandmother’s frail hands and hung it
up for all to see. The room fell silent,
as the others gathered around, before them was more than a quilt, before them
was a work of art, a treasure of perfection.
There was no doubt in anyone’s mind the Grand Champion Blue Ribbon quilt
would be Mabel’s.
What hung before them looked like a tribute to America. A quilt large enough for a king-sized bed,
with an American Flag in the four corners, along the borders were the faces of
people from different cultures, and ethnicities. The patches were filled with outlines of each
State and patches depicting professionals like firemen, teachers, doctors and barbers. There were famous American’s like Lincoln,
Teddy Roosevelt, Ulysses S. Grant and Ronald Reagan.
The women swelled with pride on being an American, a country
so diverse and tolerant, a country more tolerant than the group had been when
it first got together. The display was
not complete, for each entry had to be finished and had to have a title
card. It was nearly noon, Mabel’s card
was not hung and one square in the middle was covered with a tissue. Rose asked, “Why it was hung without being finished?”
Mabel smiled and
said, “I wanted all of you to see my work without preconceptions, to think
about it with an open mind, to understand what a big tent we have in this
nation, that we are a sum of our parts, working together to accomplish great
things for our great nation”. Voices rang out, we get it, you are so right, and
some began to chant USA, USA.
Mabel raised her hands to quiet the crowd, she had only 30
seconds to finish her display. As her
grandson took out a card and pinned it to the top, Mildred tore away the
tissue, and with that she yelled, “It is time to come together”. The card read, “The Republican Party” and the
center patch was the face of Donald J. Trump.
Editor's Note: The moral of the story; is, while we (the Republican Party and the country, generally) are as diverse, opinionated and independent as the lady quilt-makers, we share a common culture (as represented by the Congregational Church) and a common goal (as represented by the spring quilt show). “It is time to come together”, as the card read; to unite as a party and a country and defeat the evil that has already gotten its foot through our door.
Editor's Note: The moral of the story; is, while we (the Republican Party and the country, generally) are as diverse, opinionated and independent as the lady quilt-makers, we share a common culture (as represented by the Congregational Church) and a common goal (as represented by the spring quilt show). “It is time to come together”, as the card read; to unite as a party and a country and defeat the evil that has already gotten its foot through our door.
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