The house was in chaos. The remains of breakfast still on the table. Unwashed dishes stacked in the sink. The living room in shambles. Mom standing in the midst of it all, dazed, confused, worried. She looked at me. “I need help!”
A medical emergency? Break-and-enter? Home invasion?
Nope. Something far more serious.
“B______ wants a quilt with animals on it, and I can’t decide what to make.”
That explained the shambles. The floor, the sofa, the coffee table covered with fabric – fat quarters, cut lengths, remnants – of all colours and designs; quilting magazines opened to different patterns.
Two hours later, we had decided on a pattern (frogs). We’d picked out the fabrics from her stash (varying shades of green and green prints).
I knew this was far from over. I’d been here before.
Mom stood up, hands on her hips, her lips pursed. “We need contrast fabric. And something for the sashing. And for the backing. I just don’t have enough flannel for the backing and what I do have just doesn’t go.”
She gathered up the chosen fabric and her purse. “We’ll just have to go in to Peachtree.” She handed me the keys to her beloved Buick Century. “Here, you drive. You know I hate driving in Regina.”
Yep, I’d been here before.
Peachtree was Mom’s favourite quilting store. Two rooms filled with more quilting fabric than you ever imagined existed. Plus quilting supplies. And sewing machines. And quilting books and magazines, just in case you didn’t already have enough. The staff knew her by name. That was no surprise – I think she was there at least once a week. Mom was an avid quilter. We joked that if something stood still long enough, she’d work it into a quilt.
An hour later, Mom left behind a bundle of money and I carried out a bundle of fabric. But the afternoon wasn’t over.
Mom grinned. “I think we need coffee. And something to eat.”
I knew where this was going. I’d been here before.
Off to our favourite coffee shop. Two lattes and a couple of those really decadent chocolate whatever-they-ares. Then it was time to pay.
“Gee, I forgot my wallet, Margaret.”
“No, you didn’t. You paid Peachtree, remember?”
“Yes, but you’re driving my car and burning my gas.”
“Yes, but you asked me to drive. You need to pay your chauffeur.”
“I paid last time.”
“No, I did.”
Meanwhile, the poor clerk looked more and more concerned, wondering if World War III was about to break out. Little did she know this “discussion” was all in fun. It was part of our routine. Mom knew I would pay. Eventually.
Like I said, I’d been here before. And I loved every minute of it.
Oh, and the quilt? B_______ loved it.
#Quilting #HannaFamilyHistory #MothersAndDaughters #MargaretGHanna #Humour #NonFiction
A Prairie Perspective 
Your story playing out in my mind made me smile. Thanks for the memory.
LikeLike
Glad you smiled — they were the whole point of writing the story.
LikeLiked by 1 person