an object of affection // quilted pillow

In fourth grade my mom officially taught me how to sew. We spent evenings and weekends cutting and arranging 4x3 inch squares of scrap fabric, until an entire twin-sized quilt formed. Then we started sewing, row by crooked row- I hadn't been very meticulous about my cutting of those squares. Still, it all came together, backing and tying and all. My first quilt.

When we were done a few squares were left over and I started making little quilted pillows. I gave two of them to my grandmother- my Meema. I remember her telling me she loved them. I would fill with pride every time I saw them in her living room. I also remember getting them back once both my mom's parents passed away. They sat on my bed next to my bedroom window, reunited with the quilt and all the other little squares of fabric.

They became more than just a memory of time spent sewing with my mom, and the gift they'd been to my grandmother. They became symbolic of family, growing up, of my relationship with my grandparents, and the time spent in their little, yellow house. Its funny how such a simple item- a small, quilted pillow- can remind one of so much. Now they sit on my desk chair, quietly overflowing with thankfulness and memory.

Happy Monday, friends. I hope its a day full of quiet overflowing.