Fiction: Mom's Crazy Quilt

A heartwarming and nostalgic story about a mother who shares stories with her daughter about the different fabrics used to make her 'scrapbook memory' quilt.

| January 2009-February 2009

  • Crazy Quilt

  • Crazy Quilt

Mom! Mom! Where are you?” Kristi Marshall called, as she bounded through the front door of her parents’ house, letting the door slam behind her as though she was seven years old again.

“Good grief, Kristi, what are you shouting about? I’m right here,” said Donna DeWitt, coming down the hall, trying to fasten a silver chain around her neck. Finally successful, she patted the silver pendant hanging from the chain and muttered, “There.” Then, turning her attention to her impatient daughter, she said, “OK, I’m ready. Let’s go. I can’t see what the hurry is, though. I’m sure Macy’s will still have lots of bargains when we get there.”

Kristi smiled sheepishly and said, “I know, Mom. I don’t know why I love to shop like I do. I just do, that’s all. So, let’s go.” She took her mother’s elbow, smiled wide and announced, “Sale, here we come!”

Donna and Kristi had a productive shopping spree. By the time they took a break for lunch, they had already made a trip to the car to deposit an array of bags. Their purchases included a pale turquoise button-down-the-front dress for Donna, a camel-colored suit for Kristi, a real estate agent who had to dress professionally nearly every day, two terry cloth robes, pink for Donna and yellow for Kristi, and an array of accessories.

“Now, Mom,” Kristi said, as she swallowed the first bite of her chicken salad croissant, “this afternoon, we need to go to the home furnishings department. They’re having a sale on bedspreads, comforters, linens, the works.” Excitement was evident in her voice as she added, “It’s about time you got rid of that ugly old quilt and updated your bedroom with some pizazz.”

Donna didn’t respond for a few moments. Instead, she just looked down at the colorful and tasty fresh fruit salad she was enjoying immensely. Then, slowly, she raised her eyes to look at her daughter and patted her lips with her napkin.

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