Blog #8

Grammie the quilt lives in an old dusty attic. She hasn’t always lived up there, she can still remember the days when she was proudly displayed atop the living room couch downstairs, the centerpiece of so much action. She kept people warm and comfortable, and was always there when somebody needed an extra layer of comfort. She had witnessed celebrations, arguments, births and deaths, and she had so many stories to tell. But now, she is worn and frayed. She is stained and her stitching has begun to unravel. And so she sits in the attic, hearing the voices coming from downstairs, which once sounded so familiar, but are now so strange. She has found a new role though, upstairs in the attic. She cares for all the old, forgotten objects just like her. She changes the lightbulbs in the old, grumpy lamps, she cleans the coffee stains out of the delicate doilies, and she soothes the hurt feelings of forgotten toys. She does so much for the attic bound misfits, she is their unsung hero, never asking for anything herself. She has changed so much since living in the attic; her texture, which was once so soft and plush, is now rough and bare. She feels quite self-conscious about herself now in her age, without her past plushiness. Texture is so important for a quilt. The soft, smooth fabric brushing against skin can comfort even the most weary souls, but she is no longer soft and smooth, and few people would want her against their skin. But there is beauty in this new texture of hers, one which is rough and worn. It tells of her adventures and her experience, and is, in a strange way, a comfort to the attic dwelling misfits.