Blue Jean Quilt
I hate moving. Heavy furniture, aching backs, and stairs have been my enemy over the last few days and will continue to be. But the silver lining is the bittersweet moments that certain parts of packing inevitably lead to. Remembering why my room (now nearly empty) has purple walls. Finding my memory box and leafing through it, reminiscing about high school, salt and vinegar chips, and even the pocketwatch. Packing flannel shirts in the closet and the memories of getting them back after being "stolen". But the one memory that I plunged into today was when I packed the blue jean quilt. I remember my mom making the quilts. Mine was blue and thin, but the warmest blanket I ever slept under. Angie's was pink. I think I was 4 when we got them, and I held on to mine for years, into my thirties. I passed mine to John-Michael, but it was tattered and worn. I had every square saved, though, and vowed that someday I would have her fix it. It disappeared a couple of years ago (prett...