When I was about 10 years old, my Grandma Hazel crocheted an afghan for me and one for each of my sisters. We got to choose our color or my mother told her our favorite colors at the time, not sure. I chose LIME green, next sister down chose orange and my youngest sister chose purple. So 14 grandchildren each got striped afghans. White and color of choice with fringe tied on the edges.
Yikes, that is: a. oodles of grandchildren. b. skeins of yarn c. hours upon hours of crocheting d. a very nice gift to each of us. We each loved and adored our blankets. We all grew up and went to college or worked on boats fishing in Alaska or got jobs or got married and set up housekeeping. We all have moved and moved and moved again. We have all gone on to have our own children and then some of those children have had babes. Here we are 42 some years later and yes I indeed still have the blanket. Surprise, it still gets used. It is soft and frayed and faded and limp. It is the “go to” blanket if you don’t feel well. For some reason over the years, it is called the sick blanket. Yes, everyone knows which one you are talking about. Yesterday, grandgirlie number one, said I neeeeed the sick blanket to cover up while I take a pretend nap on the dogs’ bed. Okay. you got it. That blanket has been used in several different cars, apartments, town homes, houses, states, countries, for surgeries, lost boyfriends, home sick, flu bugs, tears oh lots of tears, tooth aches, broken toes, a new knee, two broken legs, a burn on a finger, an ear ache, stitches for this or that……it has been a work horse. NOT pretty by any means or discription……a tried and true work horse.
Yesterday, in the middle of an ordinary day something magical happened. The postman (Diane was off, love you Diane!) delivered a brown box with my name and address on it. My name was spelled correctly, which is a sweet bonus for me. It doesn’t happen that often. I was on the phone with Mr. Right and he said well open it. I said it only says Boise, Idaho on the return address. I don’t know anyone from Boise. He said take a chance, live wild. I carefully cut open the tape and gingerly turned back the orange tissue paper that was folded neatly around a package. The package was wrapped in….. get this……bright orange wrapping paper with polka dots ( I adore both) and tied with a LIME green fat, sassy, grossgrain ribbon! I looked for a card and there wasn’t one. There was a piece of orange paper with the printed words, ” Wrap it all around you and know there is enough love to sustain you.” Folded neatly inside was a QUILT! What? Yes, you heard that right. There was a knock your socks off, gorgeous quilt. Just for me. I have been quilting for 32 years and I have never received a quilt just for me. It is covered in hearts and machine quilted in every possible space. It has a gorgeous floral border and the back is as pretty as the front. The time, effort, handiwork, love and spirit that went into making this piece of goodness is overwhelming. Now, here is the part that took my breath away. I am not sure I could make something so lovely, so beautiful, so generous and not sign my name? I am not sure I am that good of a person. Who on earth could have done something so lovely, so kind spirited, so altruistic as to give a gift for no other reason than to make someone happy? unbelievable. Truly remarkable and to think I am the one here to tell the tale!
You know I love to read murder mysteries (no not real life ones) the happy catering, donut shop silly murder mysteries where someone dies with a donut in their hand, laying on a knoll of grass…… so you know I love a mystery. I can’t for the life of me think who would have done something so nice for me. I asked my sister-in-law in Vermont, don’t you think it is weird? She said, “I think it is wonderful”. I asked another friend here in Washington, and she said ” Someone who doesn’t want thanks back. They want to do a good deed and only be rewarded from God for it. Good for them and lucky you!” Mr. Right said finally after me pestering him for literally hours…..why would someone do that, who do you think it was?????? He said, “maybe they don’t want anyone to know, just be gracious and accept it” . Oldest son, always keeping it real said “maybe it was delivered to the wrong Daleen Wilson”. nice.
So my friends, I am going to be gracious and give in. I am going to accept the quilt with all the love that is stitched into it. For the first time in my life, I will not be writing a thank you note to someone to thank them properly. I will be honest and tell you that I have already christened it. I cried buckets of tears this morning and smooshed my face right into it. Yes, I wrapped it around my shoulders and cried and cried. When I was done (for that meltdown) I felt okay, I felt better.
Being grateful equals healing. Or so I have read. I am on my knees grateful for someone’s kindness toward me. It was fun and happy and silly and goofy and mysterious and simply lovely yesterday. Today, it got me through this far. It has helped and it feels lovely to be bathed in such Grace. It’s amazing.