Cleo Lampos's Blog
August 29, 2024
WW2 Quilters: Fighting with Needles and Thread
[image error]
With pride, thousands of women signed up for military service after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. But, millions of women stayed on the home-front during the war. Their battle tools took on the forms of welding wands, plows, hoes, canning jars, typewriters and mathematical equations. Each person matched their talents with the task needing to be done. No slackers allowed.
The needle and thread wielded by quilt makers turned fabric into a war weapon. Money earned from the sale of quilts bought war bonds. Snuggly comforters wrapped wounded soldiers in love from the homeland. Utilitarian blankets filled the boxes of Bundles for Britain on the way to warm a refugee or displaced person overseas. Quilts fought discouragement.
[image error]
Many quilts were stitched with striking patriotic patterns, such as the V for Victory. These red, white and blue fabric masterpieces infused hope and perseverance in all who viewed them. The Red Cross was beneficiary to hundreds of thousands of these hand-made symbols of resistance. Few quilts survived the war, because they were used and appreciated.
[image error]
Governor Herbert O’Conor spoke on June 6, 1942 in words that the quilters understood. “Let us never forget for a moment that the military effort goes hand-in-hand with the civilian one. No battle in any part of the world can take place without involving us. Here at home we must drive toward victory. Here at home we must take and maintain an unrelenting offensive. Here at home we must hew the wood and carry the water for the rebuilding of a triumphant peace. “The home-front women warriors needed to do their part to back up their military men and win the war.
[image error]
http://netnebraska.org/article/news/w...
Most of the quilts made during the war were created from crazy blocks using remnants- furnishing fabrics, dress fabrics, scraps, or feedsack material. The backing material was either striped or plain flannelette. The hand-quilting patterns reflected wartime constraints on time. The stitches were pulled through with haste, using a double dog trail, fan, concentric semicircles, parallel lines on the diagonal, or, in the interest of speed, very big-stitch quilting. The pressure to bring thousands of finished quilts is seen in the ones that survived the war, showing how women tried valiantly to bind up the fragmented pieces of a nation.
Smithsonian: https://www.si.edu/object/1965-1975-w...
Intended for service rather than sentiment, the quilts of the women of this country wrapped around the men that they loved as they fought on foreign soils. Or lay in hospitals. Or recuperated at home. Thousands of the pieced beauties sailed with the Red Cross across the submarine-haunted Atlantic to warm the souls of war weary populaces. These quilts fought the war’s depression with their stitched-in love and warmth.
How does a nation fight a war? Some use a needle and thread.
[image error]
“The two things you need most in making quilts are plenty of patience and a warm iron.” Bertha Stenge, Chicago quilt maker during WWII
For more photos, check out this blog: http://www.coveringquilthistory.com/ww-ii-benevolent-quiltmaking.php
Photo credits:
https://archive.org/stream/ladieshome...
https://flmemorymaintenancepage.azure...
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Fi...
Wonderful Wednesday
“Everybody’s life looks better when you’re standing outside it, looking in, but that’s never how it really is. We all got good things and bad things…” –Torey Hayden, Special education teacher and author
[image error]
Homework Club exuded all the trappings of success. So it appeared on the surface. Fifteen students finished their assigned work before going home. Time ticked by quickly. The whole class rejoiced in that. So, why were the Homework Club members boring holes into me with their eyes?
What could have gone wrong?
One more after-school responsibility had certainly not been my idea. Homework Club had long been excluded from my list of the committees worth volunteering my time and effort. At three o’clock, all energy drained from my body, so even extra pay could not entice me to tutor fifteen low-achieving students for an hour and a half. Only the assistant principal, Ms. Graham, had the clout to overturn my objections.
“Cleo. We need a teacher for the Wednesday afternoon Homework Club. The person who worked that assignment is teaching homebound students. Monday, Tuesday and Thursday are covered. Can I count on you for Wednesday?” Ms. Graham smiled charmingly while she penciled my name onto the schedule.
We breezed through the first session. The fourth grade students filed into my room. I knew many by reputation, either as non-readers or behavior problems. Using all the strategies gained by years of special education, I soon had each pupil working on individualized assignments. Knowing that an energy boost helps, I passed out chocolate covered graham crackers.
[image error]
eXtension.org
The early December snow floated from the cray clouds, covering the world in silent white drifts. Cozy inside, I tiptoed from desk to desk, trying an old technique in auditory spelling with one student, pairing others to teach alternate paragraphs from the same passage, getting a times table sheet for computation to a math whiz wannabee.
“Can we stay overnight?” Travis asked, nodding to the large flakes floating by the window.
“Yeah. We could order pizza,” piped in Mike.
“We could put our coats on the floor to sleep,” Katie added.
“I’ve got to get home to make supper for Mr. Lampos.” My eyes widened in alarm.
Disappointed moans resounded from desk to desk.
Just before the time to put on coats, boots and mittens, I told everyone to listen to our “goodbye song,” a tape that my regular class knew as the cue to get ready for the weekend. It’s an old rendition of “What A Wonderful World”. In an even paced rhythm, Louis Armstrong’s voice filled the room. “I see skies of blue..and I say to myself, what a wonderful world.” I lip-synched and motioned the words with wide sweeps of my arms. “Ohhhh, yyyeahhh!”
The music faded.
I watched as the Homework Club donned their winter wraps in silence, then queued up in a sloppy line. Staring eyes and slack mouths made me ask, “What? Hey, guys, weren’t you just listening? It’s a wonderful world. How about some smiles?”
Preppy, well-dressed Thad cocked his head. “It’s not a wondaerful world, Mrs. Lampos. My stepfather hates me. I don’t like to go home.” I recalled seeing Thad and a few walkers standing by the front entrance on frigid mornings.
[image error]
“I don’t think it’s such a wonderful world, either,” snapped Travis whose father still served a prison term for gang-related offenses.
Grunts of confirmation surrounded me. Angry feelings vented through words. “It’s a lousy world.” “Life’s no fun.”
Stepping back into my childhood, memories of wanting to stay in school flooded my mind. Cautiously, I shared them with the Club.
“Believe it or not, I know how you feel. My stepfather was a mean alcoholic. There was a lot of fighting at my home. We were poor and sometimes hungry. School was safer and nicer than home.”
Shock crossed their faces as I spoke.
“But I never let the bad things get me down. Even at your age, I looked around and tried to find the good things in life. That’s why I like Louis Armstrong’s song. Wonderful things are free, like the sky, babies smiling, the snow wrapping us up today in a hug.” I paused. “Your assignment for next Wednesday is to come to Homework Club with five wonderful things in your life. Can we do this?”
Upturned lips and nodding heads said it all. Several boys hugged me on the way to the bus. Surely God has made something very special for this midweek group, I reflected. Let it be His wonderful love flowing through me to these needy hearts.
I wouldn’t miss Wednesday Homework Club for all the chocolate in Hershey, Pennsylvania.
[image error]
Abc30.com
“Loneliness and the feeling of being unwanted is the most terrible poverty.” – Mother Teresa
Finding the potential in problematic students is challenging regardless of the setting: public school, private school, church clubs, youth groups or Sunday school. Author Cleo Lampos reminds the reader on each page that every teacher possesses the power to shape a child’s future.
Available on Amazon.com in e-book or paperback.
The Teachers of Diamond Projects School Series that uses the 3 R’s in the novel: reality, reflection and romance. Each novel is a stand-alone that takes the reader into the classroom of an urban teacher who struggles with professional, personal and spiritual challenges. Enjoy a peek into Chicago’s educational system from a veteran teacher.
Available from Amazon.com in e-book or print.
Meme photo: https://pixabay.com/en/blackboard-boy...
Winter Quilts
“What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.” – John Steinbeck
Time for the winter quilts.
The icy season descended upon the Midwestern States with a Halloween snow storm. Mercury lies in the lower end of the thermometer for days. Instead of shivering or turning up the heat, I have opted to pull out the winter quilts.
And there is a stack of them. Vern’s sister, Wanda, stitches together fabrics that project family remembrance and legacy. My favorite is the one she sewed from my father-in-law’s striped ties that he wore as a waiter in the restaurant that he and his brothers ran for decades on the South Side of Chicago.
Another quilt that beckons me to dreamland is an antique fan quilt carefully constructed from fabrics that date back to the 1930’s. My hands smooth the cotton as sleep lowers my eyelids. There is a scent from my childhood lingering to the material. This cozy quilt has lulled several generations to restful nights of warmth.
In the summertime, the living room sports one lightweight quilt for chilly rainy evenings reading a book in the lounge chair. But now, lap-sized comforters lie on the backs of chairs, or join the stack of casually folded leg-warming quilts in a basket near the sofa. An invitation to drink hot chocolate and let the early snow storms blast the fall leaves from the trees.
Some quilts are never used. They drape the bottom of guest room beds. These are the masterpieces created by long gone generations. They are carefully handled because their bindings are fragile and cotton is thin. Too risky to use, but heartwarming in their faded beauty. A reminder of the past and a reason for the swelling feelings of thankfulness that envelope me.
Quilts. It is time to get cozy.
It is time to wrap the body and the soul with the warmth of memories.
It is time to rest the mind and spirit from a summer of activities.
Bring on the cookies and hot chocolate.
“Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home. – Edith Sitwell
Photo credits:
https://pixabay.com/photos/fireplace-...
https://unsplash.com/photos/PU4sOcNnYj8
When Women Stitch
“Quilters cut with hope, stitch with grace, quilt with dreams, bind with laughter, share with love”. -Anonymous
[image error]
Most quilters are fabric hoarders. They joke about this tendency to squirrel away fat quarters, swatches or whole bolts of choice designs. But, on a deeper level, fabric is a symbolic material that represents the core human needs of warmth, protection, and community.1 Maybe what the fabric hoarders are saving is their own psychics by connecting their body and mind through needle, thread and fabric.
Quilting as TherapyThe process of quilt making is therapeutic. For persons who seek a feeling of control, or are depressed, the structured process of cutting, piecing and stitching become predictable actions that put life back into a structured pattern. Taking swatches of material and piecing them together into a coherent design may serve as a symbolic recovery for women suffering from trauma. For those whose experience anxiety, repetitive actions such as cutting and slow stitching create a meditative, relaxed state. The warming and protective aspects of quilt making may increase self-nurturing in those who have experienced difficulty in relationships. By connecting with other women in a group, the social value of a quilting bee is invaluable. Getting together with neighbors to talk, eat and sew is a creative way to piece together the heart, mind and soul. Pressing a threaded needle through batting as soft as marshmallows is the ultimate in relaxation.
Art making has the ability to move people along their journey of grief and loss. A fabric masterpiece is the result of carefully pieced moments of healing and hope. When the creative process is engaged in the quilt making process a mourner’s life is recalibrated as the binding is hemmed into place. A gentle healing.
Clare Hunter, the author of Threads of Life, speaks of women who feel the pain of being disenfranchised by society. Her book chronicles how the act of stitching changes lives, and sisters of the needle “no long considered their place to be lesser, their power diminishable or their voices unheard.” Needle work is therapy.
[image error]
Quilting Through the GenerationsCongregating together in community quilting bees, generations of women have enjoyed the company of children, grandchildren and other folks as they send a running thread through a new creation. The older stitchers engage their memories as they recall patterns or procedure. The innovative quilters teach younger needleworkers new skills, which also creates new paths in their aging brain. However, the resulting masterpiece boosts self-esteem for a woman with advancing years filled with self-doubt. Elderly sew-ers enjoy the company and energy of the multi-generational quilting bee.
Jennifer Chiaverini has obviously been in a quilters group because she expresses what many stitches experience. “Anyone who works on a quilt, who devotes her time, energy, creativity, and passion to that art, learns to value the work of her hands. And as any quilter will tell you, a quilter’s quilting friends are some of the dearest, most generous, and most supportive people she knows.”
Teenagers learn time honored skills from the older adults while interacting with those whose frame of reference includes stories from the past. While learning the motor and cognitive steps of quilting, adolescents enjoy the freedom of self-expression and individuality that the medium offers. The feelings of creativity and empowerment boost self-sufficiency for teens who struggle with identity and a need for connection.
Even the younger participants in a quilting bee add to the general sense of community and the connection with life that is essential to the human condition. Agnes Gund, founder of Studio in a School, observes: “We share the importance of the arts, not only in society but also in building one’s self-esteem. And the kids really grasp that: They’re confident and proud of themselves and share art with the people in their lives.” Especially their masterpieces of quilting.
[image error]
Feeling the WarmthVijaya Gowrisankar expresses the value of quilting. “Yes, my scars shape me. Today, I have learnt to cover it with fabric made of hope, faith, perseverance, and determination. For this, I am grateful to life.”
By physically cutting, patterning, sewing and binding fabric in the company of other women, the soul finds itself being patched together with grace and fortitude. Women helping other women to cope with whatever life throws at them.
Slowly.
One stitch at a time.
“We, like lace, make up the very fabric of society, the tapestry of togetherness that consists of holes, but also of threads that tie us together until the end of time. The more we embrace our fragility and shared sufferings, the more boundaries we overcome, until the light can’t help but pour on in.”
-Kayla Severson, Nature’s 1st Gem is Green
1.“Fabric and quilting as material in art therapy”, by Elyse Schauer, School of the Art Institute, Chicago, 2013
Photo credits:
https://unsplash.com/photos/dG35-kUxv34
When Nature Deficit Disorder Hits the Classroom
The students in my class for behavior disorders leaned forward on their desks. “We don’t got no leaves where we live.” For three days, I had begged them to bring in autumn leaves to press between pages of a catalog then use for leaf rubbings. On day four, still no leaves from them.
“I find that hard to imagine.” They lived in the suburbs, and their claim seemed improbable. “There are leaves everywhere.”
Skeptical eyes stared into mine. “Okay,” I gave in. “I will bring leaves tomorrow.”
But not before I checked their story.
After school, as the sun slid closer to the horizon, I drove to the neighborhood where the students lived in public housing. The nearer to the tall brick buildings that I came, the less vegetation, grass or trees graced the roadside. By the time I wheeled into the streets lined with apartments, only concrete, stone and asphalt covered the ground. Knowing that their parents did not allow these students to roam the neighborhood, the fact that they could not bring in leaves checked. My stomach ached, not from the lack of food, but from the lack of understanding on my part about how the students in my class lived. How deeply nature deficit disorder affected them.
[image error]After supper, my feet took to the sidewalks in the suburban neighborhood of Chicago bungalows. Stooping, I picked up several brown leathery oak leaves. Bright red and yellow maples. Tiptoeing onto a neighbor’s grass, I eased to the north side of the house to snip off a few fern fronds. Not satisfied with just tree leaves, my husband helped gather beet leaves, kale, zucchini, tomato and other greenery from the garden. The cache’ stuffed several tool catalogues in my effort to flatten them.
The next morning, the class learned about photosynthesis, the types of veins, the outer border textures, and the shape of the leaves. By dragging the side of crayons across a piece of paper placed on the underside of the leaves, the characteristics of each specimen popped. The morning sped by, filled with vocabulary and hands-on learning. Taking home their leaf rubbings, my behavior-disordered boys grinned from the connection to nature they made that day.
But my connection to their world, their problems, and their challenges was more significant. The words of George Eliot pressed on my mind. “We could never have learned to love the Earth so well, if we had had no childhood in it.”
Finding the potential in problematic students is challenging regardless of the setting, be it public school, private school, church clubs, youth groups, or Sunday school. For Cleo’s devotional for teachers, check out Teaching Diamonds in the Tough!
Cleo has also written an urban teacher romance that addresses the issues of nature deficit disorder in today’s students in metropolitan settings. Cultivating Wildflowers is available from amazon.com.
Photo credit: boy running, children playing
When Light Meets Cloth: Pajogi Quilting
“When creative juices flow, catch them with a needle.”
-Quilter’s sayings by Monroe County Library System
[image error]
When my brother married Lois, he introduced me to a weaver, quilter, and seamstress. Fabric is the medium in which Lois creates and designs. When I attended college, Lois stitched a tropical blue dress for me to wear to the frequent concerts on campus. If Lois is wearing a jacket, she has woven the material on her loom. My sister-in–law has threaded fibers on a loom and given them life as cloth. Runners for tables result from the warp and weft. Her loom resides in the living room of her apartment, ready for the weaver to pass the shuttle on a newly inspired project.
For a half a century Lois lived in a Minnesota house which she filled with artistry from cloth. Hanging from a dowel rod in front of a window in the living room was a piece of organic linen-like fabric with a subtle design. As I recall, there were irregular blocks arranged in it, somewhat like stained glass. The rays of sunshine defused through the weave, bringing a warmth and appreciation of light into the room. Just like stained glass windows in a church, the effect warmed the heart and soul. I often gravitated to that room, mesmerized by the movement of light through the cloth. The piece of fabric in Lois’ window embodied the essence of an art form called “Pojagi”.
[image error]
Photo from media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com
Pojagi is a unique style of patchwork quilting originated as an ancient type of hand stitching in Ancient Korea about 2000 years ago. Originally, familiar fabrics like hemp, linen, cotton and silk were cut and formed into 14 inch squares to wrap and carry things. The current Korean parliament still uses Pojagi in the transport of documents.
[image error]
Photo from sparkbark.com
Repurposing ClothLike the women of the Great Depression in the United States who took old clothes and repurposed them, the Korean women also collected outdated clothing. They cut up the castoffs to create these wrapping cloths. They used a one fourth inch seam around the edges of the fabric, creased tightly with a Clover Hera Tool. This tool helped the stitcher to make a visible crease on both the front and back of the fabric. Hand stitching brought the two folded edges of material together into what are called “Flat Fell Seams.” Remarkedly, no fraying edges.
Modern PojagiToday, the patchwork quilting technique of Pojagi is utilized to create screens, curtains, wall hangings, and repurposed clothing. When more intricate pieces of cloth are put together, the process is called “jogakbo”, as jagak means pieces. The result of this craft resembles the patchwork quilts in western culture and is just an extension of Pojagi.
The fabric used most frequently is transparent. The shapes can be irregular. Most of the folded-edge seams are stitched by hand. The overlapped stitched part gives the stained glass effect to the finished piece. The freedom and creativity of this technique is addictive. The soft feeling of the finished product, its translucency, and its light-properties make it appealing. When hung in a window, it brings nature indoors with fused light.
The construction of clothing with this process brings a sense of layering with gauze. The thought of wearing a Jogakbo jacket is akin to wrapping up in a cloud.
[image error]
Photo from aqsblog.com
Weaving a LegacyLois’ Pojagi window screen has been given to one of her grandchildren. The memories of her home will linger in that grandchild’s mind as they look upon the linen cloth woven by their grandmother’s own hands. The fabric will undoubtedly hang where the sunlight flows through the woven threads to warm the room with its rays.
And lighten the memory of a beloved weaver’s legacy.
[image error]
Photo from designmeem.com
“Patchwork pojagi, called chogak po, had many uses. They served to cover, wrap, store, and carry objects in the person’s activities of daily life. They were used as tablecloths, to deliver a marriage proposal, to carry possessions on a journey, and to adorn and protect sacred writings…Wrapping a gift in a specially made pojagi communicated respect for the object and good will toward the recipient. Each patch and stitch added by the maker was like a prayer of good will that would enfold and carry the gift.”
-The International Quilt Study Center and Museum
Welcome Home, Vietnam Vet
An enthusiastic and emotional “welcome home” honors those who served in the Vietnam War. (Tribune photo by Phil Greer)
On June 13, 1986, I squeezed my way to the curb on Michigan Avenue in Chicago with my three children and two of their friends in tow. The half million people lining the streets of the Windy City’s downtown pressed on our bodies and breathed down our necks. We stood our ground as the police tried to keep us on the curb while shredded paper floated from the high buildings surrounding us. Banners proclaiming “Honor the Warrior, not the War” intermingled with solemn faced women holding framed photos of young men in military dress. Few bystanders in that crowd brushed away the tears that flowed freely down their cheeks. We watched as 200,000 vets clad in camouflage uniforms paraded for five hours on foot, in wheelchairs, or in the arms of comrades. Buses from Hines Hospital rolled slowly so the men inside could wave. Some vets rode in bamboo cages as reminders of the treatment endured by many prisoners of war. Most just marched through the tickertape strewn streets. My children cheered as these men finally “came home.”
Even to this day, the expressions on the faces of those soldiers in mottled green fatigues are vivid. Long hair framing their faces, the sign of rebellion in that era, only focused attention to their eyes. The men who avoided eye contact with the crowd as they surveyed us with suspicion. The slumped soldiers whose hollow gaze told of a broken spirit. Some units of bright eyed comrades who sported short military haircuts and strutted with a cocky gait. We waved and smiled at many who returned the love. Row after row, line upon line they filed by. A sea of faces. Yet a snapshot of individuals. My heart ached as their march blurred off and on all day in my watery watch.
The Vietnam War had impacted my life profoundly. As a high school and college student, the war dominated every conversation. I wrote to several soldiers during this time, not understanding the anger lying beneath their words. Those who did not return left raw emotions and empty holes in the hearts of those who knew them. The War defined so much of my young adulthood. When the city announced that a parade would be held, I told my ten year old son and my junior high daughters that we needed to honor these men. For a farm girl who had never taken the commuter train downtown by herself, much less with children, this was a solid commitment.
Maybe it was the words Tom Stack, chairman of the Chicago Vietnam Veterans Parade Committee, which motivated me to bring history to my children. “During the Vietnam War, you didn’t come home with your buddies,” Tom Stack said. “You got off the plane, trashed your uniform, and went home through the back alley. They are coming to this parade to reunite with the rest of America.” I was struck by the realization that no matter the outcome of the war, the men and women who had fought in Vietnam had sacrificed for their country. They needed a parade of healing.
Veteran Steve Benson brought his son, Mike, to the march and to the copy of the Vietnam Memorial wall in Grant Park. “I wanted to show my son the closeness and friendships between the veterans, and I wanted him to meet guys that I fought with and know what we went through. I think after today, I’ll be able to talk about it a little more openly with him than in the past. I feel like I have had a ton of bricks taken off me. I’ve cried, and I wasn’t alone.”
On this Veteran’s Day, I remember my classmates who served. I remember a childhood friend who died on foreign soil. I remember the cost of my freedom. And I remember to be grateful to those who have paid the price.
“Never again will one generation of veterans abandon another!”
-Motto of Vietnam Veterans of America
PTSD haunts the lives of America’s veterans. Joe Malinkovich is a medic who suffers from PTSD, but receives help at the VA. Veronica Bagadonas falls in love with Joe as he contributes to her special education classroom. What lies in the future for a couple with challenges? Read Miss Bee and the Do Bees, by Cleo Lampos from the Teachers of Diamond Project School Series.
Walt Disney, Ben Carson, and Benny Goodman: The American Dream
Inspiration for the American Dream is embodied in the lives of Walt Disney, Ben Carson, and Benny Goodman. All of these men achieved success in their lives despite difficult beginnings. They are not the exception, but the rule that America has always been the Land of Opportunity.
Watching the movie, Saving Mr.Banks, with my friends, we sat stupefied as Walt Disney told a story of his childhood. Growing up in Missouri, Walt worked for his publishing father by delivering the newspaper twice a day. His account of walking in freezing conditions with tattered shoes broke our hearts. But our tears were not needed, because Walt did not feel sorry for himself. He spoke of the difficulties as a means for making him humane and positive toward life. Disneyland and his movies are proof that Walt survived the sting of his father’s belt buckle so he could present the triumph of good over evil.
Ben Carson should not be running for President of the United States. Or be head of a department in John Hopkins Medical Facility. Or be a neurosurgeon. Born to a young mother whose husband left her in Detroit to raise Ben and his brother, the Carson boys grew to be the non-achieving, angry teens in the Hood: just as society expects. With only a belt buckle between his knife and a friend’s innards, Ben decided to change. The habit of reading books that his mother instilled in him and her insistence that he learn his multiplication tables paid off in moving Ben from the bottom of the class to the top. Soon, with his anger under control, Ben entered Harvard, then became an internationally known brain surgeon. He is on the list of presidential hopefuls for 2016. This is possible in America.
Benny Goodman lived with eleven siblings in the Maxwell Street tenement in Chicago. His Jewish immigrant father worked hard as a tailor to feed the overflowing family with the $20 a week he earned. Down from Halsted Street, the Hull House sent out a call for musicians to play in a boy’s band. Benny and two of his brothers borrowed instruments from the local synagogue, the tuba going to the oldest brother, the trumpet to the next oldest and the mysterious clarinet going to Benny. Inside of a year, he was playing recitals at Hull House, leaving his instructors beaming with pride. Benny never forgot his humble beginnings when he became an international musician and “King of Swing”. He gave benefit concerts for Hull House to show his appreciation to a settlement house that reached into the slums and fostered the talent hidden there.
Only in America. Only in a country where people care for the potential hidden in unexpected places. That is the American Dream.
Volunteering: Quilting from the Heart
[image error] [image error]
“Volunteers don’t necessarily have the time, they just have heart.”
-Elizabeth Andrews
Crafting for Courage and Service
On any given day, Sue Myers works hard at crafting her latest mystery novel. A member of Sisters in Crime, Sue learned how to research her Chicago based books before creating a riveting plot. Creativity, attention to detail, and perseverance were the skills this author used when she took time out from writing to volunteer to make a quilt with the inscription, “Thank you for your service, sacrifice and valor.” Sue joined a group of women who stitched together red, white and blue fabric into comforters for veterans returning from the Middle East. These quilts were tangible reminders of America’s appreciation and gratitude to these military men. Sue Meyers discovered the truth of the words of Catherine Roberts, the founder of Quilts of Valor. “National service can be as complicated as giving your life for your country, or as simple as making a Quilt of Valor.”
Crafting for HugsMary Gouge’s life in Montana covered dawn to dusk with the everyday activities of living. She did not need another project. But when her son entered a facility for troubled youth, Mary noticed on visiting day that many of the teens had been “thrown away” by their families. A few parents lingered for a half hour, then sped off to shop. With no visits at all, the young men suffered emotionally from abandonment issues. Out of concern for their self-esteem, Mary began “Wrapped in Love”. She enlisted others to help her stitch twin sized comforters for the boys so they could pull the fabric around them at night as the arms of a hug. The quilts were given, filled with love and care so the young men knew someone watched over them. Mary’s motto is: “Life has no remote. Get up and change it yourself.” And she did.
Crafting for a Thimble Full of Precious
[image error]
The NeoNatal Unit at Wellington Hospital is blessed with a quilting group who create crib size quilts that are “gorgeous.” These stitches adhere to several rules from the nurses at the NeoNatal Unit: 100% cotton fabric only because synthetics can carry static which messes with medical equipment; no red fabric because the staff may confuse the color with blood; and the use of soothing, relaxing pastel tones for the babies. These intricately designed masterpieces of fabric art are put over incubators to dim the harsh lights. They are placed as covers over the edges of the cribs. Babies are snuggled in them as they are held and fed. These quilts are washed daily in commercial laundry machines, so their life span is short. For the anxious parents who visit their young babies, the community’s commitment to life is demonstrated by the beautiful quilts.
“It’s not how much you do, but how much love you put in the doing,” states Mother Theresa.
Crafting for Change
In Portland, Oregon, the women with needles, thread and sewing machines take their knowledge of stitchery to women who long to learn these skills. The mission of this group is to use “quilting to change women’s lives, in prison and beyond.” Committing to a long term relationship with their students, each quilter adjusts to work with a variety of learning styles. By the end of the course, the students are taught to measure to a quarter inch with a ruler, to read a pattern, to sew a straight seam, and to complete three quilts. One comforter is for the maker to keep while the other two are donated to a summer camp for children who have experienced the death of a loved one.[image error]As Muhammad Ali says, “Service to others is the rent you pay for your room here on Earth.” Part of the healing process for these victims of domestic violence and homelessness who have committed crimes is being able to give back to society. Through quilting, they gain skills and something deeper. As one inmate reports, “I learned patience and I regained pride by completing something that someone else would appreciate. I also regained a sense that I could accomplish something”. Women helping women to navigate the fabric of life. To find a common thread.
Crafting for Comfort
My sister in law, Lois, suffered from breast cancer. The quilting guild in her church presented her with a strikingly cheerful burgundy and hunter green lap quilt. Knowing that it had been stitched with prayer, Lois felt the comfort of the women who made it. When my husband returned home from a double hernia, the Prayer Shawl Ministry at our church presented him with a prayer shawl as he recovered. I still put the prayer shawl on when I want to meditate. Visitors to our home are drawn by the green and brown Chevron pattern, and also put it around their shoulders when I explain that it is a prayer shawl crocheted by a woman who is staying awake all night as she volunteers once a week at a homeless shelter. These volunteers who crochet or stitch for those in pain and recovery will never know the meaningfulness of their gift.
Mary Tatem, an avid sewer, feels that “when we practice giving to others, God changes us and we gain the unexpected blessing of receiving extra joy as we become more like Christ.”
Quilters are comforters.“The best way to find yourself, is to lose yourself in the service of others.” Ghandi
Meme photo credit, photo of baby, veteran with quilt, female inmates quilting,
Vietnam Quilts for Remembering
[image error][image error]“In everything, turn, turn, turn
There is a season, turn, turn, turn
And a time to every purpose under heaven.
A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
’A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, and a time to weep.”
The Byrds Lyrics from Pete Seeger song
[image error]
Fall is my favorite season. The sharp cool edge to the breeze invigorates the body and calls for wooly cardigans. Geese fly in V shapes overhead with their honking messages of migration. Taking walks in wooded areas ignites the crunch of dried leaves underfoot, emitting a dusty odor. The trees present a feast of colors: red, brown, yellow and orange. Even the taste buds look forward to the autumn savory-ness of buttery carrots, acorn squash, and pumpkin pies filling the air with the aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg.
There is a hint of melancholy that pervades autumn. The plants that held lush harvest on their vines all summer are now shriveled and dried. The green trees are losing their leaves, exposing the nests of squirrels to the sky. The brown patches of grass hint at a lawn that has gone to dormancy. Life is slipping away and the coldness of winter is held in the gray clouds overhead. On those days, my heart turns morose as the seasons change.
Perhaps October is the best month to remember.
October is Vietnam Vet Agent Orange Month
The Quilt of Tears is “an unbelievable sea of orange fabric with hundreds of patches depicting the stories of those Vietnam vets and families who have suffered the effects of Agent Orange.” There are several dozen quilts that travel between veteran groups, at the Reflecting Pool in Washington, D.C., in conjunction with the Moving Wall, and at other patriotic events. The Patriot Guard Riders escort the Vietnam Veteran’s Agent Orange Quilts of Tears on many of their transfers. The motorcycle group considers it an honor to be part of the remembrance of the sacrifices of those whose lives bear the scars of Agent Orange.
The quilts are comprised of individual squares that are submitted by family members or friends in honor or memory of a loved one whose life changed by the chemical, Agent Orange. During Vietnam’s war, twenty million
gallons of herbicides were used, including twelve million gallons of Agent Orange. The troops were told that it cleared away foliage, but posed no threat to humans. However, a chemical that kills plant life, disturbs other cell structures also. Severe health problems and cancer followed those whose bodies were exposed to the chemicals. The quilts remember the men who suffered from the exposure.
[image error]
Turning to a Season of Healing
The quilt project is Jennie Le Fevre’s way of coping with the loss of her husband, Gerald, and so many others by telling the stories of the soldiers who served in the Vietnam War. The families adorn their block with a photo of the victim, their service information, and other personal connections to make the fabrics of each square intertwine with the others in consolation and love. Insignias are stitched to the square. One patch holds a Purple Heart.
[image error]
Another contains the words of N. Myrick, a registered nurse: “My block is a tribute to the men I have counseled in locked psychiatric units who attribute their many problems to the effect of Agent Orange while serving their country.” Viewing these stories written on fabric wraps the families in a hug of love and comfort that starts the healing process. It gives a moment for mourning to move into memory.
[image error]
The sadness of fall must always burst with the joy of new life in a refreshed world. The last stanza of the song from The Byrds brings the hope of spring after a long season of winter.
A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time for love, a time for hate
A time for peace, I swear it’s not too late!
[image error]
Letty Covar quilted by: Susan Freudenthal, name of quilt: Chausette
” ‘Chausette’ was inspired by me dear husband Jim Kirkpatrick. He was a proud soldier who was hit in Vietnam. He was never quite the same. We spent 3 years and 21 operations at Coatsville Vet hospital and Walter Reed Medical center. Jim recovered from most of his physical injuries. In the end, however, the long term effects of Agent Orange took him early. He was never properly thanked for his valor. So chausette is a small tribute to his service. The hues and patterns of the Moda ‘Because of the Brave’ collection express what I feel when I think of Jim. Cookie’s Star pattern was the perfect format.
Joe Malinovich served as a medic in Afghanistan and suffers from PTSD as he works as a first responder. Will the spunky special education teacher find a special place in her heart for him?
