It's called a crazy quilt. Mom used these scraps of fabric left over from the clothes she sewed for us. With loving fingers she placed them on a 12"x 12" piece of white cotton which often came from a sheet that had served it purpose. From a box under the sewing table she would work her design from the colored scraps she had placed there bit by bit over the year. This was not a piece of artwork, rather a way to keep us warm over the long winter nights in Minnesota.
I never saw her do it, or ask her about the work it took to make one. She never ask for my opinion or require praise. I knew that I would be tucked into bed with one of those quilts. Gently placed over me and tucked in under the mattress. I would spend time before I fell asleep touching the fabric pieces and trying to figure out who I saw wear the outfit in which the bulk of the fabric was used.
I don't know why, but a quilt whether it was a crazy quilt or one of her patterned quilts, it always felt warmer than a blanket. I know that the love she put into the quilt often remained there waiting for me or someone to crawl under and feel her love. Now that she has gone home to her Father, I find myself realizing how secure it felt to have the quilt over me. But mostly how blessed I was to have HER as my mother.
Mothers are truly God sent.