“We are all tattooed in our cradles with the beliefs of our tribe.”
– Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr., American jurist
“So each square tells a story?”
My mother nodded. We were looking at a quilt she had made nearly 50 years ago.
“This square is from your grandmother’s favorite winter coat.” It was a lush red with fine black threads woven into it. She pointed to another square – beige with a rougher texture – from the favorite jacket worn when she and my father were newly married.
“And the black with white flecks?”
My mother smiled. “From the coat I was wearing when we brought you home.” She ran her hand across it as though the memory had somehow been woven right into the fabric.
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