It's just a quilt.

I try not to get too attached to material things. And I succeed mostly. Things are just that: things. They come and go. They wear out. They break. They get lost. It's part of life. But sometimes, it's harder to let go. When the crystal cake topper from my wedding shattered into hundreds of pieces on one of our cross-country moves, I cried. When I had to part with my all-time favorite (but truly threadbare) pajamas, well, let's just say it was a "moment."

And then there was this quilt. Here's the story:

Remember how I'm not good at very many things. It's okay. You don't have to feel sorry for me. I'm very good at a few things. I'm a good teacher and public speaker, a good writer and an even better editor. Oh, and I'm really, really good at eating! And shopping! So no worries.

But I am not good at anything else. I can't cook, bake, sew, or do crafts. I can't sing well or play any musical instruments. I can't garden or read maps or do anything that requires visual/spacial acuity. My handwriting is entirely illegible, and I couldn't spell my way out of a paper bag. I lose all games, whether trivia, cards, boardgames, or word puzzles. I can't draw, paint or do anything athletic. Have I forgotten anything? If so, you can assume I'm not good at that either.

SO OBVIOUSLY I DON'T MAKE QUILTS! ARE YOU FREAKIN' KIDDING ME?

Except this one time when I did. Well here. And here. You can read about it if you like.

It was the hardest thing I've ever done, and it wasn't one bit fun, and for the life of me I don't understand why people do these things.

Then two years later, Shulamith decided to have yet another baby, a girl this time. So of course we thought the new baby should also have a "Joanne" quilt. She shouldn't be left out.

And off to the "Twilight Zone" I went once again. Let me be clear. It wasn't any easier the second time. It was just as difficult and frustrating and ridiculous. Oh my poor, sore fingers from those dang pins! But I did it. Both Shulamith's kids now had quilts, and I figured any future Webster-Monson boys could share Swen's and any future Webster-Monson girls could share Kennedy's. Boom. I'm out of the quilt-making business. Hallelujah!

Then this.

One snowy night last fall (see, it's taken me months to write about it) Shulamith and I needed our hair cut. We didn't have time for anything fancy, so we just went to Fantastic Sam's -- quick and easy. I went first, and by the time I was finished, Shulamith's kids were both tired of the whole beautification process and ready to get out of there. So I told her I'd take them across the parking lot to Chick-fil-a and wait for her there. By then it was fully dark and dumping snow outside. We bundled up Swen and put Kennedy in her infant carrier. I put the carrier over my arm, grabbed Swen with my other hand, and hurried to the car, hoping to keep Kennedy reasonably dry. 

When Shulamith finished with her hair, she ran across to Chick-fil-a, and the first thing she said was, "Where's Kennedy's quilt?" I had no clue. Now you may be thinking, how could a grown woman lose a bright pink baby quilt while running across a parking lot. Wouldn't she notice if it fell to the ground? I've wondered these very same things. And I have no idea.

And so the story ends. We try not to think about it too much, but every once in a while, as we drive past Fantastic Sam's, one of us will say, "It's really sad about Kennedy's quilt." Yep, it is.

But then again...it's just a quilt.