The misery of quilts

When I first met husband-dear, the first thing I noticed about his house, besides the hideous blue couch that dominated his living room, was the number of handmade quilts that were haphazardly strewn around the place. They were not just on every bed, they were also found on the back of the aforementioned couch, on chairs, pretty much everywhere else. When I asked husband-dear about all his quilts, he told me his mother, his grandmothers, and his great grandmothers were all avid quilters. Some of the quilts had been made by his grandmother, some by his mother, and a few were multi-generational quilts, with great-grandmother providing the pieces, grandmother piecing them, and mother doing the actual quilting. I fell in love with all of those little works of art almost as fast as I fell for husband-dear. They made for great cuddling, looked awesome on any bed, and most importantly, hid the bare spots on that hideous blue couch.

As time went on, and I met husband-dear's mother, she continued to give us more and more quilts: baby quilts for the boys, a wedding quilt, quilts left in her attic from when husband-dear was a small boy, and quilts from her recently deceased mother. At one point, we had so many quilts lying around, the kids would use them to build fortresses, and there would still be enough left to give each guest their own handmade quilt to use. Looking back, it was a blissful, and especially warm time. A time that has since passed, unfortunately.

You see, since we moved to Georgia, my mother-in-law, who, may the record show, is an incredibly sweet and talented woman, has been over to visit a lot more than before, and has thus been a first-hand witness to the treatment given to her quilts. And unfortunately, that treatment was often less than respectful. There was the old blue-and-white quilt that grandma W. made at least sixty years ago, that our oldest loved dragging around. He would sleep with it, wrap himself in it eating breakfast, and drag it into the bathroom. As a result of all this loving, the pieces had started to come apart, and when my husband-dear's mom noticed this, she asked us to put that specific quilt up, as it was the only quilt made by grandma W. owned by our family. As a dutiful daughter-in-law, I obliged, and put the quilt in a pillowcase (apparently a plastic bag does not allow the quilt to breathe, which can cause the material to grow mildewy), in one of our closets.

If that had been it as far as putting quilts up, that would have been fine, but unfortunately, it was not. During her next visit, I made the mistake of asking my mother-in-law if she could fix a tear in the quilt on our bed.
"Well, I think so. But you know..." My heart sank, and indeed, there it was, "That is a quilt made by grandma Brown, and it really shouldn't be used. It's so old, it's really just for show."
So that quilt was put up to, and I had to head to Target that day to purchase a new blanket for our bed.

The next time that grandma came over, she noticed that grandma W.'s three-generational quilt was on the guest bed, and that, of course, was also a no-no. Even though I promised her it was taken off and put in a pillowcase after every guest left, and they were asked to use the blankets and comforters on the bed only, it was no good. And on it went. Husband-dear's baby quilts were really too precious, and wasn't it a shame to let the kids wear their own baby quilts out to pieces? So as of this summer, none of our quilts are "in use". They're either on one of several quilt racks, or tucked away in pillowcases throughout the house.

And as I was telling my mother-in-law this Christmas, I really do understand. I do. The quilts are part of our family history. It just sucks when it gets cold, because now the only thing we have to keep ourselves warm is one Ikea fleece blanket. One. Yet, we're drowning in quilts left and right. The other day when I wanted to put a pillow up in our closet, I had three quilts fall on my head, and I've run out of pillowcases because they're all in use keeping our quilts safe. But when we're cold and want to cuddle, we're forced to drag our comforters off our beds. It's sad. Now I suppose I could ask her to quilt another blanket for us to use, but I think I can see what's coming there in a month or two as well.