The Saturday Journal: For the Love of Sisters. A Letter and Home.
I’ve picked back up a needle and thread as of late–a different kind--embroidering. I haven’t embroidered in years and I found this quilt pattern where each block is different embroidered wildflowers. I have two blocks finished and only eighteen more to go…maybe I'll get there...
As I was stitching on each stem–each flower petal–relearning this art of French knots, stem stitches, lazy daisy stitches–I was kept warm by a bright yellow and mint green handmade quilt while sitting in my favorite chair. My dear friend gifted me this treasure a few years ago–she found it in an antique shop. And as I sat there in between French knots, I couldn’t help but stare into each delicate stitch of this handmade quilt–covering me--imagining the hands that worked tirelessly day after day to complete this tapestry--this work of art.
And I thought of my Grandmother Lackey--me and my siblings, we called her Gan-Mudder. She wasn't a quilter--not much of a sewer--more of a mender, but her embroidery work would have won ribbons–if ribbons were given out back then. She embellished pillowcases and table scarves with tiny intricate stitches of beautiful woven colors of blues, greens, yellows, reds, pinks….but sadly she never used the pillowcases–they were placed in a bag–she was saving them for someday.
My Gan-Mudder had a sister. Her name was Lena. They were as close as two sisters I have ever seen. And I have this letter my Gan-Mudder wrote to Lena–dated February 6th, 1928. It was given to me after my Gan-Mudder went to heaven. And from what I can gather from the letter, my Gan-Mudder had to live with her Grandma and Grandpa for a while and Lena was left at home. The message in the letter is heartbreaking in many ways and although my Gan-Mudder wrote a few funny lines in it and even wrote ha ha–the letter was still a brave and honest cry from a homesick young girl who missed her sister.
“What are you doing? I’m not doing anything much. I guess you will go to town in school next year. Wish I could go, seems like I could learn more.
“Would like it better if I had me a talking machine, wish Daddy would get me one. Lena, you make him get us one. I wish you were here with Grandma and me.
“You come down here Friday evening from school. Be sure and come if Daddy and Mother will let you. I am going to look for you.”
She also talked about her cousin visiting Lena and said, “I heard she was up there. Wish I could have been there. What did she say about me, anything? I don’t guess she thought of me while she was up there. You know I am just like her and feel like I haven’t any home, but I am going to stay down here till you all move.”
My Gan-Mudder and my Great-Aunt Lena went on to marry and lived within walking distance of each other. They worked together for a while at a manufacturing plant and then went on to work from home–as homemakers and gardeners. Their weeks planned out–together. Wash on Monday at Lena’s using the ringer washer. Hang clothes out to dry on Tuesday. Wednesday was iron day. Thursday–cleaning day and Friday was always hair day–blue dye–small tight gray and black curlers rolled tight--topped off with a hair net. Saturday was grocery shopping and cooking and baking day. And Sabbath was always church day where they sat together on the same pew.
I wish I would have known about the letter–while she was still here–with me. I would have asked, Why were you staying with her Grandma and Grandpa? How long did you stay? When did you get to go back home? Did you go to school? Did Lena come on that Friday?
Standing at the ironing board–ironing a curtain panel, and although it looks different now, I am in the same kitchen–standing in the same spot–my iron plugged into the same outlet where my Gan-Mudder plugged in her iron on Ironing Day–always on Wednesdays. And she ironed everything from sheets to pillowcases to my Grandpa’s handkerchiefs. I would watch as she sprinkled her "stiff--clothesline dried" laundry with water from a homemade spray bottle–a glass RC bottle with a spout. And we would talk and when the RC bottle was empty–my job was to go to the kitchen sink and fill it back up again.
Tears come as I stand in the house she made into a home–next door to her sister's home. A place I believe she felt rooted--finally, at home. And I hold my Gan-Mudder’s letter to Lena one more time before placing it back in the sacred drawer and look down in the envelope and there it is–something I have never seen before–Inside the envelope my Gan-Mudder wrote to her beloved sister, “Wrote with a pencil. Sealed with a K.”
And she called the name of the Lord that spake unto her, Thou God seest me:
Genesis 16:13
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All photos @copyright Tathel Miller, unless otherwise credited to another photographer
We spend our years as a tale that is told.
Psalm 90:9
Your beautiful stories always inspire me to reflect back on my own family. There are so many questions I would love to ask, but sadly so many are no longer here. Thank you again for sharing!