Helen Kelley | loose threads

Memories
Are Made
Of This

A long time ago, in 1945, my brother came home. Liberated at the end of World War II from a German prison camp, he was gaunt and emotionally drained. We sat together in his room each day that summer, and he talked quietly.

I recorded his memories, first with pencil and paper, and later I typed them on a rickety, portable typewriter. Bound in a cardboard cover, his memoir is a family treasure. It traces hardship and starvation and survival. A couple of years ago, I wandered around Munich talking with the warm, pleasant people and absorbing the city's Old World charm. Upon returning home, I took out my brother's journal and reread his description of that city in harsher times. I found it comforting to see how Munich has recovered from the anger and destruction of war.

Last year, Bill and I spent a day in Washington, D.C., walking through the various war memorials, reading the names inscribed on the plaques. At one of the computer kiosks by the World War II memorial, we entered my brother's name to access his war records. To our sadness, the computer replied that many Army records between 1915 and 1958 were destroyed in a fire. Nothing chronicles the service of these brave men and women. They are anonymous, but my brother is not. We have his real-life experiences on paper between two cardboard covers, a priceless journal.

Helen Kelley is a quiltmaker, lecturer, author, and teacher from Minneapolis, Minnesota. You can visit Helen on the Internet at her website www.helenkelley- patchworks.com or email Helen at this address: helen@helenkelley- patchworks.com.

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Memories are important and give us connections to the past. I know this, but documenting hours or fabrics doesn't excite me. There simply isn't enough time to do everything. I already have another quilt in my head, and so I make excuses. I rationalize that nobody is interested. But people are interested. They want to know your inspirations, your challenges and solutions, the major influences of the time. People want a record of who you are and why you made these quilts that express your love or commemorate special celebrations. They want to remember.

I'm not a recordkeeper, but I don't want to be anonymous. I want my grandchildren to remember that every stitch I put into their quilts was done with love. So, when the quilt is all bordered, finished, bound off, and blocked, I heave a long and grateful sigh. I sit in front of the TV on a quiet, pleasant evening and watch "Masterpiece Theater" and embroider my name and the date. It takes only a few moments, and then I won't be anonymous.

The Minneapolis Institute of Art has a meticulously pieced little blue and white star quilt in its collection. There is an aura about it of gentleness, of sweetness. On the outer border, embroidered in perfect stitches are these words: Minnie A. Reber/1934-35/66,300 stitches. This quilt is a testament to the loving work of Minnie Reber, who recorded her triumph by signing her name. She chose not to be forgotten. We have her quilt, and we know her name. Because of this, she has become a part of our own quilting story. Hooray for Minnie Reber, who sewed a lovely quilt with 66,300 immaculate stitches! She is not anonymous, and because I sign my name, I am not anonymous, either.

©HK 2007