Beautiful quiltpoem from Sue Mullane :-)

Little bits of fabric sewn into a quilt

Form a warm and loving blanket

from which memories are built.

And when you seek peace and comfort

in the quiet of the night.

It will keep you warm and snug

until the morning's light.

Written by Sue Mullane of Albuquerque, New Mexico for her grandchild.

It was published in the December 1996 issue of Quilters Newsletter.

OUR FAMILY; a quilt poem

Our family is like a patchwork quilt

With kindness gently sewn

Each piece an original

With beauty all its own

With threads of warmth and happiness

Its lightly stitched together

To last in love throughout the years

Our family is forever.

(Author: unknown)

Is this appropriate for you as it is for me....?

I just received this from a friend and wanted to share it with you. 

Twas the night before Christmas,
I'm glued to the tree.
I'm wondering what Santa
brought just for me..
Could it be fat quarters
or a pattern or lace?
Or a quilt kit, I said,
with a smile on my face.
And that's when I heard him,
"Hi Santa," I said
"You know....good little girls
should be in their beds ".
"I know I should Santa,
and now I've been caught.
But I was just so excited
to see what you brought."
"Well, let's take a look
in this room where you work."
He shook his head quickly,
And left with a jerk.
I heard him exclaim as he put it in gear.
"You've got enough stuff, I'll see you next year!"

author unknown

ODE TO A QUILTER’S HUSBAND

 By Cindy Thury Smith 1983

The husband of this quilter is a very special, patient guy—

Who doesn’t complain about how much fabric his wife may buy.

Through the years he’s picked up a lot of quilting lore—

Because on this subject his wife can get to be quite a bore.

He’s learned better than to throw away any old odd shaped scrap—

Because it’s likely that’s the one she’ll need to fill her design gap.

He know if he enters the quilting room his feet will get pins in—

And he’s learned there’s not just red, but brick, rust, scarlet and crimson.

He knows how she snorts when she sees an ordinary bedspread—

Cuz in HER house there’s only personally designed quilts instead.

He knows when she meets another quilter there’ll be fast and furious talkin’—

And at a quilt show there’ll be lots of scribbling and gawkin’.

He thinks of quilt-mania as a kind of creative affliction—

That can only be controlled by regular doses of stitchin’.

He knows she quilts for enjoyment, not for money,

Cuz she does quilts that are traditional, modern and some just plain funny!

And though all my cutting, designing, sewing and quilting through the years—

He’s always been interested, supportive, patient, and very, very dear. Thanks, honey

I was badly caught there; fooled by an e-mail....

Some of the most pervasive e-mail hoaxes are ones about sick and/or dying children. We all want to help children, especially when cancer is involved. When help seems as easy as forwarding an e-mail, our conscience often trumps common sense.

I got it in Swedish, but I found the same e-mail in English as well.

The e-mail hoax;

"This is not a joke or chain letter as such but a beautiful poem, and a lesson for us to consider.
This poem was written by a terminally ill young girl in a New York Hospital. It was sent by a medical doctor - Dr. Yeou Cheng Ma. Please do what you can to help fulfill this young girl's dream by also reading what is in the closing statement AFTER THE POEM.

S L O W D A N C E:

Have you ever watched kids

on a merry-go-round

Or listened to the rain

slapping on the ground?

Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight

Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?

You better slow down

Don't dance so fast

Time is short

The music won't last

Do you run through each day on the fly

When you ask "How are you?"

do you hear the reply?

When the day is done,

do you lie in your bed

With the next hundred chores

running through your head?

You'd better slow down

Don't dance so fast

Time is short

The music won't last

Ever told your child,

We'll do it tomorrow

And in your haste, not see his sorrow?

Ever lost touch,

Let a good friendship die

'Cause you never had time

to call and say "Hi"?

You'd better slow down

Don't dance so fast

Time is short

The music won't last

When you run so fast to get somewhere

You miss half the fun of getting there.

When you worry and hurry through yourday,

It is like an unopened gift....

Thrown away...

Life is not a race.

Do take it slower

Hear the music

Before the song is over.

PLEASE FORWARD THIS TO HELP THIS LITTLE GIRL. ALL FORWARDED E-MAILS ARE TRACKED TO OBTAIN THE TOTAL COUNT.
Dear All:
PLEASE pass this mail on to everybody you know. It is the request of a special little girl who will soon leave this world as she has cancer.
Thank you for your effort, this isn't a chain letter, but a choice for all of us to save a little girl that's dying of a serious and fatal form of cancer.
Please send this to everyone you know... or don't know. This little girl has 6 months left to live, and as her dying wish, she wanted to send a letter telling everyone to live their life to the fullest, since she never will.
She'll never make it to prom, graduate from high school, or get married and have a family of her own. By you sending this to as many people as possible, you can give her and her family a little hope, because with every name that this is sent to, The American Cancer Society will donate 3 cents per name to her treatment and recovery plan. One guy sent this to 500 people!!!!
So I know that we can send it to at least 5 or 6. Just think it could be you one day. It's not even your money, just your time!!! "PLEASE PASS ON AS A LAST REQUEST"
Dr. Dennis Shields, Professor Department of Developmental and Molecular Biology Albert Einstein College of Medicine "

The e-mail in Swedish ;

Detta är en dikt som har skrivits av en tonåring med cancer. Hon vill se hur många det är som förstår hennes dikt. Skicka dikten vidare. Flickan bor på ett sjukhus som heter New York Hospital. Dikten är skickad av en läkare på sjukhuset. Kom ihåg att läsa det som står EFTER dikten också.

Här är dikten:

Långsam dans

Har du aldrig sett ett barn på en karusell?

Eller lyssnat på regnets plask i marken?

Någonsin följt en fjäril till en ojämn flygning?

Eller tittat på solens inre natt?

Det är bäst att sakta ner

Inte dansa så fort

Tiden är knapp

Musiken kommer inte sist

Brukar du gå genom varje dag i flyg?

När du frågar hur du mår?

Hör du svaret?

När dagen är klar vill du ligga i din säng

Med nästa hundra sysslor som springer i ditt huvud?

Det är bäst att sakta ner,

Inte dansa så fort

Tiden är knapp.

Musiken är inte sist.

Aldrig sagt till ditt barn, så ska vi göra det imorgon?

Och i all hast, Och inte se sorgen

Någonsin förlorat kontakten, låtit en god vänskap dö.

Leda till att du aldrig haft tid att ringa och säga 'Hej'.

Det är bäst att sakta ner.

Inte dansa så fort.

Tiden är knapp.

Musiken kommer inte sist.

När du kör så snabbt för att komma någonstans.

Du missar halva nöjet av att komma dit.

När du oroar dig och skyndar dig genom din dag,

Det är som en oöppnad gåva .... kastas bort.

Livet är inte en ras.

Får ta det långsammare.

Lyssna på musik.

Innan låten är över

Översatt av: Vanessa Palermo

Skickade e-mail är spårade för att räknas.

Till Alla: SNÄLLA skicka det här mailet till alla du känner - även de som du inte känner. Det är önskan av en speciell tjej som snart lämnar denna världen och låter cancern tar över. Denna unga flickan har 6 månader kvar att leva, och som hennes sista önskan, så ville hon skicka ett brev som berättade att alla skulle leva sitt liv fullt ut, eftersom att hon aldrig kommer att göra det. Hon kommer aldrig att gå på sin bal, ta studenten, gifta sig eller skaffa en egen familj.

När du sänder detta till så många människor du känner så kan du ge henne och hennes familj lite hopp, eftersom till varje namn som detta är skickat till så donerar Den Amerikanska Cancer Föreningen 3 cent per namn till hennes behandling och tillfrisknandes plan. En kille skickade detta till 500 personer! Så jag vet att vi kan skicka detta till minst 5 eller 6 st. Det är inte ens dina pengar, bara din tid! Så skicka detta till alla dina kontakter och ge alla cancersjuka en bättre framtid

Summary of eRumor An email says there is a little girl who has six months to live. People are asked to forward the email about her to as many people as possible because the American Cancer Society will give 3 cents per email to support her treatment. It stars with a poem titled SLOW DANCE. The email is signed with the name of a professor at Yeshiva University in New York

The Truth: According to the American Cancer Society, the email is a hoax. The girl in the story is never identified, the American Cancer Society has not made any such commitment, there is no way for forwarded emails to be accounted for even if someone wanted to make a donation for each one, and the professor named at Yeshiva University, Dr. Dennis Shields, says he never had anything to do with any such story. If you dial his number, you get a recording saying the story is not true. There are several versions of this email making the rounds of the Net. Some simply say this is a poem written by a dying girl. Others say the little girl gave it to a medical student. Others say the poem is being circulated by a doctor.The poem is actually from the pen of psychologist and writer David L. Weatherford (www.davidlweatherford.com).

BUT THE POEM IS BEAUTIFUL ANYWAY.

100 Ways to Hide Your Stash (Quiltpoem)

He doesn't' have to know everything

A few secrets keep a marriage fresh as spring

I'll have it in, and out of sight in a flash

There are 100 ways to hide your stash.

Fill up the cupboard, hide the evidence

Pile it in the pantry spare no expense

Keep it with the kids' clothes, lay it with the wine

Keep it all together where the sun don't shine!

Put it in a Safeway bag, bring it in with the groceries

Call it "Christmas presents - and don't you peek!"

You're "keeping it for a friend" who's gone to Calgary

She'll be back soon - no there's none for me!

Don't tell him what you owe the store

He might start looking in the dryer or the drawer

It's an affliction breeding secrecy

These quilty pleasures that won't let me be

Pack it in the wardrobe, under the chair

Stack it with the linen, with the silverware

Cram it in the cellar, under the stair

With the winter clothes, with the underwear.

A woman stored hers in the ceiling overhead

For years it stayed there, overtop the bed

Her husband never ever heard a sound

Until the day it brought the ceiling down

He's got golfing and his auto parts

You've got fabric

He's got cigarettes and butter tarts

You've got fabric!

Pad it in a pillow, buy a bass violin

Cram it in a corner, tuck it in a tin

Turn off your freezer, fill up your bin

Unplug the oven, you can fit it all in

Buy a few quarters, while you're at the store

Get a little extra - more more more

Slip it in the mattress, hide it under the floor

No more room in here: buy the house next door!
Author: Cathy Miller

While I tidy up my my house, you can enjoy this quilting poem

Memories

by Patricia Everson

Sit down and I'll tell you a story

Wrap yourself up in my quilt.

Here's a cup of my coffee

The wood stove is filled to the hilt.

Quilting is more than a hobby.

To me it is a record of life,

Recording for me all the good times,

Remembering for me all the strife.

This patch was made from a bunting.

The baby had now moved away.

And this one came from my sister,

From a dress that was yellow and grey.

Below this one from my brother

Is one from my aunt who just died.

If you look close you can cipher

Her signature on the left side.

And here over next to the corner

Is a piece from my mother's old skirt.

And this one right in the middle

Was made from my father's red shirt.

This one came out a bit crooked.

The material was faded and worn.

No wonder it looks so dejected,

It was woven before I was born.

Beneath this one at the bottom

Is one that is worth more than gold.

It came from my old winter jacket,

It kept me safe from the cold.

This blue one I found in the cellar

When we moved to this house long ago.

Who knows what story it covets,

This old, faded, worn calico.

Above the green one in the center

Is my most favorite one of all.

It looks like the leaves by the river

Just after they drop in the fall.

And let's not forget this pink gingham,

I know that it's seen better days,

But I like the way that it mingles

With the yellows and purples and greys.

Before you finish your coffee

And you have to be on your way,

Take a look at this one near the bottom,

It came from my Great Uncle Ray.

He traveled the world in a schooner,

He brought back such wonderful things.

The material is of the richest,

Fit only for princes and kings.

Some store their treasures in bank vaults,

Some keep them hidden away,

But I keep mine here on my quilt top

Where I can enjoy them each day.

Poem to quilters and their families....

Our Family

Our family is like a patchwork quilt

With kindness gently sewn

Each piece an original

With beauty all its own

With threads of warmth and happiness

Its lightly stitched together

To last in love throughout the years

Our family is forever.

(Author: unknown)

A Christmas Quilters Poem

A Christmas Quilter
T'was a few weeks before Christmas and in my head was a plan

To make all of my Christmas gifts by my own hand.

Away to my scrap box in a flash I did fly.

With patterns in my head and a twinkle in my eye.

I cut and I sewed as merry as an elf.

Making things for others and not for myself.

A quilted vest for a teen-aged niece.

Quilts for the grandparents with love sewn in each piece.

Quilted covers for aunts' tabletops,

Away I go with hardly a stop.

On scissors, on needles, on thimble and thread,

Oh, hurry I must, for Christmas day is ahead.

A quilted diaper bag for the baby so new.

I may even quilt Santa a coat before I'm through.

Quilted beadspreads for Mother and Sis.

I still have a few left on my list.

Cushions with quilted tops and potholders done.

It's now Christmas Eve and I have a gift for each one.

So I sprang to my Volks wagon and made quite a clatter.

The neighbors ran to the windows to see what was the matter.

From one house to the other, I leaped like a deer.

Leaving my presents and hopefully cheer.

With best wishes to each for a Christmas so bright.

A tired, happy quilter drove away in the night.
(Author: Pat Everson)

Today's saying;
"Quilts connect the past with the present and the future."

En av de vakreste salmene som finnes, synes jeg!

Mitt hjerte alltid vanker
Tekst: Hans Adolph Brorson

Mitt hjerte alltid vanker

I Jesu føderom,

Der samles mine tanker

som i sin hovedsum.

Der er min lengsel hjemme,

der har min tro sin skatt;

Jeg kan deg aldri glemme,

Velsignet julenatt!

Akk, kom, jeg opp vil lukke

Mitt hjerte og mitt sinn

Og full av lengsel sukke:

Kom, Jesus, dog herinn!

Det er ei fremmed bolig,

Du har den selv jo kjøpt,

Så skal jeg blive trolig

Her i mitt hjerte svøpt.

Jeg gjerne palmegrene

Vil om din krybbe strø,

For deg, for deg alene

Jeg leve vil og dø.

Kom, la min sjel dog finne

Sin rette gledes stund,

At du er født her inne

I hjertets dype grunn!