Category Archives: Memories

Grandma’s Tablecloth

Memories, Musings, Reading, Things, ,

I’m reading a book, Wish You Well, that takes place in Southwestern Virginia in the early 1940s. In it the great-grandmother of one of the protagonists sews her a “feed sack dress”, a term new to me. Of course I asked Professor Google and was surprised to learn that feed sack companies made feed sack material dual purpose. The first, a container for the feed, the second a dress or apron or other cloth-made item. The material was not just white or off-white with lettering printed on it, but floral, or striped, or otherwise decorated. I remembered a cotton tablecloth my Grandma Patrick had on her kitchen table and wondered if it could have been made out of a feed sack. I was lucky to be given it and used it on my table for a while. I had no idea where it was, but today I serendipitously came across it while going through boxes for a different reason.

The tablecloth has a pattern of different types of flowers on a gray background with a crochet trim. The material is is soft to the touch, but strong. I’m willing to bet it was made from a feed sack, but of course no one is left to confirm my suspicion.

I’ve decided that it should not sit in a plastic bag in the storage area of my attic, but be displayed somewhere in the house. It’s now covering a too-dark bedside table in the purple guest room.

A note from Richard

Death, Dreams, Family, Friends, Memories, Writing, , ,

In Mom’s final years she reconnected with Richard, a friend from school. He was kind to her and genuinely loved her. He spent part of each day with her, sometimes spending the night. This was especially helpful after her dementia diagnosis. He knew about it long before my brother and I did; although I’d seen some signs I chose to ignore them.

While Richard was staunchly Catholic and went to church every Sunday, he didn’t force his religious views on anyone.

Once Mom was moved to my brother’s house Richard visited her at least twice weekly even though she rarely seemed to know who he was. She was always very happy to see him, so she must have known he was someone she loved and who loved her.

The night Mom died I had a dream that she rose out of her bed and seemed to want to escape the house, standing at the window on her tiptoes, arms fluttering behind her like a moth, eventually shattering into millions of sparks. I recounted this dream to Pastor Keith who we asked to speak at her funeral and he included it verbatim in his sermon. After the service Richard asked for a copy of both Pastor Keith’s sermon and what I said at the funeral.

A few days after the funeral I received this note from Richard:

Dear Donna [sic],

Thank you for your letter of your mom’s life and last night.

I really liked your dream of Pat’s looking out of the window at a bright light on tippy toes.

I think that whs the time she passed and touched the face of God.

May she rest in peace,

Richard Peabody, September 2016