JOY ALONG THE WAY: QUILT MAKES A VERY SATISFACTORY TABLECLOTH

For many years I've used an old quilt for my dining room tablecloth. It has many good features for this use. First, it is the right size. Mama made it for a twin bed. In fact, she made a set of them when, once upon a time, I felt the need for twin beds. It is hand pieced, hand quilted with tiny, evenly spaced stitches. With Mountain Mist inner padding, hot dishes can be set upon it without worry. The thickness of it keeps it from slipping around on the table and softens the noise of dishes and cutlery.

Sometimes, in order to protect form stains if I'm serving anything barbecued or with chocolate on it, I use place mats.

Best of all, where I'm concerned, there is the printed fabric of which it is made, each piece provoking a memory.

The quilt/tablecloth is of the variegated nine patch pattern, made of little squares and half squares.

When conversation lags at the dinner table, which it seldom does, I say, "Let me tell you about this piece of fabric." I am humored, being the matriarch, so I launch into a tale as if I were telling a story from a book: "One summer the Crawley's house burned. This was in Doe Run, you know." They all nod affirmatively and with the nods I assume they know there was no fire protection at that time in that little village. "Except the Bucket Brigade," I continue, "And that was very ineffectual. Everything was lost."

I was interrupted by the youngest who wanted to know what a Bucket Brigade was. After explaining, I went on.

"Before the fire that summer, about 1927 or 1928, I think, Mama had bought some fabric. This fabric right here." I pointed to the piece in the nine patch. "This fabric was to make Lou and me new dresses for the first day of school. First day of school was almost like a holiday. Look how bright the colors are in this patch. It was never made into dresses for us.

"Well," I resumed, "Everyone all around began to take things to the Crawley's, something extra they had -- bedsteads, a heater, even an old sewing machine, dishes, bushels of potatoes, a sack of flour, used clothing, combs, books, etc. Mama began to sift through our things which were meager, indeed, but then her eyes lit up when she saw the new dress yardage lying by her sewing machine. We'll give that,' she said. It will be something new.'

"Mama even donated the thread and buttons, but not before I cut off a tiny piece of the fabric to remember what might have been."

When I pause in my story, someone asked, What did you wear for the first day of school that year?'

"Mama made us little vests out of scraps from this and that." I point out all the little pieces that can be seen between the bowls of potatoes and beans and roast and bread. There is a little stretch of silence, then someone says, "Please pass our daily bread."

We all smile at the understanding of the two kinds of bread.

REJOICE!

Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime resident of Cape Girardeau.