Phill Bettis

By Phill Bettis

A heavy frost covered trees and grass this weekend. I longingly looked at the calendar urging spring’s return. Groundhog Day is even a few weeks away. I try not to wish time away, but winter is not my favorite season. I search for sprouts of jonquil or crocus. Bright, sunny afternoons are infrequent treats. February will offer a few warm days by mid-month, but winter’s chill will be with us for many more days.

I now understand why many go to Florida for the winter. As a child, I looked forward to cold, snowy days. School would be let out at any hint of winter weather. We were quick to dust off our sleds or those old round Coca-Cola signs. Those signs are probably collectibles worth hundreds now, but who could put a value on days of childhood fun. I remember sliding down neighborhood hills with much fondness.

At about age thirty, I no longer looked forward to cold and snow. Driving on slick roads, power outages, milk and bread shortages all took their toll. At about that same time, winter seemed to always bring on dry skin and never being warm. Some in my family told me that I have “thin blood.” I don’t know what the affliction of “thin blood” entails, but it is about the only thing thin about me. I always put on a few pounds in the winter.

I do have a few cold weather pleasures though. One awaits me each night. At the foot of our bed is an old quilt. It is every color of the rainbow and must weigh 20 pounds. The old quilt has a name. It is called the “Granny Quilt.”

On the coldest nights, the “Granny Quilt” comes out. It embraces us in warmth that is immediate and comforting. Sleep soon follows.
Granny Morris, my wife’s grandmother made this quilt. We do not know when, but we do know that it is old. There are four layers to the quilt, one reason for the heavy weight. Each time a layer would wear out, she would sew on another. Like many of her contemporaries, she would waste nothing.

The last layer of the quilt is a little unique. Capturing a time in our history, that layer is made of double knit fabric. The colors are definitely early 1970’s or before. Double knit reminds me of leisure suits for some reason. I have to confess that I wore those awful contraptions. I am sure we thought we looked cool in those suits. It was wise to avoid open flames while wearing a leisure suit. One pundit once told me that the room he left was filled with enough leisure suits to build a Corvette.

Double knit fabric will be in our landfills for a long time. I understand that it does not rot or deteriorate at a rapid pace. Sometime in the future, archaeologists will probably unearth a cache of leisure suits. That find will reassure them that we were an inferior society. What were we thinking?

I hope the “Granny Quilt” will be with us for a long time. It will likely be handed down to the next generation and the next. I hope someone will remember the hands that sewed this colorful relic. They may remember that Granny Morris was a farmer’s wife, that she raised a large family in Haralson County during the Great Depression, that she sipped her coffee from a saucer. Those next generations may reflect on how she would carry her grandchildren to cow pasture swimming holes or how she would make their summer visits a special time. She cooked, cleaned and provided for her family as best she could. She worked for years at the Goodyear plant near her home. She would rise early to catch a ride to work. She never drove a car.

I met her late in her life. Alzheimers would soon claim her vitality. In the brief time that I knew her, I sensed her love for her family. She exuded a dignified peace that she had fulfilled her lot in life. A smile would unveil a bit of humor in her tired eyes.

Baptists sing an old hymn entitled “What Will I Leave Behind?” I thought of those soulful stands as I claimed that old quilt’s warmth on a cold night. Granny Morris did not know that one of her creations would touch and warm our lives so many years after she was gone. Or did she? I wonder if what we do, what we say, what we create, good or bad, will touch lives for generations to come. That is a thought as chilling as these January nights.