Yesterday I went to the quilting group. It was soothing to talk about fabric and patterns. The four of us could do it until the cows come home. During the conversation, I thought perhaps my friend hadn't told the others about my brother's death, but after a couple of hours, when we were planning the next meeting, I said it was good unless I had to go to a hearing about his estate. Then I realized everyone knew, but had kept to our topics and waited to see if I wished to bring it up. Now that is right speech. They held in their curiousity to wait for my signal.
Quilting has always been about women supporting women, talking about their joys and worries, gaining strength from each other. So I had the relief of focusing on beauty and planning: a baby quilt for one, a granddaughter's quilt for another, backing two beautiful quilts made many years ago, and just playing with patterns. One person showed us how to do the pinwheel pattern, and there was a kind of magic in it that we all adored. We talk about our fears that we won't finish a project we have begun, we admire fabric choices, we encourage each other to enjoy the process and not worry about the result. Scraps not used in one quilt become part of another. Fabric bought without any idea what to do with it years later becomes the piece de resistance in a new idea. Nothing is wasted, and each quilt becomes a history of the quilter.
Is it any surprise that right speech flourishes in such an atmosphere?
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