Five Generations. Who Gets That? – Jenn Sutherland-Miller – Medium
A Eulogy for the Greatest of Grandmothers My earliest memory of my grandmother was at Brule Lake. I couldn’t have been more than three. The quilt frame was stretched wide and filled up the width of the cottage. Gram, my Mom, and maybe an aunt (I don’t remember how many women were there, or who they were), were quilting on one of the nine quilts my grandmother made for each of her grandchildren. Shiny needles, bending in and out, up and down, creating a pattern on the bottom that was an echo of the kaleidoscope of colors on top. I can still feel the fabric brushing the top of my head as I salamandered around beneath the fabric, a little moving bump from the top, my own private cave beneath . “Be careful, or we’ll stitch your head!” Someone chided me and so I ran, top speed out from under the frame, only to be caught in a wide swipe of Pawpaw’s arm, netting me like a fish as I raced by where he sat in his chair by the wood stove. In my little world, Grandma was always a party. She arriv...