Thimbles That Bind

It was Christmas of 1971, just two weeks before Dan and I were married, when his mom gave me a silver thimble. As I opened it, she asked, "You do use a thimble, don't you?" Now I'd been raised to tell the truth, and the truth was, "Umm, no, I don't." I still remember how hard those words were to get out. I'd tried thimbles at various times, even owned several, but they felt clumsy on my finger so in frustration, I'd always removed them within a few minutes.

Helen died in September of 1989, and through all those years, I'd kept the beautiful thimble, but hadn't used it. In the '90's I began to make quilts in earnest and discovered that if I didn't wear a thimble, I ended up with a hole in my finger before I was done stitching the binding. Yes, I'm one who does the last stage by hand. It binds me to those great-grandmothers whose quilting inspired me, and I truly enjoy the quiet process of finishing up my quilts in such a timeless way. When I'm all done, I feel as if I've stitched in a little bit of myself.

I'm truly sorry Helen didn't live to see me use my thimble. It fits me perfectly, and every time I use it I think of her. Sometimes mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law don't get along well. Helen and I started out okay, but it was our mutual love of sewing that truly drew us together and made us friends. Each trip to Spokane would find the two of us hitting the road in her little blue VW bug, scoping out various fabric shops, chatting and planning on the way, and comparing purchases when we arrived back at her house. I still miss her.