Sew Many Places

by Jim West

Journey to a quilter's heart

As I've said before in my column, I'm a travel person, not a quilter. My expertise lies in planning cruises and tours for the quilting industry. And after years of being in this business, I've come to discover some unique things about quilters. First, they are a breed amongst themselves. I can't really say exactly what it is, but I can spot a quilter a mile away. Maybe it's the quilted vests they wear or the quilted bags they carry, or maybe it's that "motherly" look in their eyes.

The second observation I've made about quilters is that they are very particular about what they want. If they pay good money for something, a product or service, they want to make sure they are getting their monies worth. And if they don't, they'll be the first to tell you.

Finally, I think quilters are incredibly compassionate, trustworthy and generous people, almost giving to a fault sometimes. And never was this more evident than on my recent trip to Nashville for the AQS Quilt Expo this past month.

Let me set the stage for a moment. I was a vendor at the convention because our company, Sew Many Places, arranges all of the tours and cruises for the American Quilters Society. So I was there manning our booth, along with one of my colleagues. It was a very busy, hectic convention floor to say the least.

Thousands of attendees dashing from booth to booth, pulling their large pieces of luggage behind themselves, grabbing free samples of anything they could get, and stuffing brochures and pamphlets into their suitcases, only to wonder why they collected all that "stuff" once they got home. And the vendors, standing for nine to 10 hours on their feet, smiling that ever-so-genuine smile at each person who stopped by their booth and asked the same questions they heard 300 times earlier, but acting as if it was the first time they heard it all day.

In the midst of all the people bumping into each other and making their way around each, I found myself pushed to the entrance of a special exhibit of quilts. I walked in to get away from the madness for a moment and immediately sensed something was different here. It was quiet. Whisper quiet. An oasis of calmness. It was peaceful.

I glanced over to my left and a lady was wiping her eyes. "My goodness, I think she's crying," I said to myself. I looked around and saw other ladies with tissues in their hands and tears in their eyes, and I wondered, what was going on.

I turned to my right and saw a familiar face. Ami Simms. Ami was the quilt educator on a Mediterranean cruise that I had just finished with McCalls Quilting Magazine. And as I began to walk toward Ami, it suddenly hit me that this was the project she was involved in for Alzheimer's disease. The Alzheimer's Art Quilt Initiative.

I had heard bits and pieces about the project from Ami, but never really gave it much thought, even though at the end of all her e-mails to me, there was a logo for the project that linked people to a place where they could learn more. But as a busy person, I never took the time to check it out, especially if it didn't have anything to do with the business at hand.

Ami explained to me that the project was going to crisscross the United States from August 2006 to 2009. The actual name of the exhibit was called "Alzheimer's: Forgetting Piece by Piece."

There are over 50 quilts that travel with the project with the hope that this exhibit will generate awareness and donations for Alzheimer's research. Because Ami's mother has the disease, it is her passion to see that her quilting friends have an opportunity to do something to help raise funds for this cause.

Alzheimer's disease affects over 4.5 million Americans, and I can certainly relate, because my grandmother had the early signs of the disease before she died.

I walked from quilt to quilt reading what each quilter had to say about their loved one who had the disease. They were all incredibly touching and moving, and as I stood in front of each quilt, I could feel the emotions that were being expressed through their work. The anger, frustration, confusion, love, depression and loss they all felt.

There was one quilt in particular that touched me deeply. It was quilted by Susan Gourley from Fort Wayne, IN. Her piece was entitled, "What if I Can't Remember That I Loved You?" Susan's mother had written her these words when she first discovered she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease.

I thought to myself, what a horrible thought that there might come a time in someone's life when their mother would not remember if she loved them. As I read Susan's story, I found myself with a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. I understood and felt the pain. I also realized how special this project really was.

It was impressive and overwhelming.

I left the exhibit and went back to my booth, feeling like I had a responsibility to spread the word about this project. And so here I am doing just that. And as I do, I realize I am breaking the promise I made when I first started this column, which was to take you on a journey, as your tour director, with my columns. But in this case, the story is a journey to a quilter's heart, and that's a place where love is the only real tour director.

For more information on how you can support the Alzheimer's Art Quilt Initiative, visit www.AmiSimms.com

What If I Can't Remember That I Loved You?

Susan Gourley's Artist Statement: There is a deep sadness and loss held in the heart of those of us who have a loved one with this disease. In my case, it was my mother and two aunts. I express this loss with words and images, past and present. Some are on the surface; others are on the pressed cotton pieces that look like they float on the surface and, like memories, can fall away at any time and disappear. The sunset fills the background as the day ends like the recollections of the day and the past. Around the side of the quilt I have written questions any mother would ask if faced with the loss of the most precious memories of motherhood:

To my dear child, What if I can not remember the soft touch of your hand? What happens when I do not know your smile? What if I do not know my face as I see it in the mirror? What about if there are no memories for the day as the sun says its final goodbye? What if I can not remember that I loved the warm smell of the top of your head? What if I never remember I held you in my arms as you slept? What if I never again have the chance to remember who I was and who you were to me? What if I can not remember that I loved you?