Grandma (She of the Perfect Triangle Points) flew away in her sleep last night, at age 97. This quilt was on her bed when I was young; hand-pieced calico hexagons made of 1930’s flour sacks, combined with a vividly eye-melting, yellow poly-blend sashing. Which is just straight-up Grandma. Seeing it there in her spotless room, alongside her fluttering white ruffled curtains and her hurricane lamp with hand-painted roses on the glass made me, a child, say to myself, “I want to make one of those. I can do that.” Her quilting stitches were microscopic. I thought she would live forever.