quiltersmuse.com Blog

This morning, we set up a new file entitled, “Irish Quilts.” I wax nostalgic whenever I think of Ireland, although I have never been there. When my father was living, he mentioned that his family was from County Kilkenny. God willing, I shall be able to visit Ireland one day.

In the meantime, I honor my patron saint, St. Patrick. I think of leprechauns, the Blarney Stone (which I’ve not yet kissed), and the “banshees.” I envision thatched roof homes, and castles, and peat bogs, and green, green meadows offset by stone wall fences. In my mind’s eye, I can see azure blue sky that sometimes matches the color of the sea.

The Ireland of my thoughts is a peaceful place, a somewhat melancholy place, and an historically important place. Many Americans today can claim Irish descent, mainly due to the mass emigration to America during the potato famine of the early nineteenth century.

For now, I can look at Ireland, in books. I can sing a few Irish songs, like the ones I learned from my father, that I have recently added to Quilter’s Muse Song Playlist. The Irish have produced many songs, complete with a few words or verses in Gaelic, and some of which are about the tragedies of war, and the fighting spirit of rebellion, both situations well known to the Irish.

Well, today’s added file is not about any of those issues. Quilts are the topic. I hope that you enjoy seeing a few of the special exhibit, invitational quilts sent by the Irish Patchwork Society that were photographed at the Craftadventure Show in Massachusetts in 2005.

In addition, we have added the photo image of an exceptionally beautiful quilt that, no doubt, means a lot to its maker. Much consideration went into the completion of that blue-ribbon winner that was displayed at the Mancuso International Show in 2006.

Enjoy the file!

http://www.quiltersmuse.com/Irish_quilts.htm

Patricia (Grace) Cummings

A few weeks ago, there was a music special on television which featured an Irish tenor. When he sang, in the background were the hills and valleys of the Emerald Isle. I feel blessed to claim an Irish heritage, through my Dad’s family. I would love to go to Ireland sometime. Moreover, I find the Irish people charming, devout, playful with language, and a most sincere lot.

Of course, the American stereotype for the Irish is a very different picture, that of a “mick,” a drunk, or a ne’er do well.

One thing I know is that the Irish have a lot of gumption and lot of bravery and a long history of standing up to despots who would take all that they have and leave them to starve. During the potato famine, starve they did. How strange to live in such a beautiful place and yet, historically, to be persecuted, particularly because of one’s brand of faith.

I grew up with Irish music and with Irish blessings such as, “May The Road Rise Up To Meet You, May The Wind Be Always At Your Back, May the Sun Shine Bright Upon Your Fields, and Until We Meet Again, May God Hold You In The Palm of His Hands.”

A more recent, “Irish?” thought goes like this:

“Let those who love us, love us.
And those who don’t love us,
May God turn their hearts.

And if He doesn’t turn their hearts,
May he turn their ankles,
So that we may know them by their limping.” – anonymous

What a thought! Wouldn’t it be nice if we knew our enemies by such an easy manner?

St. Patrick’s Day is coming up in March. While I will not drink green beer, I will recall my father with great fondness, and all the lessons he taught me, leading by his strong example of goodness and faith. I do believe that he enjoyed irritating or otherwise teasing my mother, a gal of Southern origins who had been transplanted to the north. Any time he wanted to get her goat (or her attention), he would call her “Lizzie,” as in “Lizz-uh,” or would croon Irish ballads in her presence. At least she would pretend to be put out. So much for reminiscing. I am pleased that my grandson has the strong Irish name of Patrick James, both names that are within the family genealogy.

‘Til we meet again, watch out for the banshees, look for shamrocks, and don’t kiss the Blarney Stone.
Patricia