BENT HEADS, FLASHING THIMBLES � Marilyn ([email protected]) Bent heads, flashing thimbles, cherished memories of yesteryear. Quilt scraps, spools of thread, visions of quilting bees, oh so clear. Today I gaze upon my mother's quilts and remember nights on a cold linoleum floor when she would shift quilt blocks, arrange colors, her body work-weary, her muscles sore. Then a completed quilt top and a sigh, a call to quilting friends. Saw-horses set up, needles brought out, batting tacked, they begin! Six ladies at the quilting frame, ooooh, an original, they'd said. Today my mother's Eight-Pointed Star graces my antique bed. This page hosted by Get your own Free Home Page Free search engine submission and placement services!