Columbine

The Flower

The columbine comes in many colors. The Rocky Mountain columbine, a medium blue variety, is the state flower of Colorado (my birth state). It comes in many colors as shown here.

The Block

My Dear Jane block, K11 - Columbine, is hand-pieced.The center star is made from the same fabric as I used in Jud's Trophy. Anina asks an intersting question: Why did Jane cut off the points of this star? Anina suggests it was left over from another project. I'm wondering if Jane goofed and made it too large -- and then decided to cut it back. Either way, I was surprised to see another star. I thought there were only 4 stars in the Dear Jane Quilt-- all in the center.

The Massacre
Sadly, "columbine" has another association for me -- the Columbine High School massacre.

The Babysitter
On a happier note, the first time I saw a columbine was at the home of my babysitter, Bessie Edwards. The columbines were in the flower bed in front of her modest home. I love the delicate spikes (spurs) on the backs of the blooms. Out back, she had roses under mason jars -- each one in its own private hot house. As the summer progressed, the roses came out of their jars. She had peach trees, too. When it got really hot and dry, she'd say (in her Texas drawl), "I've got to go irr'gate." Bessie was a gentle grandmother type. I remember her fluffy white hair and her large hands gnarled by arthritis.

I called her Baba -- and later, Bobbie. My family tells me that I was trying to call her Mama and it came out wrong due to my adenoids. I definitely had adenoid problems but I doubt this story -- otherwise I would have called my own mother Baba, too. Anyway, in the end, no one in my family ever called her Bessie; we all called her Bobbie! Even an old family friend who lived on our block called her Bobbie! Bobbie's home was a bit of a time warp with old furniture, old kitchen appliances, and a photograph of President Franklin Roosevelt on a prominent wall in the living room. I'm sure Bobbie's life was not easy. She raised a daughter alone; as an adult, Evelyn lived with her mother. I don't know what happened to Bobbie's husband. I never met him nor heard her talk of him other than to say he worked for the railroad. And, I don't know how she and Evelyn ended up moving to Colorado. Bobbie used to tell me about working in a hospital cancer ward. She loved to tell this story all the time . . .

I must have been 3 or 4 years old. It was morning and Bobbie offered me an egg for breakfast. I declined the egg and we headed to the grocery store. When we got to the dairy section and I spotted the eggs, I started droning, "Baba, Mindy wants an egg. Baba, Mindy wants an egg." For me, knowing that Bobbie found this story funny (rather than proof I was annoying) affirms that she was warm, accepting, and generous of spirit. One reason I loved to hear her tell this story (for the rest of Bobbie's life) was hearing Bobbie's imitation of me with her Texas drawl. Why has it taken all these years for me to wonder if I spoke with a Texas drawl when I was with her? It's too late now to ask anyone. I do know that sometimes, a slight Texas something comes into my speech. I'll try to write it the way it sounded when Bobbie said it: "Baa-buh, Mendy wants 'n'ag."