In the long history of humankind (and animal kind, too)
those who learned to collaborate and improvise most effectively
have prevailed.
[Charles Darwin]

My two grandmothers (Katherine and Gertrude) were friends. During the 1930s, they quilted together weekly at the same little Methodist church in Peru, Kansas. Katherine had the reputation of being the finest needle woman in the county.

In her later years, Katherine’s mind drifted away, and her weekly quilting skills became less and less adept. Afraid that people would start to notice Katherine’s decline, Gertrude stayed after the quilting bee each week, picked out her friend’s stitches and resewed that portion.

I cherish the quilts that are products of my grandmothers’ loving collaboration. It wasn’t until I was older myself that I studied the quilt and said to mama, “From the style of stitches, I’d say this looks like it was quilted by mostly one person.” That’s when mama told me about Gertrude’s lone, loving quilting sessions. For me, that makes this a true friendship quilt.

I was inspired to write about collaboration after reading Janet Riehl’s interviews on Riehl Life.

Thousands of candles can be lit from a single candle,
and the life of the candle will not be shortened.
Happiness never decreases by being shared.
[Buddha]

From last Friday through Sunday, my gratitude built with each passing experience. Starting with pre-conference activities like coaching sessions and the afternoon as a volunteer in the vender room, I grew in knowledge, confidence and fullness of heart. Friday evening’s keynote speech by Heather Summerhayes Cariou (Sixtyfive Roses) inspired us all as she recounted her memoir-writing experiences, and encouraged us to tell our own stories. Saturday and Sunday were filled with educational sessions, luncheons, open mike night and a closing address by Mary Gordon Spence (Finding Magic in the Mundane). After it was over, those of us who stayed to fly home on Monday met for supper and an effervescent discussion of our experiences.

Speaking of the mundane, while I was shoveling snow this morning, I decided I needed to fill my larder in case I get seriously snowed in so I headed to the grocery about 6:30 a.m. Mary Gordon’s speech came back to me as I browsed the produce. I doubt that I’ll ever shop for groceries again without thinking of her story about making a list according to letters in the alphabet. I’ll also never sit down to write without remembering those magical few days in Austin. Thank you Susan, Peggy, and all you other inspiring women who each now own a piece of my heart.

Courage is the ladder on which all the other virtues mount.
[Clare Booth Luce]

Speaking of ladders, two rungs up are my limit. No matter what is going through my conscious mind, my knees turn into jello, blood drains from my lips, and my hands start to sweat. I can experience the same reaction while climbing steps that have no backs, seeing through cracks in floors, looking over railings, crossing bridges, looking down stairs that are longer than code allows, and riding escalators.

In the early 1950s, my parents took us to tour New York City. I recall that we climbed iron stairs up among the bells in the spire of a famous church. There were no backs on the steps and I could see bells at every level. Then the bells started to chime. I remember nothing more until I was in a room below with my mother comforting me. She said my fingers had frozen around the railing and it was all they could do to pry them loose and get me down.

During my college years, I’d just started down ten flights of wooden steps on a state park fire tower when my fingers froze around the railing. It was involuntary. One minute I was admiring southern Indiana’s autumn colors and the next, I was immobile. My boyfriend walked one step in front of me and a stranger one step behind to get me to the ground.

When I was an ensign in the Navy, I was deplaning in Charleston, South Carolina. The portable steps were shaky but I gathered all of my courage and forced myself to start down when I caught my heel in the tread, and rolled heels over hat onto the tarmac. I landed in a heap at the feet of a senior officer. I don’t know which hurt worse, my ankle or my pride.

I knew a lady with the same fears who had ridden a mule down a trail into the Grand Canyon. I asked her how she mustered the courage to do that. She replied, “I simply looked between the mule’s ears.”

Last weekend, two friends and I went shopping at a charming mercantile in a town up near Michigan. Wide wooden steps leading to the upper floors were an attractive architectural feature in the post and beam building. The backs of the steps were open. My friends took the elevator and I said I’d meet them up stairs. It was a test. Could I make it? I put one foot on a step, looked between imaginary mule’s ears, and made it to the top floor.

You gain strength, courage, and confidence by
every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face.
You must do the thing which you think you cannot do.
[Eleanor Roosevelt]