Kissing a quilt

I am not in the habit of kissing a quilt, but neither am I in the habit of saying goodbye to a quilt. Especially not to a quilt I have had for just shy of a quarter century. This was not a handmade quilt. This was a quilt from TJ Maxx. At first, I wasn't sure if I loved it. But it was soft, it was all-cotton, it was the right size, and most important, it was purchased for me with love and generosity by my Aunt Ilene, to help make a home out of the first apartment I lived in alone. That tiny Brooklyn studio faced an airshaft, and I always kept the blinds closed, so as not to see the looming brick wall outside. Down on the second floor of a seven-story building, there was no natural light to speak of anyway. The quilt, with its strong colors and bold shapes, immediately became the most important point of beauty and warmth  in the space, quite literally a comforter and the vital decorative element that made the apartment cozy instead of cramped. At a stoop sale, I spent two bucks for a faded ivory lace tablecloth, which I hung on the wall behind my bed to create a sense of a room-within-a-room. I also bought a used novel called Wild Apples. The author, Lucinda Franks, had won a Pulitzer, but I chose the book for its cover: a red-and-green watercolor of apples on a cream background. I kept the book on my night table where I liked to look at it, even though the story didn't hook me past the first chapter. With the quilt, the tablecloth, and the book cover, the apartment was beautiful to me. So many people were generous to me there. As a housewarming gift, my friend Melissa gave me a set of flowered sheets, a little scratchy at first, but I loved them because they were given from her heart: she wanted me to have something nicer than the threadbare hand-me-downs I was using. My dad came to visit. He insisted on sleeping on the floor, letting me have the bed. We watched Letterman together, or more accurately, we heard Letterman while watching the faint grainy haze that accompanied it on my TV. The next day, my dad wrote me a check and told me to get cable. So many people were so generous to me in that apartment it could only be beautiful. This quilt is a tangible reminder of that time. When my husband convinced me it was time to give the quilt (now threadbare itself) to an animal shelter, he jokingly asked if I wanted to kiss it goodbye. He was joking, but it felt right to bring the quilt to my lips. If ever there was a quilt to kiss, this is it.