By Curt Kovener
(This is an encore column from the Curt Comments archives.)
I dismissed some mild stomach queasiness as eating too much holiday food. But as the morning wore on the stomach pains sharpened to occasional bolts of electricity of the 220 volt variety and I began to make frequent trips to the bathroom.
Now I had gotten a flu shot a month or so sooner so I wasn’t concerned. Besides, I had planned a day in the woods clearing some downed trees and burning brush. Sitting at a computer most days, I figured working and exercising out-of-doors—even in cold temperatures— would do me some good. It would keep my mind off whatever was bothering my body and may even work it out of my system.
Sure enough, cutting, stacking and burning all afternoon and my mind didn’t wander to my stomach a single time.
But it is quite a walk to and from the work site, up and down some rather steep hills, and by the time I had returned to the Wilderness abode, I was extremely chilled and worn out. The fireplace insert blower was most welcome.
Sitting in the recliner a couple of shivers shook my weary body, but after working outside in the winter, that was only natural, I conjectured.
But after another trip to the porcelain throne room, I came to the realization that some bug was definitely trying to wreck havoc with my body.
“Ain’t this great,” I mumbled while on the throne. “My only time off, the flu shot doesn’t work.
The more I cursed my luck the more violently my chilled body shook and shivered.
I stumbled to the storage chest and got out Granny’s old comforter. It is a heavy, heavy bed cover pieced together with squares of recycled cloth.
There are pieces of my Gramp’s old suits, cut apart when they became worn out. There are pieces of flannel, corduroy, velveteen, and what appears to be some upholstery material all having former lives probably back as far as the turn of the 1900’s. (Gramp & Granny married in 1915.) Whatever it is stuffed with is certainly heavier that the usual quilting. I was given the old comforter in the early 1980’s after Granny and Gramp has passed on. Granny left this life in 1967 so I know this comforter is old.
While I don’t remember her working on this particular one, as a youngster, I can recall Granny sitting in her wooden rocking chair first cutting then pinning and finally hand stitching together bits of former suits, dresses, heavy curtains, robes and other material scraps to craft warm comforters for the kinfolks’ winter bedrooms.
These creations were like a verse in Dolly Parton’s Coat of Many Colors, “…I thought that we were rich, because I knew of all the love that she sewed in every stitch.”
I use the comforter infrequently in the winter. It is older than me, it is an heirloom; we don’t want to risk damaging it. But Granny’s comforter is put to use for special occasions when either of us are feeling ill. Maybe it’s the warmth from its sheer weight or maybe its the grandmotherly love reaching across the years embracing us that helps keep us warm when we’re feeling particularly puny.
After sinking between flannel sheets topped with Granny’s Comforter, I shivered a couple time more and then drifted off to a deep sleep aided in part by three fingers of Maker’s Mark. (My Granny was a teetotaler, sorry Granny.)
The morning’s alarm clock sounded and I awoke not feeling any chills, my stomach didn’t hurt, and didn’t feel any urgent need to hurry to the bathroom.
Family plans were back on and my time off will not be spent in bed recuperating. Maybe it was just a 24-hour bug, but perhaps it was the loving hug of Granny’s Comforter that made things all better.