I think a lot about comfort. For me, comfort is on the couch, re-watching 30 Rock for the umpteenth time and eating too much take out food. It is the little dog cuddled up next to me and warm feet and forgetting the dishes in the sink.
Comfort is built right into a quilt. You can see it on the serene little face of a tightly swaddled baby. It is the ultimate protection from the monsters creeping out in the night. And it's in the relief of your face finally hitting the pillow at the close of a particularly taxing day.
Women have been the makers of this comfort for generations: using their hands to build small havens for their most important people. These individual works of art hold memories of warm stories and trying sicknesses. They carry traditions of the people before and pass them on to the new life ahead, all the while linking us together-- spreading the comfort we so desire.
I, too, follow my foremothers and use my hands to embed comfort in every stitch.