quilt raze a hundred and sixty miles from here, a woman named for the night makes things out of other things that have been abandoned or forgotten or outgrown. she calls them toys. i call them magic. "sometimes i get a little down about my work," she says. "and i think it's so unimportant in the grand scheme of artistic endeavours." we all learn to doubt our own worth. but her creations become part of the fabric of people's lives, and those living quilts are so much richer and more resilient for having passed through her hands. i tell her that. because i think she should know. i hope she can feel those words curl around her like long staple cotton. 220702 what's it to you? who go blather from