I enjoy just making quilts. I enjoy the cutting, piecing, playing with colors (at which I am not very good, but DH helps), quilting, binding (not so much). I do it because I love it. I'm not overly good at it, I would say I'm an average sewer. My quilts are not perfect, but I have loved making each and every one of the. A large number of my quilts go to people (mostly where I work) who are facing hard times in their lives. Someone will say "did you hear so & so's house burned, or he/she has cancer, etc. Or the chaplain will mention someone with a particular need. So I make a quilt to go to dialysis, chemo, or where ever. I also get boxes of fabric from people at work, some of it can be used, some cannot, but the intention is good. I have always gotten thank-you notes, but rarely know the fate of the quilt itself. I'm not sure how I would feel if I knew one of my quilts were being abused.
Now, that said. One of my favorite quilts is one my mother made when she was 16. It was made by hand from feed and flour sacks. It has been used for picnics, naps, tents, sleep overs and just about anything else you can imagine. Some one who were to walk into my house and see this quilt would think "how could she possibly treat this quilt like that". It has holes worn in it and the binding is practically thread bare, but it is so full of good memories they seem to ooze out when I see it. I hope all my quilts are abused in such a manner.