I was in early grade school when Daddy came home from an emergency assignment as an electrician; he asked if Mother had had the radio on, then we all learned that the U.S. was in war, due to bombing of Pearl Harbor. Thus our geography lessons began, along with watching Mother caring for my little sisters and continuing her artistic quilting. Mother died when I was ten, in her 37th year, so my memories of her are sketchy. Practical women in the family quilted, and I vaguely remember two she had made, immediately recalled when I saw them again at a relative's house on a visit to the area. Daddy's loss of so many things when he left after her death caused hurt feelings, but those losses were not mine or my sisters, so I said nothing, hoping for continued use of these quilts by someone-- which I had hoped, would have been Mother's wishes. I now realize that this opportunity influenced my reactions and activities through life since. I have just tried to give pleasure through quilting to people I know, during the last 40 or so years, and also to "let go" what others should do or think.