The rapid whir of the sewing machine drowned out the radio. She sang along in perfect time anyway. She raised her foot off the pedal and adjusted the pieces of fabric. Before lowering her foot, she extended her arm behind her slightly and grabbed her cup of coffee. Sipping and returning the mug to the table beside her, she never once moved her eyes off of the project under her needle. She loved making quilts for others, but the pressure of getting this one perfect was overwhelming her. These were her grandpa’s clothes, old, delicate after years of wear. A gift for her mother and it had to be flawless.