March 30, 2001
Quilting to Save My Life
Beth, my research assistant, rockets through the front door in a flurry of enthusiasm.
"I found some biographical information on that Lakota artist! I looked through the census records for 1890 and found her last name."
I try to comprehend what she is saying, but I feel as if I'm struggling to arrive from a great distance. I've spent the last seven hours immersed in patchwork of vermilion and burnt umber. I find it hard to speak. Even more frightening, I find it hard to
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