"What should I do with this?" One partisan asked.
"Surrender!" Said an opposing partisan.
The owl shook head and wiped tears from face. An activity coordinator interpreted. "These are quilt pieces."
Some people divided their sheets of paper into professional selves and family life. People realized a lot of things about what they'd focused on in their lives to date.
And an overwhelming sense of grief was not busted up by the exercise.
Some people took their sheets of paper with them even as they were deported and elsewise sent out of the Homeland.
One ambulance driver in the war zone of the Middle East had had the MOU, Memorandum of Understanding, laserprinted onto his quiltpiece sheet of paper. And though it was ripped to shreds by persons insisting (i)no peace possible(i) he'd taped it back together and framed it. It hung on the wall in a rundown room where sewing threads marked routes still open. Banana stickers stuck parts of the thread to the hard plaster wall, (i)rubbled(i).
"Oh my God," he said in his thick Indian accent to a woman helping archive deaths, "You killed all those people and put them in a pile?"
"That's our reputation honey, but not all Americans are the same." The ambulance driver turned to a Monitor and asked, "Would you kill all those people and put them in a pile?" The man shook his head slowly (i)nooooooo(i), saying, "And I'm not American."
"Whoever did this is in BIG trouble Mamboo," a lady de-gloving kissed both his cheeks and asked if he'd come to help. "Oui." He had.
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