My Baba was a diminutive woman who reminded those who just met her of Yoda. Her limited, broken English sounded a lot like the tiny green Jedi's manner of speech. She was also soft, kind, and generous.
If you've ever known a Baba or heard the stereotypes about these Ukrainian grandmothers you can assume you know my Baba. Her world revolved around her enormous garden, making sure people were well fed, worrying about anything and everything, church, and cross stitch. Everyone was too skinny. Hairy legs on a man meant he was going to be rich. Cold drinks made you sick. (My poor grandfather, forced to drink warm beer.)
This pincushion caught my eye at a quilt show a few years back. A little Baba to add to my sewing supplies. Each pincushion was different, and each had a name. As soon as I saw the name on this one, Anastasia, she had to come home with me. Anastasia was my own Baba's name. My own little sewing Yoda.
Now, the girls know the pincushion by name and ask to play with her. And Baba keeps me company when I sew.