...and she will have to think about it a while, then she will take the gold.
...but in her next breath she will ask if she can, PLEASE, buy back that little blue checked gingham that is a left-over from her first child's baby quilt. You can tell a lot about a woman by the rags she saved in her bag.
I have been feeling the spring cleaning itch and it really got to me when I went into my sewing room earlier this week. Organza was dripping off the shelves, like frosting from a wedding cake, buttons were rolling around under my sewing table and there was dust UNDER my sewing machine???
...and I couldn't take it any more.
So I began like I begin every deep cleaning project...I dump it all out on the floor, all of it, a clean sweep of the shelves, heave it all into a big pile of stuff in the middle of the room...
...and then the magic begins.
It's like going shopping in my own private sewing room. Unfinished projects, the instructions long since missing, patterns, the delicate tissue spewing out the end making me wonder if all those pieces really fit in that envelope and rolls of ribbon, like rising bread dough in a pan, threaten to explode and leave tell-tale signs of pink, green and Christmas red on everything it touches.
I found squares of brown felt from a school project, white beaded lace from a blessing dress and flannel with brown bears dressed in pink ballet slippers. Little strips, big squares and misshaped pieces of cotton wait to be put to use. I even found a small scrap of fabric that was used in a doll quilt I watched my grandmother sew on her treadle machine...and, yes, I still have the quilt.
...isn't that awesome!
I unfolded and refolded each piece, straightening the selvage and smoothing out the wrinkles, before placing them back on the shelf.
...but at my feet, an ever growing pile of scraps, pieces of fabric too small to be folded, but to precious to discard...
...so off to the rag box it is.
My great-grandmother, grandmother and mother all had them, rag boxes, that were actually wicker baskets. When my grandmother died, I found 2 inch wide strips of cotton rolled into 6 inch balls waiting to be braided into a rug that she would stand on while making supper. She was thrifty up to the end of her life.
...and if you look at the postage stamp quilt my great-grandmother made, you can see in the 1 inch squares a story of her life. Squares from her husband's old shirt, strips of lavender from her "going to Sunday meetin's" dress, and one of her children's baby dresses with long eared bunnies have all been salvaged, hidden away to be kept safe until the time came that she had enough to actually make something.
Today, if I make a quilt, I run to the store and stew and fret over what color and pattern will match the best to make the loveliest quilt. But none of those quilts I have spent so much money on have kept me any warmer than the rag quilts my female ancestors made. In fact, I treasure those old quilts much more than the newer ones.
Do you have rag bag? Did you have a vision of something you would make and then halfway through, life got in the way and the project dropped down the priority list? If you answered "Yes" to those questions then you will understand this, Carlee's unfinished dress...
...and it got me to thinking about how women want to create. They want to take something into their hands and make it better. They want to make life more pleasant. Whether they were in a soddy on the prairies of Kansas in the 1800's where there was little color to be found in doors or out, or are living next to Joanne's in the twenty first century, women want to bring something new into their world by making something beautiful.
I guess it isn't really about the fabric, new or old, it's about making life better for her family and in the process she may make something that will be handed down from generation to generation. Chances are some woman in her family will someday wrap their child in one of those quilts and think about her.
...another happy thought brought to you by one of the finest quilters I have ever known, my Grandma Great, Nellie Keith Martin.
...and speaking of my great grandma, this was her pin cushion. One of my treasures that I love.
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