I have a stash of fabric I've carried from house to house for the last thirteen years. Most of it gathered in that first stash-building burst of shopping when I discovered quilting during my newlywed days in California. There was a drug store in Oakland that carried inexpensive fabric that was visited often, plus a favorite shop in Berkeley and a lovely shop in Tahoe.
The problem is that most of this fabric isn't my aesthetic. It never really was but it's what was available. The modern quilting movement of the last few years has helped align what is available with my taste and that is exciting indeed.
Somehow though, as minimalist as I am, I've held onto this fabric all these years. It never got donated or given away. Sometimes I can be a bit too sentimental for my own good.
I still remember buying these particular fabrics, reminiscent of Civil War era prints, because they reminded my of my mother. I don't know why they would exactly but they do. I remember standing at a counter with a bundle of fat quarters in my arms, thinking of her, even then trying to pinpoint why I was making that connection.
Whatever the connection, it is there and with how much she has been on my mind lately, it just felt like time to make something with them. I've settled on a simple strip quilt.
It feels good to finally pull these fabrics out, it feels good to relish a connection to my mother...however obscure...and as always, it feels good to be in front of my sewing machine.
I have a feeling this one will stick around, maybe not always in use, but here nonetheless.
I told you...too sentimental.
