When I was a little girl, a favorite activity of mine was exploring the bags of fabric stashed in our closet. I’d pull out the crates and open the bags, rummaging to find treasures and stories.
There was the faux fur from a dog costume mom had made for my brother years earlier. Bags and bags of ribbon found in outlet store bargain bins. Delicate yarn meant to become baby items for me, never used when I arrived four weeks early.
In that box I found possibilities and dreams.
The other day, I was delighted to discover that mom still has a fabric stash, and the stories that go with it have grown. There’s the flour sack pieces, cut into a dress pattern, found in an antique store in Ohio. There are remnants of quilts made to celebrate my wedding and the births of my two children. Yards of fabric collected to make just the right gift for a child or a friend in need of a surprise.
These days, I’m starting my own fabric stash. Armed with some vintage fabric from my mother, plus leftovers from one project and more fabric intended for another, I find that my sewing supplies are starting to multiply on our laundry room table. So away they’ll go, into a box, tucked between memories and hopes, waiting for the moment that a spark of inspiration or the need for a superhero cape brings them back into the light.
