Fabrics of Memory

This morning I trekked myself to the post office to collect the package that was 'too big for the letter box,' expecting it to be one of the graphic novels I've ordered by Ariel Schrag for a paper I want to present. Instead, I was pleasantly surprised to see the handwriting of one, Knits with Carrots.

Inside: Patricia Polacco's The Keeping Quilt. In time for the recent finishing of my first quilt, Knits with Carrots got choked up reading the beautiful picturebook and decided I needed it in my collection; I quite agree.

In the picturebook, the author's Great-Gramma Anna is a Russian Jewish immigrant to New York City and from her childhood and family's clothes, the women of her family and community make a quilt to remember home. Each piece of fabric has a story and the quilt welcomes each new daughter, becomes a table cloth at the Sabbath and special occasions and acts as the wedding huppa through multiple generations.

Reading the book reminded me of the legacy that quilts can have and that just last night, I was telling Alex stories about the fabrics in our quilt. Most of the fabrics were bought specifically for the project, but still, others have stories.

Like, the softer white cotton fabric with the smaller red polka dots was from a tank top of mine. I think I found it in a thrift shop, and it, too, had been made by hand. I wore it on stage the summer before my freshman year of high school in a Talent Competition: me and three other girls did a dance routine to 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun' and won 2nd place in the county fair. I kept the tank top long after I stopped wearing it; I thought it was good fabric.

Others are scraps from pillows and aprons I'd made as gifts. The inner circle of pinks were fabrics given to me from Em, my quilting guru, and pieces of those are probably in other quilts of their own.

And from this quilt, I still have more scraps--strawberries, bandanas, endless pinks--which will possibly make their way into other quilts, other projects. It makes me wonder about the depth of one's own fabric stash and the wealth of memories.

Thanks, darling.