A Bit of Rambling

I have bags upon bags of folded fabrics in random boxes in my bedroom. Organizing them is one of my many forthcoming projects. They have been multiplying over the years, as I buy fabric that I think I can't live without (on sale, probably) with the intent to make some garment out of it later, or I begin a sewing project with gusto and never make it past prewashing the fabric. Before we moved from Texas, my fabric collection took on a new flavor. My Mema was one who saved fabric, too. (Of course, she made quilts out of her scraps, which I aspire to do one day; hence, the fabric hoarding.) You know how some people have the strangest collections? They collect odd things that you would never have thought of collecting, and you wonder for the life of you why on earth they collect these things...rolling pins, suspenders, tea kettles, PEZ dispensers...you get the idea. Well, I guess if I were so inclined, I might collect vintage fabrics. So before we moved from Texas, I took the opportunity to go through my late Mema's sewing cabinets to claim any treasures I might have a use for or a sentimental attachment to. No one else in my family is inclined to sew or quilt, etc., so the unclaimed goods will likely remain as I left them that day until Dandy goes on to be with Mema one of these days. Among her things were, of course, many folded pieces of "material," as she would have called it. Many of them were pieces I recognized from Easter dresses gone by, or what not. And many of them were hideously outdated with a splash of funk. I saw potential in these gems and saved them from certain death. I can't even describe them, they were so varied and bizarrely printed. (I only wish I could flash back to a time when they were new so I could understand why they were sold in the first place.) One such piece was retrieved from my stash tonight while on a hunt to find fabric suitable to make Ava some new long-sleeved bibs (the slicky coating on her store-bought "raincoat" bib is peeling badly now, and it seems that no one carries a long-sleeved bib now). It's sort of beige (probably originally white or off-white) with an orange print of trees and medieval-looking minstrels, some on horseback with a lyre, some on foot playing something resembling an oboe, you get the idea. So I said to Britt, "Hey, here we go...a happy fabric with traveling minstrels." To which he replied, "You know, we always say 'traveling minstrel'. Why are minstrels always traveling? I guess a stationary minstrel would be a town troubadour." Funny how vintage fabric can inspire such an odd realization.