Q is for Quandries in the Craft Room

Some of my fabric did not get my message, so today is when I deal with my stash.  This is where I bring out the big guns.  This is where I take my stand.  Actually, it’s a discussion, with my fabrics asking the questions and me giving the answers (some of which are very hard now that we are face to face.)

I have to  say  the time has come to say goodbye.

First off, my box of formal fabrics who think they are fancier than all the rest, assert themselves. “Surely you don’t mean us.  You loved us the most.  We know you can’t get along without us.”  They don’t know it yet, but they may be the first to go.  I’m tired of their simpering ways.

Next are my all time favorites that have stood by me for a number of years.  The retro pieces from so far back I can’t remember how they came into my life.  You, I say right off  may need to be let go.  Yes, I know, my best friend gave you to me, but she will never know.  It will be our secret.  You can go on to bigger and better things.

The flannels I touch with a loving hand.  They will still be useful for baby quilts that I can give away.  Their new lives will warm many hearts.

The books on the shelf all lined up in defiance give me a bit of concern.  I think it’s best to leave them be for now.  I haven’t the courage to deal with them right now.  Besides, they do not take up too much room and will still be helpful in the future sewing projects.

I imagine this dissertation from my baskets of yarn: “We really don’t want to be here anymore.  You have tangled in our lives long enough. Your yarns we can do without.  We don’t need any more of your stories.    Thanks for keeping us all safe here, but we’re tired of just hanging around.  We want to see some action.  Just needling you though,” they say.  “Please keep us.  You may want us for a sweater or something.”

Last I go to the garage where some of my overflow has had to take up residence.  The garage, no less.  I’m really guilty about what I find.  I imagine  my upholstery remnants.  “But, but”…they splutter, “What about the pillows you were going to make with us.  We were waiting for our recycle.”  I have no answer.  I think they will have to go or continue to live in a box in my garage.  Hey they have been there for a long time, and by now should be accustomed to it.  But secretly, I think they will go.  I just can’t get up the nerve yet.  Inside, my craft room comes first, so they have a short reprieve.  They and I are relieved.

Come back next time when I get down to business, where the pavement meets the road,  in Ready, Set, Go.