I bought fabric tonight, craving color and warmth. Textiles…threads.
For the holidays, Frank and I took the kids to see grandparents in the Northwest. We left them for awhile with their Brand grandparents, and drove over to Seattle to celebrate (belatedly) our 20th anniversary. I loved Seattle with its mild ocean breeze (paperwhites bloomed OUTSIDE our hotel! And rosemary, spangled with blossoms, trailed from planters along Alaska Avenue). I loved downtown, its old buildings and the purple glass in the sidewalks—skylights of a half-forgotten underground. We spent a couple of mornings at Pike Place Market. In one shop, we saw beautiful quilted wall hangings, which the sales ladies said were pieced together from remnants of ceremonial dresses, handmade by women in India. I was transported by one quilt in particular. The fabrics were silk and velvet, in rich reds and fuchsias and and roses and oranges. Nearly every quarter inch of each piece of cloth was saturated with beads and embroidery. Just to touch that quilt! Textural ecstasy. And then to slowly unfold it and catch my breath at its full blushing glory! I think the ladies were sure I was sold. In my heart, I was. Frank took their card. But (and perhaps this is sometimes a character flaw) my budget is too far from my heart’s epicenter, and remained untouched. The quilt stayed in the shop, the threads dropped.
Tonight, on an errand for cat food and trash bags, I digressed, and strayed into a fabric store. Craving threads again. The parking lot was dark. I noticed the car next to my van was running. I glanced inside, and saw a man completely horizontal with his head thrown back in a luxurious (or ludicrous, depending on perspective) snore. Not an unusual sight in a fabric store parking lot… the man waiting in the car, bored out of his mind while the woman lingers inside. I had to chuckle.
I went into the store thinking I’d pick up some simple (or chic, or boring–depending on perspective) black fabric to line some wool I’m making into a dress. I was distracted by the clearance table, where satiny blue kimono-looking fabric caught my eye, and where I was further enchanted by an almost gauzy fabric that seemed to me to be dancing with fuchsias and reds and oranges. Ah, India! Or at least, Pike’s Place Market. I came home not only with cat food and garbage bags (oh yeah, and broccoli), but also with a few yards of un-black, warm and colorful fabric.
