one full car 11-2-25

If I kept every bit of fabric I received or found at yard sales, the sewing room would overflow, I don’t. I pass most along to sewing ministries or other seamstresses. If we kept all the Bibles and Christian literature we collected, our house would be packed to the brim. We don’t. Every few months we pack the van with books and deliver them to Love Packages in Butler, Illinois. With that said, Saturday morning I left the house with an empty car. I returned seven hours later with the trunk and seats filled with fabric, sewing notions and books. I collapsed on the couch and recalled my day. First, I picked up Ruth Hall. We joined other members of the Night Owls Quilt Guild in the late Trisha Nash’s sewing cottage. According to her final requests, she wanted sewing friends to help themselves to her wealth of fabric. As an avid, professional quilter, she had accumulated an impressive collection inside her quaint cabin out in the woods of South Arkansas. I went to the share party as much to see her cabin as I did to gather fabric for folks who sew shorts, dresses, quilts, totes, toys, cloth books, draw string bags, etc. for Operation Christmas Child or other ministries. To climb the steps I grabbed the handles of an old hand plow now used as hand rails. The foot of a metal bed fenced the edge of the porch. Signs related to sewing and quilting popped up everywhere. A homemade rag quilt covered her shower stall. A vaulted metal roof opened up the living area. Inside her sewing room I found shelves and tables loaded with bolts and piles of neatly folded fabric. Beneath the tables and long arm-quilting machine I found totes filled with quilt blocks, fat quarters and buckets of thread. Sewing notions overflowed a side table. My friend filled two small bags with fabric, scissors and applique pins. I joined others who gathered piles and bolts of fabric. I made a few trips to tuck my finds into my car’s trunk. “That sewing bench is also available,” Trish’s sister said. No one else seemed interested, so I said, “I could use that!” I need another one to place under one of my three, four, (or is it five?) sewing machines in cabinets. Others who had arrived before us, finished selecting, ate a Spudnut and left. My friend finished her selection. I kept looking. She ate a doughnut. I found another pile I had not considered. A late arriving friend came. She likes Alaskan themed fabric and red and black colors. I kept interrupting her search to show her fabric and say, “do you want this?” “Oh yes!” she said and slapped it onto her pile. Others asked me, “Joan, don’t you want this finished cross stitch piece? These name tags? This thread?” One of the hosts held the bouquet of scissors and said, “Everyone take a pair or two of scissors.” We did. No one ever has enough fabric let alone fabric shears. I stayed three hours. Some stayed longer. By the time we left, the fabric stash had dwindled significantly but still looked like a great personal stash. After leaving Ruth at her house with her small bags of fabric and notions, I had one more stop: the last hour of an estate sale. The day before I found a number of Christian books there. I didn’t buy any because the less I spend, the more books I can buy to give away. So I waited until the last hour of the sale to ask, “”How badly do you want to be rid of these books?” “Gather what you want and we will discuss it.” I gathered from the den, the living room and the tables filled with odds and ends in the garage. The clock ticked relentlessly toward the closing of the sale. The proprietor looked at my boxes of books and other items and said, “Five dollars for all of it.” “I’ll help you put them into the trunk of your car,” the man said.“You can’t. It’s filled with fabric. Just put them in the back and front seats.” With everything tucked in, I drove home, brought it all into the house and began sorting. Next week, most of the fabric will go to sewing ministries and Hubby will repack the boxes ready to haul to Love Packages. It takes time, but we have to keep passing everything along. At least we do if we want to have room to live in this house.