Most of it today was old clothes - clothes worn for work, or play, and some warm cuddly night clothes. Whatever they were, they were my favourites. I look into the box where I store all of these pieces of fabric and think of quilts that could be made of precious scraps, old soft cloths that would really do a nice job cleaning my glasses, or rags that would make really wonderful dusters. Looking at the tags, all these clothes have come from Great Britain, China, Taiwan, Canada, United States - really all over the world.
As my hands cut and folded the worn clothes, I thought of the person behind the creation of each piece. Every step in the process of making any clothes required vision, creativity and plain old elbow grease.
For each person involved, money changed hands. For some the only vision may have been money in a bank. For others, it may have been grocery or rent money. Still others may have had a design in their head waiting to be made real. Some may have been really proud of handmade workmanship. And still others may not have cared for anything other than paying a piano teacher. Last, but not least, pride in growing cotton or raising silk worms is far from my closet, but at the beginning of the creations.
Whatever their reasons, and however these people participated, I have enjoyed all of their talents. I am grateful for my little box of memories - pieces of fabric that tell me a story each time I open my box of ‘rags’.
“When eating bamboo sprouts, remember the man who planted them.”
~ Chinese Proverb
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