On my early morning walks, I have become accustom to listening to audio books. I was finding that I was not working through and reading the list of books I perpetually use as a guide, so I decided to borrow some audio books from the library. This morning, I finished listening to Azar Nafisi’s book Things I Have Been Silent About. It has been a fascinating experience especially after getting to know her a little after listening to Reading Lolita in Tehran. Toward the end of the audio this morning, she describes her mother’s habit of collecting and hoarding, and as she ages, it becomes worse. Nafisi talks about collecting, in general, and why people are drawn to certain things. She does not criticize the habit, but she points out that when collecting becomes hoarding, and you no longer know what you have or never integrate it into your life, then it becomes a rather negative, burdensome practice. I have been thinking about this a lot all morning. My mother often never used special things like dishes or table linen or perfume or body lotion because she was going to save it for just the right time. Often that time never arrived.

So after sorting through more boxes with patterns and some stray textiles yesterday, I discovered this piece, long forgotten. I set it aside thinking it was quite special and I needed to do something with it. I bought it from a dealer awhile back and had forgotten it. Then after listening to the book this morning, I wondered, was I becoming like Azar Nafisi’s mother? Could I not remember what I had anymore? Was I a hoarder and no longer a collector?

My initial goal yesterday was to look for a pattern for a wrap skirt that I could use for my vintage jacquard wool. A brief search turned into an all afternoon dedication of organizing and categorizing all my patterns. I do integrate these into my life and use them. I never save them for a perfect time or day. Then I found these patterns that belonged to my mother and suddenly I was reliving the past, her love of sewing and fashion, and her desire to always be frugal. When I was growing up in the 50′s, my mother dressed like all women did when they went out. They always wore hats and gloves. My mother made so many of her hats, and I remember these patterns as well as the hats she made from them.

Next, I found her wedding gown pattern. I find it amusing that she wrote across the front in red ink that we should remember this was the pattern she had used, and if we were curious, the wedding gown was in the cedar chest.

She could not afford silk satin or charmeuse, so she chose a synthetic with a close resemblance.

It had a modest train in the back, and when my parents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary, my mother walked down the staircase into the hall holding up the train with the loop and creating a dramatic entrance for all to see. She was so proud that she could still wear her wedding gown after all these years.

I always loved the tiny loops and covered buttons in the back. A strange occurrence took place at my daughter’s wedding with this dress, only known to me. At the last minute, I had grabbed the dress and literally thrown it in my suitcase in my rush to get to the airport. I intended to iron it and hang it in the room where my daughter and her bridesmaids were to get ready. I don’t know why, but I guess because I am always sentimental over these family events that seem like milestones in our lives. The morning of the wedding was hectic. We were all so busy setting up the room for the reception and thinking of so many things. I had left my mother’s gown in the hotel room thinking I would iron it later and bring it over when everyone was getting dressed. I never managed to get it there. In retrospect, I feel a little badly about this, but now as time moves forward, I am inclined to think, I wanted my mother at the wedding. I wanted her to see her last grandchild wed. Honestly, I think she was there in spirit in so many ways, and I find this very comforting.

But now I must be alert to my habits of hoarding versus collecting, another reason to be vigilant in my quest for refining my stuff!

Since there were a few comments yesterday regarding my petal jacket, I thought it would be a good time to share this beret. I made it shortly after I finished the jacket with the same technique using a smaller scallop for the design. It looks better on my head. I would love to wear it, but need a reason or maybe I don’t need a reason. Who says you can’t wear a flower on your head to the grocery store?

I used a basic beret pattern and then modified the shape to fit the petals.

As long as I am showing berets, I thought I would share this one too because it is so much fun and anything with cats is fine with me. My husband bought this for me in Paris. I became the cat lady overnight, and now I really am the cat lady in the neighborhood.

I liked the results, but wanted to see if I could create the same idea with a design that would hide the fact that it was a yo yo.  I was pleased with the texture and tones, but decided to go with something monchromatic.

I liked the results of this one better.  I used a black silk fabric for each yo yo and in the center of each I sewed a vintage metallic bead.  The beads look more colorful in this photo, but they actually blend in more with the black.  But yo yo’s are labor intensive, so my beret production ended with this one.  Coincidentally, just a few months ago I discovered a delightful silk ribbon beret with little rosettes all over the hat.  It reminded me that really nothing is original.