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Studio Fruit Basket tipover

A new calendar means new beginnings and a re-thinking of plans, goals, and directions. Being rather compulsive in nature, I’ve tried a variety of approaches ranging from lengthy listing of responsibilities and goals to choosing a single word. Somehow, like most people, January always seems to slide by before I can manage to get the goals clearly identified. My health has largely prevented much forward progress last year. This year promises to not be much different with respiratory problems and continuing numbness in my right hand. I’ve come to realize that my energy and time is limited and so I must be much more selective in how I choose to spend my time.

My sewing room had not seen much activity during much of the past year. A major cleaning out was due and so I began. The first thing was to take photos of the mess—-fabrics, yarns, wool roving, books, drawings from past projects, half-started projects from guild workshops, paints, magazines, and photos.

Systematically, I sorted through the items on my shelves. The rules were simple, if I didn’t like the fabric or yarn or the project no longer interested me, it went into a box for someone else. My fabric was already sorted into large color groupings but anything that was a blend or cheap feeling went into a large bag—destined to share with friends for toothbrush rag rugs. Magazines were donated to the local school featuring a fiber program, and fabric suitable for garment construction was put into a box for shipping to one of the Indian Reservations. Several lengths of silk fabric originally destined for nice dress suits in the days I wore suits and pantyhose were gathered together for a silk quilt.

Books and patterns of a traditional bent became door prizes at the local guild. A large box of bee projects was sorted through, lengths of fabric returned to the appropriate color bin, and partially finished projects used as the basis for the two gallon project and the row quilt—the only two projects I have decided to participate in this year. I still have not tackled the remains of my mother’s sewing room; those are still in boxes at the very top of the shelf—maybe next year, I’ll have the courage to tackle them.

I refuse to feel guilty for not completing a project that no longer interests me and simply seems like another duty—if it isn’t fun—then I’m not doing it.

And the word for this year?


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