It’s not that I don’t have enough time, it’s that I have too many ideas, see too many beautiful things that I would love to make. I guess everyone has that problem. When I think of how much beautiful fabric I buy – I should feel guilty. I don’t though – not in the least. Now that I don’t have small children, I don’t feel that I am being the least bit frivolous when I buy a bit of fabric that calls to me. And here’s why: Seeing beautiful colors or whimsical prints remind me of the good times in my life. I just ordered a bit of Michael Miller fabric with a retro-kitchen/home economics theme. When I first laid eyes on that fabric with those appliances from the 50s, I immediately was taken back to the old farmhouse on the hill where I lived when I was a little girl. I have a lot of vague recollections of that place but more so I get really good vibes when I think of that time in my life. I remember the tire swing out back – actually it may have been a wooden swing, a kind of treehouse I built in an old apple tree – the treehouse was actually just a couple pieces of old board but I could sit up there away from everyone (mainly my little brother, I suspect) and read. I remember a window at the bottom of the stairs that went into the ‘other room’. I remember a built in desk, a set of windows at the far end of the living room from which I could see into the kitchen and sometimes my mom would stand there and wave at me. I remember the mudroom and standing in the mudroom listening when my brother’s bestfriend’s mom stopped by to tell my mother that she had caught the boys swimming in a sewer. I remember the time I looked out the window after our old barn had been razed and remember feeling as if I were in a different world. I remember the time my big brother found dynamite in an old shed……..or maybe I just remember hearing about it. I could go on and on and on. But that’s what my fabric does for me – it takes me back to time that was different and sweet.