I carry my basket with me wherever I go. I am working on a hexagon quilt, one that involves putting together thousands of tiny pieces. I sew in the car as The G-Man and I travel from place to place. I stitch while waiting on our meals at restaurants. I take my basket with me to meetings and to the Grand-boys games. . I stitch, stitch, stitch.
When in the company of other people, my basket holds the power to evoke memories from long ago. So many people want to tell me about the old sewing baskets that they remember. Their grandmother had one like mine, or maybe their mother had one. One older gentleman, who observed me and my basket at a restaurant, told me about a book written entirely about Chinese sewing baskets, sort of a compendium for these things. I think that he knew more about these baskets than I do. I need that book, I think.
My most favorite part about carrying my basket along with me is when children want to see what I am doing. I was recently at my grandson's game, and two small girls, little sisters of two of the players, sat themselves next to me on the bleacher seats to watch me sew and to ask many questions. These two little sweet peas were completely captivated by what I was doing. Although I loved showing and telling them about what I was making, I was sad that they knew nothing about the possibilities that a needle and thread have to offer.
Do little girls these days never see anyone sew and stitch? I am inclined to bet not.
And that is a sad thing, a very sad thing.
But maybe, just maybe, they will remember my sewing basket and take up the needle and thread themselves one day.
I can hope...