Late last night I decided to use the last bit of pie dough and overripe plums to create a flan, farm pie, whatever you call it.
As it baked, I cleaned up. It has been a weekend that included many hours of conversation with friends around the kitchen table. My family’s old kitchen table. I had completed an instalment of Potato Nose Diaries (1977) yesterday morning and love that a photo from our house in Sweden in 1977 that I used as a reference shows the same table. I love that I still use that table.
As I cleaned up, I found myself conversing in my mind with my mom. I often do that in the kitchen. She encouraged me to wash the tablecloth and find a fresh on in the bin of old cloths I keep in this basket:
I love that I keep things. I pulled out a vintage tablecloth that mom and I had found at a thrift store or a flea market or at Fort Langley, or she received it- I can’t recall. I don’t think it came from our family.
Who hand embroidered this cloth? Who took the time to draw the thread and create the grids? Who lovingly completed this flannel treasure?
Why do we so easily discard old embroidered cloths and crocheted doilies and handcrafted items? We can’t keep everything (I try). But next time you are at a thrift store and you come across a handmade treasure- take a moment to examine its creative process. Take a moment to acknowledge the maker.
Give me that life that is seamed and riven with living.
~Muriel Strode (1875–1964),My Little Book of Life, 1912