What Happened?
Once upon a time, not so long ago, I looked forward to visiting a fabric store. My love of sewing has not diminished, but it seems everything else has. I can’t remember the exact order of the events, since each one by itself seemed insignificant. A big chain began to sell fabric at bargain basement prices. Small, locally-owned shops held going-out-of-business sales. The franchise stores held on by taking out about half of the fabric, replacing it with yarn, cake decorating supplies, and plastic flowers.
Back in the day, anyone who sold fabric knew how to sew. The sales clerks, mostly women, could advise customers on their projects. They understood what kind of thread could be used for various fabrics and knew the characteristics of different interfacings. Regardless of the instructions on the end of a bolt, they knew what could be laundered, and at what temperature. They could explain quilt batting, piping, one-way stripes, and elastic; and they could figure out how much yardage would be required to cover a sofa or make a set of draperies.
The national chain fabric stores consolidated neighborhood shops into one or two giant locations, the kind of place where the customer takes a number (literally) and waits for the electronic sign to summon her to the cutting table. There’s a separate long line for checking out, of course. The employees who could read and interpret the information on the back of a pattern envelope? They’ve disappeared, replaced by cutters and cash-register operators who’ve mastered the wordless response of a blank look when confronted with a question.
The national chain department store closed its fabric department after the locals were driven into bankruptcy. Instead of fighting crowds and standing in line for what seems like forever, I’ve taken to shopping via the internet. Oh, how I miss walking down the rows, touching each bolt of colorful fabric, and imagining what wonderful things could be made from each treasure.
Carlene Havel,
Author of "A Hero's Homecoming" co-author “Daughter of the King”
http://goo.gl/s6EQS
Back in the day, anyone who sold fabric knew how to sew. The sales clerks, mostly women, could advise customers on their projects. They understood what kind of thread could be used for various fabrics and knew the characteristics of different interfacings. Regardless of the instructions on the end of a bolt, they knew what could be laundered, and at what temperature. They could explain quilt batting, piping, one-way stripes, and elastic; and they could figure out how much yardage would be required to cover a sofa or make a set of draperies.
The national chain fabric stores consolidated neighborhood shops into one or two giant locations, the kind of place where the customer takes a number (literally) and waits for the electronic sign to summon her to the cutting table. There’s a separate long line for checking out, of course. The employees who could read and interpret the information on the back of a pattern envelope? They’ve disappeared, replaced by cutters and cash-register operators who’ve mastered the wordless response of a blank look when confronted with a question.
The national chain department store closed its fabric department after the locals were driven into bankruptcy. Instead of fighting crowds and standing in line for what seems like forever, I’ve taken to shopping via the internet. Oh, how I miss walking down the rows, touching each bolt of colorful fabric, and imagining what wonderful things could be made from each treasure.
Carlene Havel,
Author of "A Hero's Homecoming" co-author “Daughter of the King”
http://goo.gl/s6EQS
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