Patchwork Scarf: Roses and Other Mysteries (Work In Progress)

My grandmother Kitty Mom wore flowered dresses. I remember falling in love with the dark rose-filled fabric of a housedress she had delivered back in the Fifties, when she was in her sixties. I coveted it and wished she would give it to me to play with — to wrap myself in. But I stayed quiet, resigning myself to cutting pictures of roses out of her rose-bush catalogs.

Now, despite all good judgment and taste I find I keep buying floral print remnants in thrift shops — especially roses. About a week ago I decided to face this compulsion. In the mood to make something magical — a fabric book or prayer shawl — I pulled the whole flowery stash out onto my work table.

I don’t mind saying that I felt a powerful presence there. Maybe there were ghosts lingering in the previously owned fabric. Or maybe the roses attracted Kitty Mom.

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