It’s been almost 20 years since my folks passed and I spent this pandemic year going through all of their photo albums. Most of them were from their travels and except for a few choice pictures, I threw the rest in the trash. It was a totally reasonable thing to do - who really needs a picture of the tour bus from 1978? - but I felt a twinge as I tossed each one in the bin.
At the bottom of the pile, however, were two albums that provided a photographic story of my family. One had pictures of my grandparents and parents starting in the 1920’s and continued with the arrival of us kids in the 1950’s. The other was the family wedding album, with selected pictures from the 4 weddings - my parents, my sister, my brother and me.
When I took a step back from being immersed in memories, my weaving eye took hold. Besides the dramatic style changes, I was struck by the fabric. The simple cotton dress that my aunt wore as a child, my mother’s satin wedding dress and my father’s pinstriped trousers, the embroidered cotton dress I wore as a baby, all spoke to me about how textiles have played a role in our lives. Every day, everywhere.