When I'm an old crone living alone with only aches and pains for company, I'll open my trunks full of vintage fabric from time to time and take a deep wheeze of their musty perfume before getting lost in all the false memories the sight of such calico beauty evokes. Farmgirl memories of aprons, pie, and hand-carded cotton quilt batting. Wifely memories of dusty curtains and housedresses. Spinster memories of hope chest needlework that slowly grew hopeless. My addiction to yarn and knitting is physical, but my love for vintage fabric is of the spirit.
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