A scrap quilt is one comprised of hundreds of different fabrics. For that reason alone they are often more frugal than projects that begin with new yardage. This week I dug into a bag of batik scraps, some no larger than a dollar bill, and offered them a chance to be included. They were wrinkly from months in the purgatory of leftovers, but an iron smoothed all that out. Then I chopped. 

I stacked a thousand trapezoids less than two inches wide into piles according to length. They ranged from three to eight inches, just enough to show their colors. 

True to the heritage of my great grandmother’s day some of the fabrics were sliced from retired clothes. One was a blue skirt made by my youngest when she was six. She was working on the floor behind me. Aurelle pulled the prettiest cloth she could reach around her hips and cut. She knew how to make an elastic waist and narrow hem. Then for flair she added a purple polka dot ruffle. It was on an angle and I wasn’t sure if that was intentional or not. Two other garments that joined the party were matching dresses I sewed for the twins when they sang at Glencairn with an acapella men’s group. Since the lyrics of the song were about water I used an aqua/teal print. It pleased me to give them another chance to be beautiful. 

As I came down to the fifth and final round on each of twenty blocks I ran out. I got resourceful fitting bits together, giving even the scrappiest scraps a place at the sewing table. When I laid the complete top on the floor I smiled. It was a sweet treasure hunt to find the purple polka dots and the aqua/teal. I felt grateful to the small puzzle pieces that snuggled into a single trapezoid. 

It reminded me of the seemingly random parts of our lives, the ones that are crammed in or banged up. One of the women I sewed with this month told me a story about how she used to take a week’s worth of dirty clothes to the laundromat, bringing her small children with her. While they waited for the loads to finish a cycle she bought the kids donuts at the bakery next door. Recently she mentioned to her adult son that she regretted having to make her children come with her on a mundane errand every Saturday. He hesitated. 

“I only remember the donuts.”