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A long winded story about string that's not really about string

I love that I get to breathe new life in to old stuff, that their stories get to live on and that we get to add our own stories on top of the ones that were already there. The stories that come with the making of the thing and the stories that come with the wearing of it. I don't care if you can't see it, you can feel it. And you'll never get that with things that have been heartlessly manufactured for the masses.



I just finished turning a sleeping bag I found in the basement of an estate sale into a jacket and there are so many stories that came along with the creating. Sometimes they're just for my own personal growth and sometimes they feel like they're worth telling. This one is about some string and a string of traits I acquired from my mom. The little quirks that we lovingly poked fun of behind her back have become some of the most prominent things I notice myself haphazardly adopting. A sense of resourcefulness being at the top of the list.


My mom was always great at making do with what she had. She could come up with a crafty solution to nearly any problem. She'd save shoe boxes for organization bins or an empty cereal bag to crush croutons for a batch of meatloaf. Digging through her craft supplies earlier this month I found a collection of magazine clippings that served as her archaic Pinterest board.


This week I was reminded why I hold onto things (namely, craft supplies) because you never know when the right moment will come along when you need a very specific shade of royal blue cording that you bought in 2018 for a very different, very specific project. Although this time around you'll need it to finish off a jacket in January of 2024. A very specific royal blue cord that I gifted (read: lended to) my husband for some other very specific man project.


The aforementioned very specific project circa 2018

When the coat was near completion I knew it needed something more. Specifically a drawstring. And being a near facsimile of my mother I knew in my bones that I already had something somewhere that would work. And it's amazing how the Rolodex of textiles and supplies I've ever seen or touched my lifetime spins around as I scrounge through every draw, nook and cranny to figure out what it is.


Lo and behold, as I reached into my drawer of various ropes and trims from projects past I realized my inventory was off- that I did indeed purchase the very shade of royal blue some years ago and I vaguely remember instructing my dear husband to scrounge through this drawer when he was in need of the exact diameter of said royal blue cord for some oddly specific chainsaw milling tool (this is a whole other story). Upon further interrogation (but more realistically a quick phone call) the exact location of this infamous blue cord was secured some mere 20 footsteps from it's original home (why can they not just put it back where it belongs? Yet another dilemma for another time).


Of course what was left was nearly the exact amount I needed thus successfully completing the circle that is the string story. I can see my mom smiling about it all. And whether or not she's the one who actually orchestrated it all I may never know. But perhaps it's what I'll tell myself for now.



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