There have been days like today that I needed a reminder not to get caught up in negative thoughts.  I reminded myself not to let those negative thoughts dictate the tone and pace of my day.  I went to sleep last night feeling like a remnant of a bright, sturdy, textured sheet of fabric – relatable yet frustrated with the separation from my normal by some situations that were out of my control but connected enough that I was left feeling like the remnant after the shearing.  When I was a child, my mother, her sisters, my grandmother, and my sister sewed. While Aunt Willie Mae was the master seamstress, the others could lay a pattern and piece together an outfit suitable to be worn outside the house. 

I have memories of visiting fabric stores with my Mama when I was child.  We would spend time sitting and flipping through the pages of very large, heavy books that contained pictures of all sorts of clothing one could make by following the pattern instructions.  Mama’s favorite fabric store had a section with rows of chairs placed around a long, wooden table with a slanted top that seemed to be specially made to hold the pattern books.  The pattern books were the do-it-yourself manuals for fashion.  There were catalogs for at least four or five companies and Mama would take more time looking through the catalog books that suited her taste or wardrobe needs at the time.  Each item of clothing in a catalog was assigned a number.  I sat next to Mama and dreamed about which outfits someone could make for me.  Until now, I hadn’t considered that the exposure to women who made clothing contributed greatly to the development of both sides of my brain.  The exposure taught me to appreciate those who mastered a trade then used it to serve the village. 

After selecting the pattern, we walked around the store evaluating fabrics and notions until we found the combination of things to help us create a perfect outfit.  Mama paid for her items then headed home to continue the process.  Positioning the cloth on the bed took care in order to ensure that the fabric laid flat and taut.  Next, Mama would open the package that contained delicate sheets of grayish brown paper with black markings.  Mama trusted me to help cut out select pattern pieces, but not all of them.  Unlike cutting out paper doll clothes, one had to use care not to cut the wrong lines of the pattern pieces on these delicate sheets of paper.  There were solid lines, dotted and segmented lines and curved lines.  Just being entrusted with scissors and allowed to stand near the pattern and the cloth was a privilege.  I accepted the privilege with the level of responsibility and seriousness warranted by such an assignment. 

I graduated to pinning the pattern to the fabric.  As I recalled ,that task involved a round, tomato looking pin cushion and strategic placement of pattern pieces.  We needed to make certain that each necessary piece found a place on the cloth.  It was a real life two-dimensional puzzle soon to be transformed into a three-dimensional dream.  Honestly, I believe that I am more excited about the potential and the process now than I was as a child.  Seeing the finished product brought the thrill of accomplishment and the pride of persistent passion.  I had witnessed the care invested into the process from beginning to end by the women in my family who stitched the garments.  The women worked with an eye toward the details of the artistic piece of clothing.  Moreover, the women loved and respected for the garment and the future owner of the garment who at every fitting realized the time for owning the envisioned piece of clothing was growing nearer. 

The floor in and around the cutting table (Mama’s bed) was always littered with threads and randomly shaped pieces of beautifully colored, textured cloth.  Like the cloth that found a path to the floor, I felt aimless and separated from the master plan.  I could only imagine those odd-shaped shreds of fabric felt unlucky and without purpose.  Would the separated pieces have chosen this station or was there excitement about the road less taken?  As I considered my station this morning, I felt much like the discarded fabric pieces and I certainly didn’t feel like I chose these feelings for myself last evening or this morning.  While there were so many things that gave my personal world light, color, and texture, my head and my heart were fastened to the heaviness of my week and the uncertainty of my future.  Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “Life is a journey, not a destination.”  This morning I felt like the remnants cut away from the pinned pattern pieces on the cloth.  I felt like that discarded cloth trying to understand the journey so that I could convince my head and my heart that I had not yet reached a destination.  Thank God for a pen and paper and for the women whose DNA owns me.  Thank goodness that the lessons we learn and share during our journeys do not end when we reach our destination.  Those distinct sounds of those Singer sewing machines are long gone, but the lessons from my DNA donors live on.  The women taught me that the scraps from the cloth purposefully supported the making of the envisioned piece.  The women, in my family, taught me that just because I couldn’t see a purpose for the cloth that was cut away from the pattern it didn’t mean the remnants had no purpose or use.  I learned that there was value in the remnants. 

In our family, the journey of the uniquely shaped, assorted fabric pieces led to the needling together of family heirlooms that warmed us for years to come.  I began to think about all of the random pieces in my life right now and how the pieces seem to have no logical connection to me.  Unlike Mama, I know that I am not the master seamstress in this masterful work, but I must trust that what appears unintended and without meaning will manifest itself as a perfectly purposeful and useful design.  The banner on my blog site was created from a picture taken by me of a quilt made by women in my family.  I hope that my audience will see it and remember that many random and seemingly useless things can create a beautiful and purposeful end.  Living is in the journey and the journey is enhanced by the outliers.  The goal is not to limit the potential of our most grand dreams by missing the benefit and usefulness of the pieces you needed to cut away.  Once you complete the logical, intended mission, see how the things you needed to cut away might contribute to the elevation of you, your dreams, and those around you.