This summer, I got together with my quilt buddies to make scrap fabric blocks. The blocks are wonderful. No rules, no measuring, no guidelines and no restrictions, just creative fabric play. We also thought we’d get rid of some of our scraps which somehow accumulate exponentially over the years. I can never throw away fabric that just might come in handy in some future project. Even though it rarely does, I hang onto it. It’s some sort of sickness.
The idea was to throw all of our scraps into a big pile in the middle of the table. We would then grab scraps as needed and hopefully put a dent into the pile.
Our scrap stashes were fascinating as they seemed a direct reflection of our personalities. We should have a taken a personality profile assessment, and I am willing to bet that our stashes would reflect the results of the profile.
Type A, or “The Ziploc Stash” – These quilters have all their scraps organized according to color and size and are sorted into individual baggies. This quilter probably has stock in Ziploc in order to help fund a future retirement and considers the mass quantities of baggies an investment in her future. The scraps are pressed and ready for use in any new, organized project she might dream up.
Type Z, or “Scrap Totes from Hell” – These quilters have all sizes and colors of scraps smashed together into some sort of plastic tote(s). There might even be partially completed quilts woven in between the scraps. The owner of said tote must sit on it to get the lid latched, and still scraps stick out between the lid and the sides. Taking the lid off is a bit of an adventure as the scraps, now free, literally explode from their confinement. When these boxes are opened, it is not necessary to carry any to the middle of the table for the scrap block project as the top half of the scra
ps in the bucket have already exploded out and landed on the table where they need to be.
Perhaps there is some middle ground here, but I have not met that scrap stash yet. Scraps stashes, like fabric stashes, seem to have personalities all their own, and mine is determined to just keep growing despite my best efforts at controlling it.
One of the goals of this day was to put a dent into each of our scrap stashes, but when we were done, the type A stood, looked at the giant messy pile in the middle of the table, and shook her head. No longer were her scraps in organized little baggies. She suggested the rest of us keep all the scraps, even hers, until next time, and she ran for the door.
At least one of us put a dent in her scrap stash. Mine, it seems, are never going to go away.