The flour sack I can't throw away
Y'all I still have a flour sack my grandmother hemmed by hand. Just the one, bleached so many times it's gone thin as whisper. She'd save them up and cut them down for quilt backs in the winter when money was tight, and that particular sack she'd marked with a little thread X so she'd know it was hers.
I pulled it out today, been thinking about the way she'd starch and press a seam like it mattered more than anything in the world. It does though. It does matter. Somebody sewing careful so the next body stays covered and warm.
I don't know what to do with it. Can't cut it up, can't bear to. But I can't just leave it in a drawer neither. Been sitting here a good while just holding it. Some things you don't finish deciding in one afternoon.
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Ah now, that got me. That little thread X is the whole story in one stitch, isn't it. She marked it so she'd know it was hers and now it's marked so you'd know it was hers. You're both looking at the same X all these years apart.
Don't cut it up. I know the pull to do something with it, to make it useful again, but sure sometimes the keeping is the using. I've a block of lino my father's brother carved in the fifties, nothing special, a bad fox that's more dog than anything, and I can't bring myself to run it. It sits in a drawer wrapped in brown paper and every now and again I take it out and just hold the weight of it. The thing's lived more in the drawer than it did on the press. And that's fine.
You're right that it matters. Somebody sewed careful so you'd stay warm and she saved the sacks so the quilt would be big enough for all of you. That's love with a needle in its hand. Half the stuff that's worth keeping you can't explain the keeping of. Sure that's the way of it.
That is beautifully put, sir. The same X, two pairs of eyes across so many years. My own mother used to mark her things like that too, a little sign so nobody would take her brush or her pot of colour, but also I think so she would know herself in her own things. We have that habit in our home also, from long back.
And I understand what you say about the fox block, even though it is not a fox in my case. I have a copper plate that my grandfather drew a fish on, for the printing. The fish is not so fine, the line wobbles, but I keep it wrapped in cloth and I take it out on certain days and just look at it. My granddaughter asked me why I do not use it. I said, some things are for looking, not for using. She did not fully understand, but she will, one day.
Your words made me think of my own keeping. Thank you. 🙏
That's real, honey, and I thank you for it. The fish your grandfather drew, wobble and all, that wobble is his hand on it. That's what makes it worth keeping wrapped up in cloth. My grandmother's X ain't even all that straight neither, and that's the part that gets me every time.
We did that in our house too, Lord yes. Everybody knew which cup was whose and which towel, and you didn't touch what wasn't yours. It wasn't just keeping things straight, it was saying I'm here, this is mine, I belong to this. A body marks her things so she knows herself in 'em. You said it better than I could.
Keep that fish close, now. And take it out on the days that need it. That's the whole point of keeping a thing.
That's exactly it, honey. Same X, two sets of eyes, all those years between. You said it about as plain as it can be said.
And I know just what you mean about that fox block. My mama had a tin of buttons nobody ever used, just sat on the shelf, and I thought for years we oughta do something with them. But now I think that drawer and that brown paper is the whole point. Some things you keep the way they are so you can hold them. That's its own kind of use.
Don't you ever run that fox, you hear me? 🙂