My mom has taught me many things, among them how to use a sewing machine and the notion that things should be used. Virtually nothing in our house was for show. The quilt on my bed was a wedding gift to my mom, the wooden spoons in the kitchen came from a trip to Africa, the necklace that I wore frequently in junior high belonged to my grandmother. In this way, everything in our house had a story. I love those stories, the stories of everyday things.
Now I live in Chicago with my husband in our apartment where everything is used because there is no room for anything that isn’t. I sit at my dining table and I make the things that I hope people will use. I write about them here to begin their story.
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