I wonder if you've also been thinking about Linda's questions?
Where do we learn about style and why do some of us become more interested than others in clothes?
I come from a family of makers.
In their free time the men did fretwork and made rag rugs. My mother and her sisters, and their mother, knitted - Fair Isle, aran, Shetland baby shawls, socks, mittens, hats, scarves, sweaters, clothes for us and for our dolls and teddy bears. They even knitted dolls and teddy bears. They did crochet with fine yarn and lacy patterns. They sewed - curtains and home furnishings, dresses, skirts, blouses, (I made a coat when I was in my teens and I designed and made my wedding dress). I have from the earliest age memories of them sharing patterns and ideas and showing each other colours of wool and fabric and discussing the quality and combinations. I was often allowed to choose. I have a lovely memory of the magic of a Fair Isle pattern appearing from the needles and noticing how the colours changed when put in different combinations. My father, a grocer, went to evening classes to learn window display and with a fine hand could paint tickets and prices on the shop window.
They were also a quiet family and much of this activity was conducted in near silence. The click of knitting needles or the gentle sound of the sewing machine were comforting background noise. Reading was the other main home activity. It was all taken for granted really and when I showed some talent for art they would say 'I don't know where she gets it from'.
I was lucky.
The phrase the fabric of our lives occurred to me as I thought of all this. A good title, I thought and looked up Amazon books to see if anyone else had thought of it. They had and I bought a book about allowing grief to become part of the warp and weft of our lives and on YouTube found this...
Thank you Linda.
Style was something else...