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There! I’ve finished a sewing project that has been hanging over my head for a month. Now that I’m done with it, I can put my sewing machine away for a while, rather than have it sitting on the dining room table that we never eat at anyway.

The one annoyance I have with sewing is all the scraps it produces. I save the bigger ones and even quite a number of the smaller pieces because I feel so guilty about throwing them away. While I use as many of these scraps as I can in other projects, there are only so many things one can make with scraps. Why, oh why, when we can recycle plastic, metal, and paper, can’t we recycle fabric? This doesn’t come down to sewing scraps alone, but also to ragged clothing that can no longer be worn. I can’t tell you how many pairs of pants in which Young Son has blown out the knees (sometimes within a month of buying them) that I’ve had to toss in the trash because they can’t be given to Goodwill.

The idea of finding a way to recycle fabric is one that is holding me hostage. I’ve stolen this metaphor from my writing friend, Soloist. She used it with me this morning in describing a story that she’s writing. Before she started writing it, the story kept going through her head, not letting her go – in essence, holding her hostage. Now that she has been writing her story, she no longer has this feeling. Unfortunately, because I haven’t figured out a good way to act on my fabric recycling idea, it’s still got me at gunpoint. If only someone else would take it on so that I could hand over my fabric to the proper authorities, I’d be free. (Can’t I just pay a ransom, please?)