Fabric addiction

I’ve been quilting for about five years, although I’ve been addicted to fabric for as long as I can remember. As a child, I followed my mom down the aisles at JoAnn Fabrics, arms extended, hands trailing through the assorted textures. Every once in a while I’d squinch up my face and shake and rub my hands to get the nasty feeling of polyester off, but mostly I just floated and dreamed of all the pretty things the fabric could become.

I first seriously thought about quilting about 18 years ago, going so far as to buy fabrics that would make an interesting quilting. It was the cheap stuff, because that’s what I could afford. I still have a couple of pieces including one with a small frog print, and someday I will make my “Frog Prints” quilt. I’m collecting other froggy fabrics, not because I particularly like frogs, but because I want to make a quilt with that name. Names are oddly important to me.

Now my fabric collection has expanded – exploded, even – into a stash that I’m simultaneously embarrassed by and proud of. On the one hand, I could make enough quilts to cover every person in my most extended family several times over. On the other, I have no control. It’s a shameful thing. Truly, it’s an addiction.

This photo was taken a year ago, and it’s increased even further – I have probably 20% MORE fabric now. I have managed to control myself since The Incident, and I haven’t purchased a single piece of fabric in almost two months. I saw a great acronym for this – it’s a STABLE, or STash Accumulation Beyond Life Expectancy.