This morning I stopped at a nearby estate sale. I never do that sort of thing, but since some stitchers seem to find gold mines on occasion I thought I'd take a chance. Found a 12 x 12 frame for $1. Then I walked into this elderly woman's craft room, and stopped cold. There were quilts in various stages of completion, crocheted and knit afghans with the needles stuck through them as if she'd just laid it down. A pink, grey & white star shaped- afghan made in the pattern I've seen displayed on the 123MB. Do I need that? No. A crumpled mass in the corner turned out to be a beautiful hand-crocheted double bedcover that was flawless - and must have weighed a ton. I don't know how anyone would ever get it out of a washing machine into a dryer. A variety of 2 or 3 dozen skeins of yarns, boxes full of notions, more than a dozen dozen needle craft and crochet books. envelopes full of plastic canvas and patterns. And I just stood there looking at all that and knew in my soul that what I saw was that woman's life, laying displayed in thick piles that were being idly fingered or totally ignored by most people walking through the room, and for which the family would never receive payment anywhere near the value of time, labor and love expended in creating them. That the family hadn't even taken the bedspread made me so sad. It was more sad than peeking in the closet to see a few boxes of shoes left behind, still waiting their turn to be worn and never to understand their usefullness and lives were over as well. I was thinking that when those lovely things inevitably didn't sell, most of all that beautiful craftsmanship would likely end up in the trash with the rest of the leftover, unwanted household items and junk. That woman's life set in bags on the street waiting for an enternity in the landfill. I felt the need to rescue all of it and let it feel wanted and appreciated and loved all over again. The double bedspread was a treasure, but I have no place for something that fine. I am well aware that when I pass my daughter will go through my stuff in her "kamikaze" take-no-prisoners housecleaning mode (I had to retrieve stitching from a bag on the street when she decided to clean my admittedly messy room one day) and that all my stitching, as well as pretty much everything else around here will end up on the street. To save my family the wasted effort, I've given them instructions to not bother coming in and to just light a match. I wasn't kidding. Better a funeral pyre than stench and mold and who knows what else.
Question: Am I, are we all, just wasting what few days we are granted in this life stitching and making things which will end up in the landfill probably a lot sooner than later?
I still haven't shaken that "what's the point" feeling.