As a little girl, I regularly sat on the floor while my mom sewed.
The floor was a magical spot, as it was covered with fabric and trim scraps.
My sister and I crafted many purses, belts, and doll clothes in our younger years.
Nowadays, I don't sit on the floor anymore, but I use the scraps from the floor in all my work.
Tiny pieces of paper, fabric, trim, and even balls of discarded thread
find their way into my collages and quilts.
While I am scavenging the floors, my mind takes me back to being with my mom and my sister.
I experience vivid memories of my mom's sewing machine humming away,
an old western or Godzilla moving playing on the tiny black and white TV,
and sweaty glasses of iced tea.
Those little nuggets of memory make me happy.
They connect me with my family and bring a sense of calm and confidence that I am in the right place.
Perhaps this is not the grand lesson my mom hoped to impart, but somehow
I know that picking trash off the floor is what I am supposed to be doing.
Lesson from mom: Never underestimate the power of regular old life.