Another treasure from the Aline Hopkins Leftovers was a marine blue silk drawstring bag, about the size of a lunch sack. My awesome Vintage Whisperer Super Power registered a date for the bag between 1920 to 1930. (How do I know? I just do.) Crispy yet soft, the folds of its balloon shape had a pleasant weight, and I thought there might be something interesting inside. I longed to peek, but refrained, coveting the joy of discovery. It seemed like a special sort of place you would tuck an intimate secret – like the camisole you wore under your bridal dress, or half finished quilt blocks for the baby who never came.
When I drew apart the gathered fabric, a puff of white mildew edged the casing where the strings had drawn tightly against each other like lips pursed into a kiss, waiting indefinitely to be reciprocated. Inside, something special indeed, but decipherable only to Aline – a mixed up tangle of threads and floss, enmeshed so thoroughly it had taken on the aspect of a heart. A beautiful thing, so useless for whatever purpose Aline might have saved it. So useful for me, now.
Brenna you continue to amaze me with your beautiful images and straight to the soul words. I want the book!