My maternal grandmother sewed as long as I can remember. I remember her button box as a kid, and still have the knotted leopard print blanket she made me. So the fact that I have her sewing table means a lot to me. When I inherited it, there were random bobbins, needles, and notes in the single tiny drawer. I’ve held onto them through numerous moves, and last night I finally put them into a shadow box, along with the remains of Frog, which grandma made for me years ago.
