I am the same with the smell of sawdust and paint. those smells remind me of my dad, work, and fascinating projects. they are just smells, really. but nothing is just anything. our brains tie all our experiences together into tapestries and nets.
the plaid ones I brought home from a store three years ago. the darker grey became mine longer ago than that. both have been worn and patched. their holes had finally become indecent enough for me to give up wearing them... but I couldn't bring myself to toss them out for good.
so instead I unstitched and snipped and measured and cut and folded and pinned and came up with this. I love it.
I can't really explain the value of plaid; I simply have always liked it. but the white paint--that comes from a story. four or so years ago I visited friend Shara and helped her repaint her parents' bedroom. one summer later I would move into that house for a while. those were good times. it's a small story, but there are cool people in it and a bunch of other adjacent memories. the house is still there. neither Shara nor I live there anymore, but there's a bit of paint from that upstairs bedroom that ties this skirt to that house. the story (small and silly, yes) lives on.