Kicksleds & Cloth

We wear red blouses in the photograph.I remember the fabric well.We had picked it out. Most of the day we spent shoveling snow,perfecting a snow house, chatting about the kicksleds, rotatingbetween our mother's office and the living roomwhere our father was watching a ski competition.The kicksleds had been stolen with the rest of the sleds on out street.The neighbors were talking about a truck driving through at night, picking upsleds that were sold further up north. My twin sister and I had long discussionsabout who could be using ours. I had a dream about a boyin a green hat pushing mine on a wide and slippery road, a plastic bag fullof groceries on top. That day my sister swore she saw herswhen we were passing by a house a few blocks from our street.When we went back a few hours later by foot to examine the site, it was gone.We turned our attention toward the cloth store instead. It opened as usualto another country; a long wall shelved with plastic cylinders filledwith buttons in all colors. We got stuck there regularly, dragging outthe cylinders, inspecting the buttons and their variations. There were horn buttons,bone buttons, buttons in ivory, wood, celluloid, glass, metal, hard plasticand bakelite. There were certain contexts to avoid and aspectsto consider, the origins of the fabrics, the harshness or softness.Some were made of even weave cotton, some of printed cotton.Others consisted of calico, hessian or polyester fiber.For some occasions only nylon or inego would do.Some textiles were linked to seaweed, some to fiber, some were plain weaved,others were twilled. There were plant textiles and modal fabrics.We had plans for the samples we were given. We were bringing themalong to Mercato, the largest market in Africa.We were delivering them in person to the Emperor of Addis Ababa.We were sewing a blanket large enough to holdthe moon.