I suspect that the way my memory works is not quite normal. I know smells can trigger memories but mine are often triggered by fabrics, prints and patterns.
So while I often have great difficulty remembering the name of the cool woman I chatted to last week at Whatshername's party who turned out to be Thingame's sister, I can easily remember where I bought every ancient bit of fabric in my stash. Perhaps stranger still, my memories of key events in my life also include details of exactly what I was wearing at the time.
This week I'm making lots of things for a couple of markets I'm having stalls at over the next few weeks. For every piece of fabric I haul out of my stash, I slip through trapdoors in my memory to places and events I thought I'd forgotten about.
So for example, when I hauled a piece of the fabric pictured above out of my stash to make an apron, I remembered that it arrived ten years ago along with several kilos more of beautiful retro fabric courtesy of North Island friends. They were on a road-trip down the country, were op-shopping along the way and (correctly) guessed I'd love this. (Come back any time.)
I also remembered a grand day out in Raglan one New Years Eve that turned into a not so grand day in Waikato Hospital emergency department (small boy + peanut = bad scene). I was wearing damp halterneck Tango togs under a T-shirt from the Christchurch Art Gallery Shop and a skirt made out of that fabric.
Surely my brain-power and memory could be put to better use than this!