It is the houses fault. There is no other explanation, no other possibility. The house is calling me back in time. Creating a longing for all things old and corky. What else could explain the sudden desire to collect patterns from the past? Do I have a need for one of these fashionable frocks? Nope. Am I a domestic goddess? Not so much. Yet here I am collecting these little bits of tissue thin paper, little pieces of history, little mementos from a time gone too soon. There is just something about them that speaks to me. A message they are trying to send across time and space. These ladies of the day have something to teach, but what? The contrast is too marked for me not to notice. They in their heals and freshly starched dresses, me in my slippers and wrinkled pjs. They with their hair sleekly styled, functional, yet elegant, me suffering from a severe case of bed head. Who knew one's hair could stick out in so many directions at once? Looking them over I come to a startling conclusion; they had never been embarrassed by the mailcarrier seeing them in their footy pajamas at noon, with spazzing hair and evidence of last nights chocolate cake in their teeth! They don't know what they missed. I am reminded that I don't either. Is that it, is that what my sisters in domesticity are calling me to see? It seems as though these CEOs of the family, these Homeland Security agents in high heels, these 'let me at those dust bunnies' warriors knew something I don't. When there is work to be done, do it in style....think I'll give it a try.