For weeks, months, the house has been full of teeny silver moths
fluttering about their mothy business.
I found out their evil plot.
Opened an innocent looking army holdall.
In it I keep my collection of ethnic and historic textiles.
There is a long, indigo Gambian dress.
Rajasthani mirror work.
An Afghan gold threaded table cover.
Tibetan woven apron.
My old bedroom curtains from when I was 6.
Some pieces of 1930's silk
Pieces of material that I just liked the pattern of.
Bits of Turkish kelim.
An Indian sari, block printed with vegetable
I unzipped the bag. A cloud of the little bastards
hit me in the face. There lay my shredded past
in a mass of frass and moths at every stage
of development. Vacated, gossamer cocoons,
grubs and full up, healthy looking, contented adults.
Well it was curtains for them - but not
as they knew it.
Yes this was definitely a lesson in letting go of worldly
objects. The transience of all things....
( which is why I think I gave up Textile Conservation
as a career several years ago.)
Anyway, I gave them Ariel hell in the Hotpoint.
Full voltage UV on the washing line.
I don't care. I'll get over it. I've learnt the lesson.
But now I fear I may come back as a moth.