the shop around the corner

Yesterday* I went to my favourite fabric store probably for the last time. It’s a relationship I’ve had since I moved back to Toronto in 1991. Yes it ebbed and flowed but it was always there and for a lot of years it really was the shop around the corner – and well down about 5 blocks.

I was emotional. In fact more emotional that I thought I’d be and I ended up hugging the clerk who had cut my 14 pieces of fabric when that emotion overcame me. I think I startled her too.

I started sewing as a teen. I am mostly self taught but one of the key factors to my success where a couple of women who ran a local fabric shop out of their husband’s sewing machine shop upstairs. In fact the entire family got me started. I bought my first new machine from them. The second hand one I got from a family friend wasn’t in any good shape so I saved to buy my first Janome at – no word of a lie – Sew and Save. But downstairs was where I flourished. With the Polka Dot as competition – think Fabricland size, they were just glad to have the customers. But they also took it upon themselves to nurture and encourage a 15 year old girl as she learned. I was brash at the beginning trying to copy designs from magazines without patterns. And doing an OK job, but dress straps would be mismatched, lopsided and sometimes things just didn’t work out. I graduated to patterns and learned as I went.

When I left the town of my youth for ‘the big city’ I found Designer Fabric Outlet as it was known then – it has since morphed into Designer Fabrics although I think they just cut the Outlet part off the famous orange sign.

Typical of a lot of Queen West West shops at the time the building was old, the sign was crooked and the inside crammed to the rafters. Perhaps left over from the 80s mantra that more was good. Downstairs was sample squares of upholstery fabric, every designer and wannabe in the city, along with their attitude and a most interesting trim shop. Upstairs though, upstairs was almost an afterthought of clothing fabric and soon my favourite place. At the time you couldn’t really see anything but if you asked for something specific they had it or something very close.

Through the times when I didn’t sew at all to the times when I needed to be inspired a jaunt down the way would feed my imagination and get the wheels going. When I was out of thread or needed a button there was a place to fill that need. Even when I moved all the way across the city I went back.

The last 'famous' list from DFO.

The internet let me know that DFO was closing. I decided to make the trek one last time. I had a rare weekday off and made plans. In the end I was called in to do a shift was a pushed my start time back so that I had time to make my trip. Walking in everything seemed as it always was except that everyone knew that wasn’t the case. The old man who owns the place with the beady eyes who watched everything and everyone was still in his chair, he’d migrated there a few years ago as I suspect age made it hard for him to stand all day. I went immediately upstairs as I always did casting an eye at the barrels at the bottom of the stairs. Upstairs I did what I always do. Headed to the knit area and started feeling fabric. Pulling out a bit here and there to see what the fabric weight was and what the texture and pattern looked like and then I started piling. It was quiet and I chatted with the staff a bit. Then when I was ready to start cutting a bird flew in. Just a typical city bird caught in a building after coming in through some old spot. It appeared to be a regular thing and the staff seemed to know how to deal with getting it out without hurting it but it meant killing the lights for a few minutes. And I think that’s when it started. Standing in the dark in this old building that I have frequented for years being forced to be still for a few minutes while they dealt with a bird that had just minutes ago flown so close to my face I felt the wind created by its wings on my face. An excited ‘we got it’ was heard, the lights came back on and the cutting resumed along with some chit chat with the clerk helping me. After all that I headed downstairs to pay and she helped me carry my piles of fabric. That’s when I hugged her, unexpectedly for both of us.

As I finished up my transaction and wished everyone there best of luck I realized that I was really leaving the last of my start in Toronto behind. I’d lived in Parkdale for 6 years and in nearby High Park for another 6 before heading east in the almost classic Toronto migration of life. I still go to High Park for a few things but this was the only reason I go to Parkdale. I waited for the 501 streetcar, outside the library and looked at the changed streetscape.

THAT orange bag.

‘End of an era’ seems to get tossed around a lot lately. We are in some sort of shift that from this vantage point does not seem good if you are at all artistically inclined. Part of that shift is an older generation ending their working lives and deciding not to sell or not finding anyone to sell to as the case may be. Part of it is an overreaching greed that fails to see how nurturing the arts does a city good and can only see the ‘value’ in commodity and real estate. Either way it makes it tough for those of us who find our creative outlet in doing something for ourselves. I wish I had a better way to end this except to say that my heart always does and will probably always do a little flutter when I see an orange shopping bag.



*I wrote this back in July. Since then I have also gone to the closing sale of the Fabricland at the Galleria Malls, where silliness also ensued. And there was a small design shop that closed and they cleared out fabric. I am absolutely swimming in it but access to decent fabric stores and other craft shops is a real issue.