Lint Lessons: Making Grandma's Throw Pillows

Eleanor Kerber Schmitmeyer is 828’s first Gen 2 blogger. She is the daughter of Steve and Linda Schmitmeyer and one of George and Dorothy’s 38 grandchildren. Her earliest memories of Grandma Dorothy are making homemade egg noodles and playing rummy. Born and raised north of Pittsburgh, she recently started her first “real” job as a physical therapist at the Cherokee Indian Hospital in Western North Carolina. 

Lint Lessons: Making Grandma's Throw Pillows

Earlier this summer, I crammed the last of my belongings into my Scion XA, a small hand-me-down car from my parents that has little room to spare even when it’s empty. I moved my bike pump, running shoes, and school binders from behind the driver’s seat to make room for things that have been in storage at my parent’s house for the past several years—a set of shelves, small toolkit, dart board, and large soup pot stuffed with one of Grandma Dorothy’s afghans. 

I was getting ready for another journey to Western North Carolina where I have been in graduate school for the past three years. I have made the 550-mile trip many times, but this particular one was significant because it marked the beginning of my “professional” life there. A full-time job as a physical therapist was waiting for me; all that remained was for me to drive my nervous-but-excited self and the last of my Pittsburgh possessions down South to officially make my transplant complete.

I unplugged my phone charger, then scanned my packing checklist to make sure I wasn’t leaving anything north of the Mason Dixon Line. After realizing an omission, I headed to the garage and shouted to my older brother, “Hey Luke! Where is Grandma’s dryer lint?”

I imagine plastic bags full of dryer lint are not typically packed by young professionals embarking on new careers, but I have Grandma Dorothy to thank for this.

Bags of lint

“Grandma’s dryer lint” is something Luke and I have been casually collecting over the past several years. It started when I was in middle school, where I learned the basics of sewing in a home economics class. One night when I was diligently practicing my stitches on a spare piece of fabric, my mom explained how Grandma Dorothy used to make throw pillows out of bits of fabric and saved-up dryer lint. Though my 12-year-old self was not particularly impressed by this fact, over the years I have become enamored by the concept, appreciating the craftiness, creativity, and—of course—frugality of her actions. I’m not exactly sure when, but soon after realizing this, I promised myself to make a Lint Pillow at some point in my life. 

Elly with her chief lint collector, Luke

Luke jumped on board to assist with the Lint Pillow Cause and became my primary collector. He diligently harvested lint from his wire dryer screen and stowed it in Ziploc bags—I daresay he hasn’t missed a load.

There was no hesitation or second guessing in Luke’s response to my question: “The bags are on the top shelf, behind the laundry detergent.”

I walked back to the laundry room to find, as promised, three dusty one-gallon Ziploc bags full of gray-blue dryer lint. Pleased with the volume of lint stuffed into each bag, I retrieved them from the shelf and tucked them between some of the more practical items in my very full Scion. 

I drove south, excited by what awaited me in this next chapter of life: a challenging new job, living on my own, receiving a paycheck. But I also have a good deal of apprehension. I’m very aware that my life as a student has ended, a lifestyle I’ve known for twenty-two years now. As I work towards establishing myself as a new professional, I take comfort in our family’s strong roots and traditions.  Which is why, when things get overwhelming, I often find myself seeking simple, productive tasks that help me feel more grounded. After all, I have plenty of dryer lint saved up, and at least one Lint Pillow to stitch. Life as an adult is looking bright. 

—Elly  Schmitmeyer