This recording is from 1991, it's from an old cassette demo. The band was called Goddess 13.

Song info:

My mother was very self-reliant and (it seemed to me) she could just as easily patch a hole in a leaking roof as she could prepare a delicious meal out of practically nothing. This song is based on real life.

One night after the sun had set, we got into our old car and drove downtown to the clothing manufacturing district, now known as L.A.’s Garment District. My parents parked the car in the darkness across the street from a factory loading dock and told me to wait inside. I could see them clearly illuminated by the security floodlights as they approached a row of a half dozen steel dumpsters, lined up alongside the ledge of a loading dock. My father lowered himself into the first one, and his head disappeared below the edge for a few seconds while my mother looked around nervously. There weren’t any chain link fences guarding the dumpsters, but something about the way my parents were acting told me they were breaking the law. My father’s head reappeared as he handed my mom several large bolts of fabric — remnants left over from
the manufacturing processes of coats, pants and dresses.
After they’d sorted through the first dumpster, they repeated the process until they had gathered a large assortment of scrap fabric, sample books and remnants from the ends of fabric bolts.

We hit several dumpsters over the next few weeks. I was never allowed to jump into a dumpster because my father said they were dirty and unsafe, but my parents had found a good source of heavy fabric that my mom could use to make quilts. These quilts would then be sold at the local swap meet, along with any other salvaged items that had been rescued from the dumpsters. By night, my mom and dad climbed into bin after bin to collect the scraps that would enable our family to survive the financial drought. By day, my dad looked for work or scavenged for broken machines he could repair and sell, while my mom’s sewing machine whirred nonstop.

My mother saved the softest, most luxurious scraps of velvet and velveteen that she came across and used them to sew a special quilt for me. It looked so plush and fancy that she called it my “Queen’s Quilt.” That name, and the fact that my father called me “La Reina” (The Queen) made the quilt very dear to me. I still have it.

Over the years, it’s lost its plushness and looks a little mangy in spots, but it still brings me all kinds of warm, happy, hopeful feelings.