Writing My Life

Now and Then


… so into so-so sewing …

I didn’t think it was possible to surprise myself after all these years of living with me, but I have. It started with a Christmas gift idea: a sewing machine for my grand-daughter, 11-almost-12-year-old Taylor. Along with the machine, I gave her a pattern and fabric, plus I volunteered to help her sew a skirt.

Miss Taylor the Tailor!

After 20 years of NOT sewing, the excitement for sewing again grew as I searched for a simple skirt pattern and fabric. And then as Taylor and I cut out the skirt and started sewing the project, the urge to tackle my own project grew even more.

This was shocking because I have never LOVED the hobby. There was a time early in our marriage when I sewed a lot. We were poor students living in Kearns, Utah, and sewing our clothes saved money. Fortunately, we lived in a neighborhood where seamstresses flourished, and they were willing to help this neophyte learn the art.

I also attended sewing classes provided by the County Extension Services because that agency gave us FREE fabric. Granted, it came in narrow strips, BUT the instructor taught us how to piece them together in such a way that the finished product looked like the pants or top was designed that way. (This was the 70’s, mind you, and Polyester was QUEEN! That wonderful fabric wore like chain mail, and it was easy to sew. I once had a friend who loved that fabric so much she said she was going to name her first two daughters Polly and Esther. I wonder if she every did.)

Before we moved away from the area, I had sewed dozens of t-shirts, shorts, and long pants for my sons; dresses, jumpers, blouses,  and pants for me; and corduroy jeans and TWO suits for my husband!! (Granted one suit was an infamous leisure suit, but the other was a hounds-tooth checked TRADITIONAL man’s suit! Check it out in the photo below.)

I sewed Gary's suit, my blouse and jumper, and the boys' slacks - that you can't see.

Call in HazMat!

Although I sewed for a few years more, I didn’t dedicate myself to it like I had before. You see, I was a slow seamstress. I often had to pick out nearly every seam that I stitched. I also sew like I cook/ Where every meal looks like I am creating Thanksgiving dinner, every sewing project looks like I am working away in a cluttered sweat shop with DOZENS of laborers: scraps of fabric lie here; thread is strung there; and pins are scattered everywhere. It is also stressful! Sewing may relieve stress for people like my sister, but NOT for me!

Nevertheless, as I worked with Taylor on her skirt, I enjoyed a growing sense of satisfaction that I could remember as much as I did about the nuances of sewing well. I also loved the creative spirit that welled up inside me as I watched Taylor sew seam after seam.

Taylor and her new sewing machine

It was so rewarding that I decided to make grand-daughter Mia a jumper for her 5th birthday AND also create a matching jumper for her American Girl doll! BUT it didn’t take long before I remembered all the reasons I disliked sewing: threads breaking every 10 stitches, re-threading the sewing machine needle a dozen times (and my near-sighted eyes are SO MUCH WORSE than they used to be), and picking out mistakes again and again.

Evie checks out Gramma's handiwork on Mia's jumper. (Sorry about picture quality; I snapped this with Gary's phone camera!)

Miss Poser

By the time I finished, however, I was DANG PROUD! The jumpers turned out so cute that I didn’t even mind the hours that I poured into them or that I had to make the doll’s t-shirt twice. (I sewed the sleeves to the bodice on the first attempt and trimmed the seams so I couldn’t salvage it! The malformation would have looked good on an alien!) In the end, the outfits FIT perfectly! YaY! YaY! YaY!

Mia and Julie; I also sewed Julie's t-shirt and leggings!

Another epiphany burst upon me when I re-found this mini-talent: Having reared 4 boys, I had NEVER sewn for little girls OR dolls – except that sweatsuit I made for a Cabbage Patch doll named Mikey that belonged to a certain son who shall remain nameless. But that’s another story!