Sewing

My granddaughter Olivia expressed a desire to learn how to sew. For her twelfth birthday, I bought her a sewing machine. The day I picked it out I was awash with memories about my first sewing experience. As it turns out, I was twelve as well.

I was tall for my age and the Capri pants, that were all the rage in 1959, did not fit me properly. If I bought the smallest adult size, the legs were too long; the child size put the notched hem too high on my longer than normal leg. My solution was to buy some turquoise blue cotton chino, a pattern, and make my own pants with my mother's old Singer treadle machine. It didn't occur to me that I had no idea how to read or use a pattern and ultimately sew a garment that I could wear in public. Some folks might label this as self-confidence. I'm more inclined to believe it is a type of myopia. I realize now that I must have been born with this malady.

I don't recall much about the process of making that pair of pants but I do know I finished them and I wore them and that singular experience launched me in a direction that literally shaped my future. I'm sure my vague memory of what they really looked like is tainted with my grand sense of accomplishment. Probably a good thing I don't have a photo. But I don't need to know the truth in this regard because the value of the first thing I ever sewed reaches far beyond how well I made it. We don't often have the opportunity to pin down the first moment when life invents itself. Along the way we easily can note the events and choices that propel us into reinvention, but that very first thing is usually quite subtle and hard to identify as the spark that ignited the flame. Learning to sew a pair of Capri pants was my defining moment.

Through the years following that brave dive into making my own clothing, I developed an overwhelming passion for sewing. This enthusiasm, born from the frustration of not being able to buy something that fit correctly, quickly evolved into a higher form of self-expression. I'm glad to say I did it the right way. First, I taught myself how to use the tools, how to choose the correct fabrics for the pattern type and how to alter paper patterns to fit my body type. Being long-waisted and having long arms, I always had to add at least three inches to the length of a bodice and two to three inches to the length of sleeves. Realizing I had the power to make clothes that truly fit me unleashed in me a dominant can-do attitude. I came to believe that I could do anything I set my mind to do and better than that, I was no longer bound to accept only what the world had to offer. Learning to sew freed me to make things that suited me and my peculiar vision. But it also gave me so much more.

For the next forty years, the skills and art form of sewing actually sculpted me. I made my own clothes, including my prom dresses, suits, and the year I managed the neighborhood pool, I made my own swimsuits. I sewed for myself, my children, other people, though in this regard folks often took advantage of me because they reaped the benefit of a cheaply sewn garment, meaning my labors were not factored in or compensated. But I didn’t care. The challenge was always the thing. Each test rewarded me with a new expertise. Over time, I made other things with my sewing machine, which had been replaced several times, upgrading to newer and better each instance. I have made huge things, such as sixty-foot curtains, and small things, like tiny dolls, and multiple things like costumes and craft products. My sewing machine became an extension of my hands not unlike paintbrushes to an artist or carving tools for a sculptor. My sewing talents led me to a designing job for a craft book producer, which then morphed into more diverse jobs. Each new opportunity fed me new experiences and thus even more abilities. I designed and made my own puppets, furniture, and a line of bags that became a business for me for more than five years. I created room dividers for my art and gift shop, I sewed and painted canvas floor cloths. I have literally made thousands of things from sewn fabric. I can't even remember it all. At one point I referred to myself as a fabric artist, for want of a better way to describe what I did, though this mantle never really fit me very well. Maybe that defines loosely what I have done with machine and fabric, but in truth, there probably isn't a category better than seamstress.

For decades not a day went by that I didn't sew something or other. And then, it slowed and eventually stopped when I directed my energies to learning the computer and software. Now I'm off in yet another reinvention of myself as a publisher. I hardly even care to mend a popped seam anymore. My latest greatest sewing machine sits idle. Kind of a shame really, now I think about it.

This issue of sewing returned to me as I was selecting Olivia's new portable Singer with the self-winding bobbin, but I've also spent the past couple of weeks half-heartedly searching racks of clothing for a nice formal. Ron and I have an invitation to a charity ball this spring. The boring, same ole, same ole stuff out there is so not me. Now I am in this tug of war with myself. "Make it yourself, dimwit, you know you can," my old designing self chides me. "Oh, but the time it will take," my new self whines. "I have this deadline…."

Unfortunately, I know I could make something in less time than it will take for me to go hunt for a ready made dress, so the time thing is not really a good argument. I think it is about the energy or lack thereof.

Who will win this? Will the old self-invented me go buy some fabric and make a wonderful one-of-a-kind dress, for less than one third the cost? Or will the new book-creating me buckle to the convenience of settling for something mundane that's already made? As I write this, I still don’t know the answer. The old me would already have the dress designed and hanging in the closet. The new me would opt to spend her time building an extraordinary book and settle for an ordinary dress.

I think I just came up with my answer.