Reclaiming pieces of me

it's never too late, and never soon enough

photo courtesy of Pixabay

When we were aboard Serenity a month ago, Jen invited me to attend an upcoming sewing show. It had been a long time since I'd had time to sew or quilt. I gladly accepted her invitation.

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As a young girl, I was drawn to the sewing machine. My mother owned one, but she was not fond of sewing. She had it likely to mend something here or there. I don't remember her ever doing any major sewing. 

So when I began to ask her to teach me to sew at the end of grade school, I hit a wall. She was afraid I would put the needle through my fingers. I must admit, her fear perhaps was not unfounded. 

photo courtesy of Pixabay

In sixth grade, on a Friday night sleepover with my girlfriend, the following morning we decided to make something that involved using an egg beater, in today’s terms, an electric hand mixer. We mixed the ingredients, and afterward, I began to wash the beaters, still attached to the machine. I turned the electric beater on and watched the water whip off the blades. I then put a towel up to the beaters to help dry them. The towel was swallowed up in an instant along with a few of my fingers. Luckily the beaters jammed, but there was no getting my fingers or the towel out. 

My mom wasn't home that morning, so I raced over to my next-door neighbor, Lydia. I loved her large Italian family, the Vinals, four kids, always a good deal of activity, fantastic food, noise, laughter… things my little family of three lacked. I can remember often hearing them over the fence wishing I was more than just a next-door neighbor.

Lydia looked at my fingers intertwined in the blades and called the fire department. I still remember the sound of the fire engine siren making its way down Trenton Drive, coming for me. The firemen were kind, and we all laughed at my predicament. They forced the blades apart, and my fingers slid out easily without even a cut, just a dent in my finger. So, my mom's concern about me sewing? I'll give her that.

I had an older cousin Mary that I would visit from time to time. She taught me to make a skirt. I was in heaven, a weekend of sewing. But once home, I was back to the roadblock. In the following year, my mother was forced to enter the hospital for a few days. I don't know to this day why. What I do know is that we had a Ben Franklin Store nearby that sold fabric. 

I got out one of my mother's nightgowns and traced a pattern. And, of course, my Dad took me to Ben Franklin. (He was so good about taking me shopping.) I bought the prettiest flannel I could find and made my mom a nightgown to celebrate her return home. I came across the nightgown some years ago in an old box. It was humorous and sweet. One sleeve was so narrow that you couldn't put a child's arm through it. But other than that, I did a reasonably good job for a little squirt without guidance. 

I received my first sewing machine the following Christmas. My mom was smart enough to know she was fighting a losing battle. But that said, she was tough and won our most important matches. Thank you, Mom.

I grew to love sewing. I would make anything I could manage to get the fabric for. I made all of my prom dresses. 

Some of my readers might recognize this handsome fellow! Not bad dresses for a rookie. Apparently I liked an empire design.

Looking back, each decade brought a different sewing genre for me. In my twenties, I made things for our home, curtains or pillows. My thirties are a bit blurry as I was having children, but I definitely was still sewing, likely things for my kiddies. In my forties, I began quilting. Regardless of what was going on around me, I was at peace when I was sewing, no small wonder that I loved to sew.

I made this quilt for my mother’s 75th birthday. It contains handwritten letters of love from all of her family members on the front as well as the back.. My kitty insisted on being a part of the picture.

And then came my fifties, which involved a divorce, and probably when I could have used sewing the most, I gravitated away from it. And maybe that makes sense because sewing had always been a peaceful pastime. Anyone who's been through a divorce, and likely those who haven't, can understand what a tumultuous time that can be. For a few years, there was little peace in my soul, and my sewing machine found a place on the shelf in the garage.

That faithful machine has waited patiently. When Rick and I moved to our home in the foothills, it found a new shelf in what we nicknamed the sewing room. At that time, I was taking care of my mom and working, etc., so I still didn’t have time to sew. Nonetheless, we dedicated the room and slowly, over the last six years, have created the space, removing the guest bed and purchasing a foldaway bed to open up the room. 

A few months ago, I bought my first quilt pattern in years. I placed it next to my sewing machine. I must have had a sense. 

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When Jen and I entered the doors at the Roseville fairgrounds known as @theGrounds, the room bustled with people, fabric as far as the eye could see, and everything sewing. I felt like a kid in a candy store. 

The smell… fabric has a distinct odor that gets into your senses as you sew. I don't particularly like the scent, it's probably some fire retardant, who knows, but I will put up with it to sit happily stitching. It comes with the territory. 

I purchased a quilt pattern within ten minutes. And within two hours, I bought a new sewing machine, thanks to Jen for having a secret agenda (and Rick for saying yes.) As Jen and I sat in a class about notions, I was choking back the tears at the thought of returning to an old love.

Jen and I @theGrounds next to my sewing machine, notice the tag says it’s been adopted!..

Much has changed in the sewing world in fifteen years, and this new machine will allow me to venture into much more than I could have imagined so many years ago. Rick's response meant as much to me as buying the machine; "honey, you've been very patient." His statement reminded me of how quickly fifteen years have passed.

As I walked out of the notions class, I noticed a woman who was likely a stroke victim. She was mobile and able, but did not have the use of the right side of her body. Jen was making a purchase, which gave me time to watch and consider this woman (hopefully not being obvious). 

Questions flooded my mind. 

Did she have someone who could help her sew? Was she just here to accompany someone who enjoys sewing? If not, how much did this woman love sewing that she still attends these shows even if she can't sew? Of course, I was wiping tears as Jen returned from her purchase. 

I came away from this day thankful for two blessings, actually many more, but I'm writing about two. 

I am returning to an old love, and I can't wait. Thank you, Jen, for creating the space for this to happen. And thank you, Rickie, for always being supportive of my endeavors. 

Secondly, I'm thankful that I didn't wait too long. As we move through our senior years, each day is a gift.

If you've been missing some piece of yourself that you left behind, thinking you'll get to it… make haste. And have a damn good time at whatever it is.

I'll be sewing.