Stitches in Time

1.

I started sewing in the third grade with the ‘sewing nun’ at The Academy of the Assumption, the Catholic school up on the hill. Sewing class was in the high school building, the big brick mansion next to the old wooden building that housed the younger kids.  We all walked two by two, silently from our third-grade classroom, down the carved oak paneled red-carpeted staircase, past the chapel, through the tunnel that connected the two buildings.

2.

The first project was a hand-sewn fountain pen-wiper — a pile of felt squares attached with a big button. Pull the little lever up on the side of the pen and it drinks up the ink.  Cartridges came later.  Then came sewing machine practice – a sewing machine with no thread.  We had to follow the lines of square and circle mazes, printed on paper, steering the presser foot along the straight and curved lines, learning how to pivot, turn corners.  The old nun with the soft puffy face would make the rounds, checking to see that the needle perforations were on the line. OK, while she was bending over our perforations,  we would secretly put big tangled gobs of thread on the top of that sweet nun’s wimple.

3.

The next lesson was about gathering. I sewed an apron for my mother.  This involved learning how to evenly gather hand-sewn stitches. This began a tradition of making Mother an apron every Christmas until her Alzheimer’s ended many traditions.

4.

I branched out at home. I made skirts, ‘skorts’, vests, headbands, hats, bathing suits.I sewed a rich forest-green hooded velveteen cape with white satin lining for my junior prom. My sister wore it for her wedding.  It was raining on that February day in 1967.

5.

I sewed a very unattractive brown pants suit out of a kind of a phony corduroy. I    spent hours cutting, clipping curves, setting in sleeves - my attempt at fine tailoring. Normally, I sewed like a banshee, presser-foot to the metal.  I would buy material before lunch and wear the outfit for an evening date.

6.

My mother gave me a sewing machine as a college graduation present. I still have it 50 years later.  I had it repaired once by a man who was missing many fingers, due to some wasting-away disease. He held his tools in his mouth. He was cheery and loved his work.

7.

I sewed all the bridesmaid and flower girl dresses for my wedding.

I married at age twenty, in grand Irish Catholic tradition, following my older sisters’ examples.  Marriage and babies were the path.  I didn’t understand that other paths were available. I came of age in the great tectonic shift of the late 60s. I didn’t know that. Perhaps I was too busy sewing. I tried to make a sophisticated going-away outfit in a very silky white material.  It looked more like a flour sack. I abandoned it and bought a conservative rust-colored dress with a matching jacket. My mother was relieved.

8.

I made oversized bow ties for my new husband who taught at a fancy private K-8 school on the North Shore, so I got a job teaching Latin and French at a fancy private high school in the next town. I made togas and berets for my students.

9.

I made slinky sundresses, bell-bottoms, vests, followed by maternity outfits and baby thingies.

10.

We had four children, who provided many years of joy and many sewing opportunities from sundresses to Halloween costumes to theater costumes - Ferdinand the Bull, The Cowardly Lion, one of Mikado’s three little maids, to mention a few.

11.

Life became busier. I began to cut corners: cardboard, glue and staples to make a Commodore’s hat for my Matthew’s Modern Major General.  The two-foot high hat, with foot long ostrich feathers could be seen, slowly entering stage left, behind the ensemble’s rendition of “Poor Wandering One”.  A proud moment.

(This was a subsequent drawing I made of a Pirates production at Second Story Theater in Warren, RI. I was flattered that they copied my hat!)

12.

I had a miscarriage after my first child.  Trying to have another baby consumed me for the next year, while I made slipcovers, upholstered chairs and two strange little dolls my first child named ‘Fra-Fra and Madeline’, followed by life-size Raggedy Anne and Andy dolls (with elastic straps on the feet, so you could dance with it) for one of the kid, I can’t remember which.

13.

I started many projects.

14.

Life was very full, very busy, no time for self-reflection or fussing over zig-zag stitches or buttonholers.

15.

I longed for a life larger than my sewing machine.  The economy was on fire and the world was passing me by.  I sold Shaklee products for a while, but then started taking courses from real estate investment gurus. I bought sophisticated clothes and bought and sold real estate. The ventures turned sour in the great crash of the late 80’s. Bankruptcy wiped us out. We lost everything, including our own house.  This sudden homelessness and poverty prompted the self-reflection I had delayed.  An attraction, accompanied by a kiss, along with a glimpse at what sexual desire felt like, starting The Great Unraveling. I packed up my sewing machine and moved to a basement apartment in the neighborhood so I could try to figure out who I was.

16.

The Great Rebirth and a Great Migration followed, dragging a lot of pain and turmoil.  I took my long-abandoned sewing machine with me to the city, where I let loose long-hidden drives to paint large canvases, write and perform musical plays (which meant sewing costumes for myself), composing music for string quartets, accompanied by videos with puppets (which meant sewing puppets).

17.

After ten years, I moved to the country with my second husband, where we planted vegetables, moved rocks around and watched the moon rise over the river, which was all very lovely until I realized it was not a good place to grow old and lonely.

So we packed up everything (including the sewing machine) and moved to a little city by the sea, that had lovely little music festivals and holiday events. That first Halloween, I made a wizard costume for Bill and a grand medieval dress for myself out of red velvet curtains I found at a yard sale.

18.

My sewing life was winding down, but I managed to make a spectacular, reversible flannel bathrobe for my daughter's then boyfriend. I hadn’t taught her how to sew. 

19.

I made a painter’s smock for my granddaughter and fleece winter hats for my grandsons. They chose Red Sox and Celtics material, even though they live in New York. Good boys.

20.

I don’t sew much anymore, except for weird stuff, odd little projects, like the red nylon sail with a sky-blue number one appliqué, for a model sailboat my husband and I made from plans on the internet. The grandchildren launched it in the little pond in the park and we all watched in awe as the sail filled with wind and our little boat headed across to the other side.

We’re still sailing along.

What’s on your list?