A Handsewing Interlude

Remember when my amazing boyfriend bought me a sewing machine for Christmas, and I vowed to use it every second of every day? Well, that didn’t really happen, but I did want to open up a whole avenue of sewing for myself.

I did do just that, but just not as much with the machine as I originally thought.

When we were putting together the craft room, way back when, I discovered a little lap quilt that my grandmother had previously been working on before she passed away. She was about one-quarter of the way through the binding, but everything else was finished.

Cute, right?

She still had the sewing needle left in it. Big feelings in a little tiny quilt right there.

So, I took what I had learned about rolled hems for skirts and dove in. I really like seeing our stitches right next to each other. Hers, a teeny bit wonky because she had been sewing quilt bindings forever and knew that no one will even take a second glance at the back of the quilt. Mine, ridiculous in how much I wanted each one to be perfect and even and straight.

But I think I did a pretty good job.

I even taught myself how to go around the corners, just by looking at the one corner she had done. Not too bad!

It’s tiny, only exactly big enough to go on your lap while you’re sitting on the couch, but it’s lovely and now it’s a usable item when it wasn’t before. The cats have claimed it as their own, of course, and love to perch on it while sitting on the coffee table.

After completing that project, two serendipitous things happened. Number one, Bernadette Banner’s lovely handsewing book came out.

Number two? My SewStine 2022 Dumpster Fire pocket arrived! If you don’t follow SewStine on YouTube and you’re a fan of ridiculous niche, beloved crafting projects, you really should. She creates painstakingly detailed machine embroidery projects, often replicating historical garments, and her stuff is just so beautiful and fun. This weird wonderful stand-alone pocket is no exception.

She offered the kit, which includes the silk outer fabric with the embroidery, twill backing fabric, bias tape, and twill tape for making a waistband, originally in 2020, but made a limited amount earlier this year, and I jumped all over it. When it came, I sat down with Bernadette’s book (and her extremely useful pocket kit assembly video) to put my pocket together.

I backstitched like a champ.

I pinned out all that bias tape ribbon, around curves and slits and points, and took a deep breath, knowing that my grandmother somehow inadvertently prepared me for this.

And I did it! A million tiny binding stitches, both front and back, to keep my pocket strong.

To say I am proud would be a profound understatement.

Now I have a little crafting friend, to hold scissors or thread or a ball of sock yarn while I work on a project and flit about the house. And it has a literal dumpster fire on it. It’s perfection.

I promise I’ll get back to the machine eventually. And the knitting needles. (Psst, I already did and this is just silly storytelling cliffhanger stuff. But you know that already.)

I feel like I can honestly now say that I am no longer terrified of my sewing machine…the Blue Daisy Apron

I only have a completely normal, healthy level of completely understandable apprehension now, guys! Yay for me!

So I made an apron! And you guys, I am so proud of this dang thing. This is the first thing I’ve sewn that has notions involved.

Notions! (Tiny snaps also involved but not pictured because…I forgot.)

And drafting an actual pattern! On real paper!

Are we tired of exclamation points yet?!

If you’re completely new to the sewing process, please take this tip from me (And I’m pretty sure from Bernadette Banner and Morgan Donner, who I’m 95% sure I stole this from): get yourself a giant cheap roll of wrapping paper with the 1″ grid lines on the back. That way, you don’t need to measure out perfect straight lines or right angles, you just need to be able to count squares. It’s amazing.

I think part of my problem with sewing has been that, unlike knitting, you can’t often jump right into a project once you have your materials (we don’t count the process of making a swatch here, because at least that’s still knitting). You have to do a fair amount of prep work, like washing, drying, and ironing your fabric to make sure it doesn’t warp. And cutting out your paper pieces. And then, somehow (!) having to iron everything again approximately 1000 times over and over again during the whole process. It is a truly disturbing amount of ironing.

I was so determined to get this damn thing right and be patient, so I followed every instruction to the letter. Pattern is the Cook’s Apron from the Liberty Book of Home Sewing, if you’re so inclined. (Apologies for the Am*z*n link, I couldn’t find it on B&N.)

I dutifully measured and pinned and ironed everything to within an inch of my sanity, and do you know what I discovered?

It makes the damn sewing so much freaking easier.

For years (years!), I have sat and wondered why I had such a hard time with sewing. I wondered why I couldn’t hold things in place properly, why my hands and fingers seemed like they weren’t long enough or smart enough to do this, why it seemed so easy for other people? Turns out, people who sew have eleventy-billion tools to help them with the damn sewing for a reason! Who knew?

Now, this is devolving into just a bunch of pictures of things with pins in them and then stitched together no longer with pins in them, but that is mostly because I don’t really have the vocabulary to describe the process here. I’m sure it is super simple for people who know what they’re doing, but for me it felt like a miracle. To make things short and sweet (like me!), you basically are just putting borders onto the sides of a basic apron shape, folding them over and stitching them down almost like the facing to an edge, but doing it backwards, so you end up with these lovely long lines of border with no raw edges anywhere.

I think my very favorite part is that I had the thread loaded the wrong way in the machine, so that the bobbin thread and top thread ended up contrasting with my colors, but I liked the way it looked so much that I left it that way. I really like seeing the stitch lines on the inside, almost like the contrast stitching on denim.

There’s an adjustable D-ring set for the neck tie.

There’s cute beveled edges on the waist ties.

Then, the pièce de résistance:

There’s a little “hand-wiper” towel thing that you can snap on and snap off!

Look at it! In action! With cookie scooping! In progress!

It’s earned a hallowed place alongside my other aprons, for sure. Now, the fabrics I used aren’t super heavy-duty. The pattern calls for twill, which is what my other sturdy workhorse apron is made out of, but I was only able to get plainer thick cotton for this. It’ll be fine for baking and other lighter-type floury things, which is what I’m usually doing anyway. Then I can save my meaty strong apron for things with grease and meat and stuff.

I mean, look how dang happy it makes me. Or maybe it was the cookies. Who knows?

I promise we’ll be back to our regularly-scheduled knitting content soon, but I just had to be excited for a second. I even have a second apron planned, this one with a (gasp) ruffle involved. I know, I know. Gotta dream big.

And now for something completely different: My First Circle Skirt Adventure

Careful readers may notice that I did not do my traditional yearly round-up post at the end of 2021. The reasons for this are many, but heavily due to the fact that I felt like last year was just a huge pile of crap for me, creativity-wise. Yes, I made a beautiful blanket that I was very proud of, plus some other very lovely things, but most of the time I just felt very lost and aimless. Luckily, Dan swooped in to help save the day, at least a little bit.

In the fall of 2020, Dan and I fixed up a craft room in our house for our various crafting projects, and one of the only things we were unable to achieve was the rehabilitation of my grandmother’s sewing machine from the 1960s. We tried multiple methods to get out that final stripped screw, but nothing has helped yet. So, for Christmas this year, Dan bought me a new sewing machine to cure my heartbreak.

So, of course, I had to jump in right away! I have very little sewing experience, especially with machine sewing, so I picked a project that I figured would be fairly simple, a circle skirt.

I used the very handy Circle Skirt Calculator at Mood Fabrics to get my general measurements, picked out some very pretty stretchy knit fabric at JoAnn’s, and got going. After at least a week of staring at the machine and fabric alternately and being terrified to start, that is.

The thing is, I am fairly afraid of sewing machines. Just in general. They are always trying to grab you and pull you into their pointy stabby bits. It’s like their favorite thing to do.

I mean, it looks so innocent, but it is very pointy and grabby and stabby, I promise.

However, with this new machine, I was determined to play nice and make it my friend. I did lots of practice on scrap fabric, practicing threading the machine, winding and threading the bobbin, and getting the thread tension right. I realized that I could adjust the speed and the thread tension so that I wasn’t freaking terrified of the damn thing.

Too bad there were only two machine-sewn seams in the whole skirt. (Don’t worry! I more than made up for this with my next project.)

As those of you who are much better sewists than me, or just have more common sense than I do, know, for a circle skirt, you basically use your waist measurement to cut out a circle of fabric for the skirt, then add a waistband. There really isn’t much to it, but I made sure to make it as slow and complicated as possible, as is my wont.

I took about an inch out the skirt when it looked like it was stretching way too much (which was a mistake, I really should have left it in and will do in the future, because the waistband is much less stretchy than the circle opening, which is cut on the bias), then after machine-stitching the skirt together and the waistband on, I whip-stitched the waistband facing down by hand.

And the very tiny rolled hem, which took ages to do.

I have to say, though, it might be my very favorite part because it came out perfect.

I really love the fabric, too. It reminds me of when people make sunprints by laying flowers and leaves down on photographic paper.

So pretty!

This is the only picture I have where the wind isn’t trying to blow me and my hair and the skirt all over the place, because last weekend was extremely windy just for spite.

See? Hair everywhere, but skirt lookin’ cute.

Wind again, but still adorable.

And here’s me demonstrating the best part of a circle skirt:  twirlability.

You feel like a poodle skirt fairy princess, even when the wind is trying to take you down.

We even got some cute little rainbows on it on the drive home, courtesy of the little crystal bunny that lives on my rearview mirror in my car. Overall, just a charming experience. Yes, it’s a little bit too small, but I learned so much even with making something so simple, plus overcame so much sewing-machine-based fear. I may have bought three more stretch knit fabrics this weekend to indulge myself, so stay tuned for more twirly goodness.

Thankful for Pie – Inevitable 2020 Bright-Side Edition

Well, we knew we’d be here soon, right? Trying to find the bright side of this utter garbage situation of a year?

I’ll be honest, I didn’t have high hopes going through my photos this year, thinking that there wasn’t going to be much for my to post. But, as usual, my inner grump was definitely overshadowing the brighter bits. And one of the brighter bits this year…as always…was pie.

I mean, could we even have doubted it?

Just baked goods in general, really.

There is no way that I am not honest enough with myself to admit that baking and cooking were a large part of my ability to make it through this year.

Because when everything seems completely out of your control, doing something, however small, that makes you feel slightly productive and useful and moderately talented? Well, that’s the best feeling you could hope for.

So, along with our own gardening, and a little assist from our favorite farm at Grow Dat, Dan and I scraped together the trappings of a normal life for ourselves when we could.

I even baked cookies and Express-mailed them to my best friend in California. Like you do.

We listened to so much vinyl, and mourned lost heroes.

We ate lots of dinners outside.

We grew flowers.

And obscenely large zucchini.

We played catch and watched a lot of sunsets.

We cooked more than we ever have before.

We puzzled.

We loved up on our precious cat babies.

And each other.

We wore masks. (Courtesy of the always amazing Carlaesthetics.)

We made friends.

I started myself on a minor stationery and fountain pen obsession.

I learned how to can, and started pickling nearly everything in sight.

Throughout all of this cooking and baking and canning and loving each other nonsense, there were two other things that I did. Number one?

I graduated with my Doctorate of Nursing Practice Degree, successfully defending my scholarly project on Zoom. I’ve also since presented my DNP project at two separate local nursing conferences, and I was accepted to do a poster presentation at the Society of Pediatric Nurses at their annual conference in April.

After graduating, I studied my ass off for one last time.

And I passed my AANP FNP exam with room to spare.

I’ve been working as an NP in a school-based clinic system since the end of October, so my days look a little bit more like this now. COVID testing has become a major life skill.

The other main storyline, you ask?

KNITTING.

Just kidding! I didn’t make these, but I did buy the pattern book because it was only $1.50, and it is GLORIOUS.

This has been, hands-down, the most productive knitting year of my entire life, and instead of analyzing the reasons for that too hard (depression, pandemic, unemployment, blah blah blah), let’s just revel in the good shit, yes? The Stacy Pullover, which I recently got a chance to wear for the first time around Christmas, and it was just as perfect as it could be.

Then came the Sockpocalypse! Here’s all ten pairs, right in a row: Waving Lace Socks.

Go with the Flow Socks.

Hot Tiki Flamingo Ribs (arguably the ones with the best name).

Shadow Braid Socks.

Mountain Retro Ribs.

Yarn Chicken Pomatomus (definitely the knitterliest, and the ones with the best story).

Mirkwood Socks.

Raspberry Latte Lace.

Earthbound (my first ever foray into toe-up sock knitting!).

And finally, the Finale Helix Socks.

And because my friends are some of the very best people in the world, I got sent back a lot of love and very sweet presents from Sockpocalypse recipients. I choose to interpret these as hugs from far away, and they definitely kept me going when seeing my friends was simply not an option.

But wait, the knitting’s not over yet! I finally finished up some long-forgotten UFOs from the past. The Scotland Silk Felt Scarf.

And the 776-Weekend Lace-Edge Pillowcases, which had eluded me for 12 and 15 years respectively.

I fixed a lot of things that needed fixing.

I stress-knitted a beret because a hurricane — actually, many hurricanes were coming.

I made myself the craft room of my dreams and tried to inhabit, however ineptly, my grandmother’s shadow.

I made the most adorable sweater and panda set for the best baby around.

And because I wasn’t nearly satisfied enough with the Sockpocalypse, apparently, I made SEVEN MORE PAIRS pairs of socks and slippers.

Because I am a maniac. (Honeycomb Socks and Holiday Family Mukluks, of course.)

I am being absolutely serious when I say that knitting saved my life this year. Whenever I felt like a completely useless human, which was pretty much always, I could at least tell myself that I was always making something. Maybe not the most important thing or the most beautiful thing, but I was making something that would be able to bring just a little bit of light and happiness and warmth into someone else’s life. And although those contributions were small, they made me feel like I had a purpose when I was adrift.

I’m not going to pretend that I don’t still feel that way. Even though school is done and I found a job, and I’m making my tiny mark in helping people during this utterly shit situation, I still feel empty and rudderless most of the time. I think that after so much death and loss of hope, it’s only normal to feel numb, isn’t it?

But, with that sentiment comes the very true and honest wish that I have that we will all take this time to build a new year for ourselves that’s filled with a little more kindness, a little more insight, a little more responsibility to each other. A little more light-bringing and a little less selfishness. And a whole lot more knitting.

The Craft Room

In August, Dan and I decided to tackle a project that has lingered for years undone in this house, mostly because of various nursing school insanity, but also because of general laziness and a fear of the sadness surrounding the task that I wasn’t really ready for.

My grandmother died five years ago of Alzheimer’s. This August, without realizing it was the 5-year anniversary of her death, Dan and I decided that we needed to finally get to work cleaning up this beautiful Singer sewing machine that was left for me and going through all of the treasures left inside her desk.

First, the drawers!

There was so much stuff in here. It just seemed never-ending.

Thread in every color imaginable.

Including this beautiful stuff, which it looks like she never got to use, that I’m going to have to save for something special.

So many little treasures. I’ve been wanting to really learn how to sew, like really learn for a long time, and going through all of these tiny useful items that she used to use every day really touched something inside of me. Especially when I found things that were obviously deeply personal.

A tiny plastic canvas pouch made for my grandfather in 1976, which was never used, but obviously made with love.

A box of cough drops from Indonesia (she loved to travel), filled with…

…sewing machine feet! Which reminded me of my own little candy tin…

…filled with knitting notions.

And the notes!

She was doodling quilt blocks and pattern ideas up until she couldn’t anymore.

It was really wonderful seeing how she kept all of the measurements of our family’s bed sizes (and somehow skirt and pant sizes) so that she could make us something whenever we needed it.

And seeing her write my mother’s name with their nearly-identical handwriting… I wish I wrote like them.

She kept amazing care of her sewing machine, too. On the backs of these business cards shows the dates and prices for all of the regular maintenance that she had done, every two years like clockwork, since she bought it in 1969.

Now here’s where the real heartbreak comes in.

As far as I know, my grandmother hadn’t really used her machine much in the ten-ish years before she died, and Hurricane Katrina had dumped a significant amount of rain that flooded their house back in 2005, so this lovely old thing had been exposed to a whole lot of humidity and then seriously neglected for at least 15 years.

With a lot of older sewing machines, this wouldn’t have been a problem. However, during the 1960s, Singer came up with the Touch ‘n’ Sew machine, which certainly seemed innovative at the time.

In the place of a plain zig-zag stitch function, it has these plastic pattern wheels that you can drop into the top of the machine to make all of these very cool decorative stitches.

I was super excited to try them out and see what kind of cool stitches the machine could do. But, when I threaded everything up (with some assistance from the extremely helpful Singer site where you can download original manuals and look up serial numbers to find your exact machine and year of manufacture), the bobbin wouldn’t move. I tried every setting, tried hand-turning the needle, and nothing.

Turns out that when Singer had the genius idea to make the replaceable decorative pattern wheels out of plastic…

…they decided to make all of the gears out of plastic, too.

Plastic that, over the years and the extreme temperature shifts, had nearly completely rotted away. When I took the bottom off of the machine to try to diagnosis the problem, a pile of black plastic gear teeth fell out into my hands and all over the floor. Singer themselves admit that the company did this to save on manufacturing costs at the time, but it still boggles the mind that you’d replace the most important part of the goddamn machine with plastic. Right?

Even the freaking bobbins are made of plastic. Whyyyyyy?

Luckily, there are companies that make replacement gears for these old silly machines, so I was able to order some and attempt to fix it myself.

Or maybe just have a good excuse to wear a headlamp in my own house.

I bought all of the impossibly tiny tools and got to work. And everything was going fine until I got to the very last screw to take out the very last gear, which would allow a bar to be removed so that every gear shaft could be disassembled, cleaned, and replaced. And that very last screw…is stripped.

This is the moment where I finally cried.

I had been working on this goddamn thing for weeks, carefully researching the machine and all of the parts and instructions I’d need, buying the exact perfect tools and the special repair guide, and oiling and cleaning every part during each step, being so careful to keep each tiny screw and plate and spring and gear organized. And this happens. The last piece just destroyed me.

I sat on the floor and cried over my grandmother and how she never got to use her talents during the last years of her life, how she’d forgotten that she even had them. I cried about how the stupid fucking pandemic robbed me of my last year of grad school, of presenting my scholarly project in-person, and of walking across the stage in the proper doctoral regalia that I worked my ass off for. I cried about how finding an NP job seemed impossible since no one was hiring. And I cried because the stupid fucking machine was so broken that it couldn’t be fixed.

And then I got up off the floor, carefully put all of the pieces to the side, and decided that I just had to make do with what I had left of her, even if I couldn’t learn to sew with her machine.

I cleaned and trimmed up and organized all of the thread.

I sorted out all of her sewing notions and combined them with my own tools, making the drawers usable again.

I took the best parts of what she had left me and combined them with what I had to work with.

And I made myself a craft room.

It may not look like much, but I see her everywhere in it.

(It doesn’t hurt that that’s her couch, too.)

More than anything, it just really helped to finally have a home for all of these crafty supplies and things that had been spread out over multiple rooms and acquired over many, many years.

It helped bring a sense of order to the chaos of this horrible year.

And I’m not the only fan, it seems.

I spend an awful lot of time in there now, and so does the broken sewing machine, sitting in the corner until I can figure out what to do. I think we’ll figure it out eventually, together.

———-

Bonus content that didn’t fit into my tidy little narrative:

Did you guys know that Fruit of the Loom used to make sewing notions?

I had no idea.

And what the heck is this?

And this? Please someone help me because right now I can only think medieval torture device.

Trip in a sunbeam.

And lastly, a wonderful lap/wall-hanging quilt made by my grandmother. Aren’t you glad you stayed for the bonus content?

My Grandmother Made Things

Grandma Winnie made quilts, mostly, and when I was a kid, it was very rare to see her sitting down without an unfinished quilt in her lap. She would hum a never-ending sort of rambling melody to herself, completely unaware that she was doing it, as she held onto the embroidery hoop and made countless tiny stitches by hand. She had a room in her house totally dedicated to her quilting and sewing, with shelves of meticulously organized fabrics, arranged by color and texture. She had a closet full of patterns, templates, and stencils, because she believed that if something was worth doing, it was worth doing it by hand. She made my mother’s wedding dress. And all of the bridesmaids’ dresses. And innumerable baby blankets, bonnets, booties, Christmas stockings, tree ornaments, flower pots, ceramic figurines, pies, cakes…you get the idea. If there was something happening in your life, no matter how small, she had something that she had made at the ready to commemorate the occasion.

She passed away last Tuesday, a few days shy of her 94th birthday, after a long battle with Alzheimer’s Disease.

Her strength was in her determination to live a simple life that was filled with things she loved. She married my grandfather right before he left to go fight on a battleship in World War II. She gave birth to my mom, Diane, while he was still out to sea, and had to wait for him to come back from across the world to meet his first child.

She was an effortless hostess, working hard behind the scenes and never even thinking to complain about the fact that she had yet to sit down while everyone else was already having their second helping of Christmas dinner. She collected porcelain dolls and romance novels. She grew mirlitons and figs in her backyard, and she loved to travel.

When I was a little girl, I was inundated with pink things. Pink stuffed animals, pink clothes, pink hair accessories, pink everywhere. By age 12, I was sick of it, even the beautiful Cheer Bear quilt that Grandma Winnie had made me for my 5th birthday. I wish that I could find a picture of this glorious quilt where it wasn’t completely obscured by stuffed animals, but trust me when I say it was super cool.

Here.

Just imagine this adorable bear surrounded by diamonds in every conceivable shade of pink. Cute, right? I know.

Anyway, I railed against the tyranny of pink in a big way. Even though I was a spoiled ungrateful child who had absolutely no idea how long it took to make a full-sized quilt for a double bed, she listened. She sat me down at her house with a huge pile of quilting magazines, and we went through them together for hours, picking out just the right pattern with exactly the right fabrics for my new, grown-up, pink-hating self.

She stitched down every single flower and kitten by hand with blanket stitches of love. And I returned the favor by laying on top of that quilt and doing my homework every single day until all of those stitches wore out, and the appliques were peeling off. And then she did it again, fixing every piece and mending the holes with embroidered hearts. She knew that these things that she spent the time and effort to make were meant to be loved and enjoyed. They were useful objects that had no place hanging on a wall or being folded up on a shelf somewhere. If it fell apart, she could fix it or make you a new one. That was what she loved best.

She was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease several years ago, and at first she was just forgetful. She would misplace things and forget about the fact that she had already made dinner that night. When my grandfather passed away, it wasn’t the sudden downward slide into dementia that people were expecting, more like a slow fading away of the parts of her personality that were uniquely hers. She didn’t make things anymore. She forgot that she even knew how to do so.

The moment that most broke my heart was when I once went to visit her in her assisted-living facility when I had just started nursing school. She sat down on her bed to look at the crossword puzzle books that I had handed her and started absent-mindedly patting the crocheted throw on the bed next to her. I complimented the blanket, saying that it was very pretty (a very cool, seventies sort of retro zig-zaggy thing in shades of red and gray), and she smiled and said, “Oh, thank you. I don’t even remember where I got it.”

I said, “You made it.”

Her eyes got wide as she looked at me, and looked back at her blanket. “I did?”

I nodded. She said, “Well, I don’t know how to do stuff like that.” And then she traced the outlines of the ridges with her fingers. “I used to, I guess.”

I wanted to cry and give her a hug, but I decided against it because she wasn’t really sure who I was. She could tell that she was supposed to know me, but had decided that I probably worked there, given the fact that I was wearing scrubs at the time. Instead, I went and cried in my car after I left.

She was the one who had taught me how to crochet. She taught me how to quilt, how to embroider, how to work a sewing machine even though it still terrifies me. How to be delighted in the small and the handmade. How to love bird-watching. How to do crosswords. Right now, my brain can’t even process what it would be like to forget how to do these things. These things that were such a large part of who she was. Of who I am now.

However, she never lost the core of herself to Alzheimer’s. She was, till the very end, unfailingly kind. She was always up for eating something delicious and watching everyone around her have a wonderful time.

She still graciously accepted gifts. She loved chocolate. She made an effort to smile at you and ask you how you were doing, even if she wasn’t totally sure she knew who you were. She didn’t understand why everyone wanted to take pictures with her and why she was so popular, but she smiled all the same.

She danced at my brother’s wedding reception, with all of the people who loved her most surrounding her and holding her up.

On that night, when I walked over to her sitting near the edge of the dance floor, I held my hands up at her in a boxing stance, like one of those boxing nun puppets, wheeling my hands around as I came towards her. She returned the gesture and punched me in the arm, and said that she’d knock me out. I used to do this to her in her kitchen all the time when I was in high school and had started to grow taller than her. My cousins and my brother and I all did, for some reason. She punched my arm on the dance floor, and I almost cried. And then we danced.

I can’t even deign to compare myself to this amazing woman, this woman who was full of nothing but patience and kindness and good advice. This woman that knew that most problems could be solved if you just talked them over with a glass of milk and some vanilla sandwich cookies. I couldn’t say that she was even the grandparent that I am most like, but she’s definitely the one that I most wanted to be. That I still want to be. I make things, too, and I put a part of myself into every stitch or recipe, just like anyone would, I suppose.

But when she made things, she made people happy. She made a beautiful life. May we all be so lucky.

Facing Some Fears

I have a bit of an embarrassing confession to make. I’m a little scared of my sewing machine.

Of sewing machines, in general, actually. I don’t know what it is about them. The pointy, stabby bits? The hidden machinery cranking away loudly? The speed and fact that it’s constantly pulling things into the pointy, stabby bits? Scary.

The beast itself. Notice the manual sitting right there? I’ve owned this machine for about 10 years, and I still need the manual in order to thread it and wind the bobbin properly. This is ridiculous.

I’m also kind of scared of my iron.

However, I’m in love with the way the act of ironing smells. And the legs of my grandmother’s old ironing board are a bit of a work of art.

Put these fears together, and you have to wonder why on earth I’d want to tempt fate and make something. I have a wonderful purse that I’ve had for years that used to get a huge amount of compliments. It is small and cute and originally meant to be a knitting bag, but got upgraded to my everyday bag (when I’m actually using a purse, that is, which is not terribly often due to the invention of pockets and my love of those little clamshell credit card wallets). However, due to my overwhelming love for this object and the fact that it is only made of cloth, it has started falling apart, particularly at the handles. This does not elict compliments.

I had a ton of fabric for a Halloween costume that never happened sitting around, plus a copy of Bend the Rules Sewing by the fabulous Amy Karol, or angry chicken, as I tend to think of her. I bought the book forever ago (probably around the same time that I moronically thought I’d be sewing a Halloween costume for myself in one weekend).  More recently, I’ve been thinking about taking the plunge and putting all of these things together into a handmade creation and decided to finally use my day off and make something of myself. School and my new job have made me forget that I am a crafty person, so I jumped right in.

Meaning, I took several days to write ‘make purse’ on a to-do list and didn’t do it until today.  And that the whole thing took me about 3 hours, if we’re counting prep work, trying to find the stupid bottle-thing that helps you fill your iron with water, re-learning how to thread the machine, reordering my Hulu queue, checking Facebook a few times, taking a few deep breaths, and then just going for it.

First, we face the iron and the intimidation of interfacing.

Which turned out to not be so scary when you actually follow the instructions.

Although still a little nerve-wracking in the clutch. Part of what I’ve gotten used to with knitting and crochet is the fact that any mistake can be unwound and fixed relatively quickly. With sewing, there is cutting and stitching, and everything is just that more permanent.  And really, really hot.

I persevered, though. I glued some stuff to some other stuff with my iron. I was quite proud.

Then I cut out all the rest of the fabric. Again, experienced some anxiety during this process, but with my handy drafting triangle by my side, I felt a little more comfortable. But then I had to turn some ends under and press them, an activity that has always made me extremely nervous. As I type these words, I realize how stupid it is to be so intimidated by inanimate objects, but these are the facts.

Again, we have success. Also, renewed determination in the idea that I should probably make this ironing board a new cover.

Then, I sat myself down and faced my demons. Or just a tiny needle with variable speed control. And I sewed.

And then sewed some more.

And I got the miracle of a pocket! And after that, I realized that maybe I might be pretty good at this. Maybe I’m tapping into a hidden talent. Maybe it’s just like baking where all I need to do is enjoy the process and follow the directions in order to make something great.

And then I make a huge mistake and sew the outer pieces together stacked on top of each other rather than with right sides facing. In true Jinger-fashion, I got cocky about my perceived skill in something and then quickly got slapped down back into my place by the crafting gods.

Keep in mind that I am also using a relatively tiny stitch length in order to keep the sewing machine from going too fast and eating my fingers because sometimes they do that in my fantasy world. I spend the next 20 minutes or so getting well-acquainted with my seam ripper.

I persevere again, despite my flailings and the crappy light that the sewing machine floods into my pictures.

And then something happens. Suddenly, I’m finished. And it doesn’t look terrible.

It actually looks pretty awesome.

And it has a pocket!

It holds things in it, just like a purse. It is a purse. I made a purse!

And then had cold homemade vegetable pizza to celebrate.

It didn’t take me long to put all my stuff in it, which is probably just too much stuff, but I was excited. I can’t wait to use it. I’m also excited to try sewing other stuff, but I better keep my seam ripper nearby, just in case the crafting gods decide to teach me another lesson, which is highly likely.