My mother made me a new green plaid dress when I was in fourth grade, and it hung in the closet ready for me to wear to school the next day. Although green isn't my favorite color, I was excited to have something new to wear. But when I went to the closet to look at it one more time, I was devastated. My little sister had gotten the scissors and cut off one of the tie belts.
Mom was pregnant with her fifth child, and my youngest sister wasn't happy about another baby. She continually found ways to show her unhappiness, and my dress was one of them. But mom fixed it without much trouble, and I wore the new dress.
Sewing has been a part of my life ever since I can remember. My grandmother sewed quilt pieces together on an old treadle sewing machine, and my mother used one to sew for her five girls. When I got to high school and took a sewing class, I began my own experiences with the craft, but it was a struggle.
It was almost the last day of school, and I had to finish the dress I was making for class. It was especially important because my friend and I were making dresses just alike to wear the last day. Of all choices to make for a first dress project, my friend and I had chosen dresses with a sailor collar, edged with white braid.
We lived in the country, my dad trying to build a house for our large family. We were living in one large room, with a separate add-on where the kids slept in bunk beds. The old treadle sewing machine sat in one corner of the room, and my parents slept in another corner. It was getting late, and I was still trying to finish the dress. My parents already had gone to bed, but my frustration, tears, and ugly comments about the braid and the collar were keeping them awake. Finally, my dad had heard enough.
Betty, would you get up and help that kid so I can get some sleep!
It wasn't so much a question as it was a plea and a command. My mom got out of bed, straightened out the problem, and we finished the thing to wear on the last day of school. I hated that dress.
My sewing career lagged until I was married and I decided to try again. I would sew, rip, sew again, cuss, and threaten to throw what I was making in the trash. But not one to give up easily, I finally began to master it. By the time my girls were little, I regularly made them pretty outfits, and kept myself dressed as well. I even sewed for my boys, and took a stab at altering a few things for friends. Eventually, I became a fabric-oholic and one of those people who would cut something out and finish it the same day so I could wear it the next.
The time came for my oldest daughter to get married, and I was going to make her wedding dress. It was going to be beautiful, but fairly simple except for the mass of ruffles at the bottom. I cut it all out, and had started working on the bodice when vacation time arrived. My daughter was horrified when my husband and I along with another couple, decided to take a motorcycle trip to Mexico.
Mom, what are you going to do about my dress? she cried. You can't leave it like that!
I tried to reassure her that we would be back in plenty of time to finish the dress, and the wedding cake. She was a nervous wreck, but we drove away, glad to get away for a few days. Now I can see how cruel it must have seemed. But we got back, and the dress and the wedding cake were finished in time for the wedding.
These days, I don't sew much. I got sidetracked going to college, and then working. But now I have grandkids, and sometimes I get out the old machine I bought 35 years ago with the money I made selling Tupperware, and whip up something for one of those cute little girls. I just go dig out some of that fabric I stored up, and start sewing.