Sewing memory
About a month ago, Brenda Dayne, of Cast-On:A Podcast for Knitters had a wonderful essay about knitting memory. I had a fleeting moment of thinking this might be about stretchy yarn, but Brenda didn’t disappoint. She talked about the memories that come when she knits–whether it’s what she was doing the last time she picked up the piece or the memories of the person who taught her to knit–the connectedness she feels as she creates. [Note: This doesn't begin to do justice to Brenda's elegant essay on the creative process and memories. Be sure to listen to it for yourself on her website.]
Today I was sewing and, as usual, my mind went to my mother and her old Sears sewing machine in the back bedroom in our house after we moved to the “big house” (not that big house–just one that more than doubled the 800 sq. footer we’d been living in). My mom and I didn’t get along all that well–what a surprise. Her trying to teach me wasn’t a smooth process–she came from a father who drilled holes in wood before he drove in nails, and I thought I already knew everything and certainly didn’t need her perfectionistic approach. Anyway, I thought I wanted to learn to sew and I proposed starting on doll clothes. She said doll clothes were too small and too hard so she thought I should start on an apron. An apron?!! Looking back on it, that’s probably her first sewing project in home ec in the late 1940s. I turned my nose up at taking home-ec–after all, I could already cook better than my mom and she could teach me to sew. Besides, it wasn’t quite cool to take home-ec, at least as far as I was concerned. But I still know how to gather a skirt and do a blind stitch and a hem stitch from that first project. Don’t know that I ever wore it. I also have an unfinished doll coat I “designed” in those beginner days–solid red on one side and reversible to red polka dots on white. Too small for any of my dolls, of course. So much for proving that point.
She learned to sew from her mother-in-law. She always said she was grateful for the teaching. My grandmother was an excellent seamstress–she bought good fabric and made beautifully tailored clothes–everything from her housedresses to her winter coats to her Sunday best as well as some of her hats and belts. I remember accompanying her on a couple of shopping trips to Amarillo, the big “city,” to shop for accessories–hats and jewelry, as I recall. I don’t remember seeing her wear any shoes other than her black tie-up, mid-heel oxfords, so I don’t think we shopped for shoes. I had no sense of style then–it was the 1960’s, man–what did I know?
My mom went with my grandmother to what was called Home Demonstration Club. They met in the member’s homes and I can remember being served some pretty yummy food. It was sort of like home-ec for grownups, I guess. They would sing the Texas state song (”largest and grandest” in those days), say the pledge to both the US and the Texas flags and probably called the roll. I just remember going into immaculate living rooms that had the shades drawn against the summer heat and listening to the “lesson.” It was usually a lesson on a particular sewing technique or some updated cooking method–I remember Mom and I trying out the hobo-meals one day after a club meeting–and then there was the time we used ham and pineapple rather than hamburger and potatoes. It was pretty good, as I recall, and a welcome change of pace from all the beef we ate.
Anyway, when I sew, I think about those two women. Memories of garments my mom made me through the years float through my mind–I remember opening a box when I was at college and pulling out a wonderful blue and green dress–even the buttons were blue with smaller green ones set inside. I loved that dress. Of course, it was double-knit–no more ravelly seams or dry cleaning or ironing. It’s probably still extant in a land fill somewhere. But I think of my sewing as a way to connect with those women–my maternal grandmother sewed a little but her skills weren’t up to those of my mom and my grandmother. It was a very proud moment one day when, as an adult, I asked my mom to sew something for me and she said, “Oh, honey, you sew better than I do now.” She may have just been trying to wriggle out of making whatever it was I wanted at the time, but I still like to replay that one.
She graduated to a much better sewing machine–I think she actually bought her Bernina after I did. I was married and we were moving, and I took out the $800 some dollars that were in my teacher retirement account and bought myself a Bernina based on the recommendation of a woman in our church. (It was probably a much better investment than leaving the money in that still struggling system.) I loved it from the beginning and I still have that machine. When my mom died, I wanted her machine for sentimental reasons, but that would have made 3 for me and that seemed a little excessive. My niece has it and I hope she gets to participate in the memory chain of the women in her life who have sewed–Mom certainly made her lots of clothes on that machine. And when my dad’s sister told my mom I couldn’t have my grandmother’s machine because I already had one, it really left a void for me. That was the one I really wanted–it might have had a motor on it, but the treadle was still there. The bobbin cases were smaller than a pencil and only about 1/4 as long. I didn’t want that machine to sew on, though I’m sure it still worked perfectly–as I said, my grandmother had cranked out some gorgeous garments on it–it was just the thought that this had been such a part of her life, and through my mother, one of her 6 daughters-in-law, part of mine. I did get a quilt top and I have her sleeve board. Oh, well. When my mom died about 8 years ago, it was a needle and a spool of thread that my dad chose to add to her side of the monument as an homage to that important part of her life.
So what am I to make of the fact that the garment I’ve been working on for a couple of weeks now doesn’t even come close to fitting? crap! [see doll coat above]
