I haven't been sewing much, only because I've been busy doing other things. My sewing life is like that. It ebbs and flows with the tides of my life, but it never comes to an end. Life, and it's many pleasures and obligations, pulls at my time.
I did make these black pants. They are nothing fancy, although I did try Laura's suggestion to interface the entire hem, up past the hem allowance. I fused the interfacing to the bottom of the pants before any seams were sewn, then, after the side seams were sewn, I serged the hem allowance and hemmed them by catching just the interfacing. It has proven to be very swanky. I feel luxurious and well dressed.
I was thinking about some sewing memories, so I thought I share them.
My earliest sewing memory is from watching my mom sew. I was about six. I decided to make pants for my Barbie doll. I didn’t use a pattern but cut out what I thought would be pants, sewed them together, and tried to slip them on. They would not go on. As I sobbed, my mom said that I needed to add a crotch. I sobbed hysterically, since I was feeling that this was the worst thing that had ever happened to me, but I also remember thinking, "What is this crotch thing of which she speaks? I must learn about it." Forty years later, not much has really changed.
When I was thirteen, I had an appointment with my junior high guidance counselor to select my classes for high school. Part of the interview was about my interests. I said I sewed and that I had made the pants I was wearing. I still remember the incredulous look on his face. He asked me to stand up and turn around. They were denim overalls with pictures of candy bars. Who but a thirteen-year-old would pick that fabric? He asked where I got the buckles and how I attached the studs. It was the first time that an adult asked me about something I did as if I was a source of knowledge, not just to be tested on what I’d been taught.
My high school sewing teacher gave me a 100 on a project without checking it. She said she’d seen me working on it, and didn’t need to look at it to know it was my best work. After she graded it, she asked me to show it to her and tell her about it. It was a lesson I’ve never forgotten. I was a miserable high school student. She was the only teacher who taught a class I found worth taking in high school; she told me to go to college. She said that college was a completely different experience than high school, and because she knew me, she knew I’d love college. She was the only teacher who said that, and the only one who turned out right.
