Tuesday, May 26, 2009

These hands used to sew

I was having to use some scissors to trim the edges on some briefs, and by the time I had completed one pair, my fingers and hands could no longer manage the scissors in any form or fashion, the left side now included, whereas before it has pirmarily been the right side.

It took me back to the many, many yards of fabric on which my hands had wielded these scissors. Dress after dress for Debbie; corduroy pants and a vest for Jimbo; one piece outfits for Robert,
made with French seams, adding little nylon shirts, which caught the eye of a small town retailer, often costing only $0.75 because of finding fabric on sale for $1/yd; knit shirts for Jimbo, one a blue background with Turkey in red all over it (he was born in Turkey); dresses unimaginable for Debbie, Holly Hobbie she is wearing with Nannie before the Christmas tree, checks and eyelet; endless dress after dress, skirts, everything imaginable for myself; curtains, tablecloths (harder than you would imagine), bedspreads) ..... these are to name just a few as visions have flewn by me as I've named these. It doesn't account for the things I've forgotten about.

I've sewn for others. It was suggested that I become a professional seamstress. No way! I'm too much a perfectionist for anything like that. I have taken items completely apart whenever they were not exactly right. The one dress I'm thinking of in particular I took apart three times before I got one section correct. Once completed though, I loved that dress whereas had I left it as it was, I would never have worn it because it would have been uncomfortable, and probably looked askew too. There is a picture of me wearing it while holding Debbie outside our house in Oklahoma where she was born.

Sewing was for sharing, for home-away-from-home-friendships, some along with a cup of tea. You just had to share your current project with other sewing friends, it was a bonding. Barbara, Janice, Sue, Dearyl.... to name a few at various places around the world at different times. It was much more than throwing two pieces of fabric together, joined beneath the threaded needle, and raced along with a swift stitch. straight or fancy. Barbara and I shared new discoveries in the 60s in Louisiana as I branched forth on my new Singer Touch 'n Sew. We met over the back fence with our problems, our successes and everything to reaching those ends. Michael and Jimbo trying to learn about being friends, and only child, and a youngest of three, both boys 3 years old, with Jimbo getting it in the nose with the bat one day. Michael was the stronger with two sisters to toughen him. Jimbo always the forgiver. A taste of the real world, but it grated on Daddy's nerves; this was his baby boy. :::big smile:::

Scissors. It all begins with a pair of scissors. A GOOD pair of scissors. My Gingher scissors. No one in their right mind would consider using these scissors, maybe my wedding rings, but NOT my scissors! Bought when we lived on base at Blytheville while taking my sewing with knit classes in Memphis (getting there on time was an experience in and of itself). I used Singer scissors before these. These cost me almost $30 at a time when $30 had to be budgeted for, not spent for a meal as it is today. They still find their home in their brown sheath, but not restricted to use on fabric only any longer, for if so, they'd never be used. I haven't seen a piece of fabric in more years than I can remember. Well, one of the last things is a dress for Debbie in which she had her school picture made one year, about the 5th or 6th grade I believe. I'll scan it. *I* don't think it looks too bad, but she probably will squawk at it. Hair cut was compliments of Mom, too. I'll double check it; if I find too bad, I'll try not to embarass her and not post it. Waiting for pain relief to be able to scan it.

So. These hands used to sew. That reality was brought sharply home to me the other day, and I must grieve that loss. It was a beautiful time in my life. It came to be out of necessity, but developed into a happy time of creativity, and release of my soul. The fabric and pattern departments became the first place I would go whenever I entered a dry goods store, admiring new fabric, and new pattern styles. Just writing this about the memories now stirs my soul within, bringing to mind more times than I could ever write about here.

These hands may not be able to sew any longer, but they have left me with beautiful memories, and now they must move on to make memories of another kind. I have gathered my art supplies around me to see if I can recapture my drawing ability as I have my graphic art work. The computer work is okay, but it is not the same as my heart applying pencil to paper the things I see within.

I am gathering photos around me and am going to begin scrapbooking. There is one that Jim found upstairs and brought to me with which I am going to begin. In the past, I have begun projects but gave out before I could finish them. This seems to be the plight of so many myasthenics. I am praying this will not be the case now. There are reasons that I think I might be more successful, and am anxious to make an attempt. So, if you are a prayer warrior, this is a specific you can pray for.

Thank you.

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