It’s in my DNA
I come from a long line of women
devoted to fabric and needlecraft. Some
of my earliest memories are of my mom sitting at a small metal black Singer
sewing machine, her foot on the floor pedal and her hands pushing fabric along
under the needle. My grandmother seemed
to have an embroidery hoop attached to her lap and no daughter or granddaughter
married without a hope chest of beautifully embroidered cup towels, table
cloths, napkins and pillow cases.
Mother had a variety of white dainty
embroidered bridge cloths which were used to cover the Samsonite folding card
table when company was expected or her bridge friends gathered. On those occasions while the can of sweetened
condensed milk boiled on the stove to create
slices of caramel, she would carefully iron each table’s cloth and napkins and
place them carefully on the table so that the satin-stitched flowers were
visible.
My aunt, her sister, did the same and
they both created most of their own daughters’ wardrobes. Mom drew the line at coats and when I was 9
or 10, I remember my first trip into a store to buy a store-bought coat. For the most part I was very happy with what
Mother produced with one exception, the olive green challis dress with the
embroidered cross-stitched maroon border along the hem. I hated that dress with its puffed sleeves. I hated the icky color and the embroidery…I
felt much too old for that sort of thing and was sure I looked really stupid in
it, big for my age anyway. But I wore it
or rather, bore it and was delighted when I accidentally got a tear in the
bodice.
Both sisters loved fabric and since my
mom didn’t drive, they were thrilled when I got a driver’s license at 14 and
could deliver them to the grand opening of Gem fabric store in north Austin,
the first store in Austin to specialize in fabric and notions for sewing and
needlework. Previously fabric was only
available at Scarbrough and Yaring department stores downtown. They loved walking among the rows of bolts of
cloth standing on end, checking the prices and running attractive fabric
through their fingers testing its weight and feel.
In the days during and following World
War II, everyone sewed their own garments and by the time I got to junior high,
it was certain that I should sew. I sat
at pattern counters for hours with my mom trying to decide on the perfect dress
or blouse pattern. I grew three inches
between 6th and 7th grades which sent my mom into a
sewing frenzy. In 8th grade I
was 5’91/2” and signed up for home economics with Mrs. Desta Jefferies, a tiny
vivacious woman with sparkly brown eyes whom I grew to adore. My first garment was a cotton dress of two
shades of turquoise, pale for the sleeveless cowl-collared top and darker for
the circular skirt with an orange cummerbund.
I really loved the way it turned out and my mom was proud of me. She even took off work to come to the school
for the style show. I had my first pair
of low heeled white shoes to wear with it and my mom loaned me her garter belt
to hold up the thigh-high stockings…this was long before panty hose. The big day finally arrived and I was number
12 to cross the stage in front of an auditorium full of parents and
students. As I began my grand entrance,
I could feel my garter belt begin sliding toward my shoes. The only way I could keep it and my stockings
up was to spread my legs wider apart as I sashayed across the stage. My steps got wider and wider as I hurried
toward the other side of the stage. I
couldn’t wait to get to the restroom to take the darn thing off. Such was my introduction to hose. Is it any wonder that I hate panty hose?
I did learn to sew and for a lot of
years when I was married, I made most of my clothes but for my wedding my mom
made only my veil. My wedding dress was
actually bought under the guidance of Goodfriend’s bridal consultant. What a thrill it was to stand in front of the
mirror on the store’s second floor and turn slowly in clouds of white
lace. I felt like a princess as my mom
shelled out $125 for this gown which included the services of the consultant
who came to the church to direct the dressing of the bride and her bridesmaids
and send them down the aisle.
When I graduated from SMU, a wonderful
Singer machine was a graduation present from my in-laws and it cranked out
garments for me and for my children for years.
I loved appliquéing animals and trains on little jump suits and dresses. When the children were older, I made costumes
for the plays that they were in. The
pink and gray mouse costume hung around the house for years along with a pair
of gold lame harem pants for an Aladdin performance. As the children got into their teen years,
they refused the idea of “homemade” and went for name brands like their
peers. So the machine grew quiet with
just some occasional mending and repairs to zippers.
But when the first grandbaby was
coming along and I was working full time, I traded the old machine in for a new
fancy Bernina that would do all kinds of fun stitches. I cranked out blankets, crib sheets, burp
pads, and curtains and had so much fun doing it. I even began to sew a few things for me and
some curtains for our new home but that was about it for a long stretch.
Then I discovered fabric as a new art
form. I have used it on canvas collaged
into paintings; I have quilted drawings; I have printed photos on fabric; I
have painted and dyed fabric; I have glued paper to fabric; I have made a large
quilt in an abstract pattern; I have made fabric books; I stitch on paper. The love of all things fiber has turned into
a passion and once again I’m sewing and stitching with abandon. I even finally finished embroidering the baby
quilt I started 10 years ago for my last grandchild now as a gift to my first
great grandbaby. I still have the
Bernina and have been told to hang on to it by the dealer as it is one of the
last full metal models. As long as I
keep it clean and oiled, it should last me the rest of my life. Yay!
