My mother is a great seamstress. A perfectionist at her skill. She has been sewing since the time I was born. Now, I am absolutely positive it was when I was born because before that, there simply wasn't any reason to sew. (Never mind that I have two older siblings, life didn't really begin until there was me.)
Besides the sounds of John Denver, Peter Paul and Mary, and the Carpenters creating the background music of my childhood memories. You could often hear the sewing machine. Usually late into the night, because that is the only time to sew when you have a house full of children. The sound, of course, was more abundant around Halloween, Christmas, and Easter. Let's not forget those matching 4th of July outfits too.
I use to hang at the feet of my mom while she sewed, careful not to get pinched by the foot pedal of her machine, to catch the scraps that she was going to throw away. Because with a needle and thread I could turn them into the most priceless, one of a kind, piece of crap. And I would dress my barbies and troll dolls in these pieces of crap that I created. A future Etsy entrepreneur in the making.
Around the time I reached a girl's most awkward years, I learned how to use my mother's sewing machine. It was magical. It felt like I was an under-aged driver at the wheel of a 1970's White mechanical stitching genius. And I could now create more pieces of precious fashion in less time.
I must have been driving a little too recklessly with someone else's property, that or I was a sewing machine hog, because when I was in 8th grade I received my own new sewing machine. (Insert Hallelujah Chorus here) I have been using and abusing it ever since. I only use the term abusing since I have yet to have it serviced since becoming the owner.
Over the years I have carried on the traditions of sewing Halloween costumes and Christmas stockings. I even created my own "style" of clothing in my late teen years. Piecing together off-centered quilts and decorating my house with the latest interior designs disasters, I have formed a strong and healthy relationship with that amazing hunk of metal. I love it. I love to sew.
Anyways, I have been needing a new book bag. And today I finally had some time to put one together.
I had a sewing teacher who told me I need to make my work pretty on the inside as well as the outside. It's one of the qualities of a good seamstress. My book bag would make my sewing teacher proud. I have to admit, I don't always accomplish the pretty looking insides. I get lazy in my sewing sometimes. And I don't like following a pattern either. I have learned the hard way over and over again, your arms won't comfortably fit into a guess-timated, eyeballed cut sleeve unless you use a pattern.
Today was a great day for sewing because book bags don't need a pattern.
