the magic of sewing
This evening I was working on my living room curtains, because being covered in threads seemed preferable to being covered in sawdust. I enjoy sewing because I find it relaxing, because I am frugal enough to appreciate how much money I can save making my own things, and because at the end I have a finished product that is tangible and generally useful. Even when my project ends up in the trash, I learn something in the process, and I am nerd enough to enjoy that aspect.
I also enjoy sewing because my sewing room is haunted with the memories of dozens of women who have contributed to my sewing skills and tools. My most used sewing machine is my grandmother’s and is identical to my mother’s, sparking memories of learning to sew from Mom and of watching my grandmother sew in her basement room. When I put away my serger, I naturally thought of Anita, who gave that machine to me when she moved into senior apartments. As I pressed seams flat, I was reminded of Anastasia who taught me the importance of the iron. That memory in turn triggered the remembrance of visiting my cousin in Detroit when my friends and I competed in the Golden Thimble in that city - Lisa pointed out that church during one of our forays last month. So many of the items in the room are inherited; so many of the skills I learned were taught by friends or family members. It could make sewing bittersweet, but it is not. Sewing reminds me of how blessed I have been and makes me feel closer to those people, even if they are no longer in my life. It turns out that all my ghosts, at least in this house, now, are beneficent.