In the middle of a challenging, hot, interminable summer, my sister Shelley came to visit. She stayed for three weeks- took me to the pool, made me smoothies, watched bad TV with me, and cooked us big pans of pasta primavera. From Virginia, my youngest sister Melissa sent me gifts, cards of sad, perfect dogs wearing t-shirts, and long, rambling letters. If I had ever needed the house that sisters built, this was the year.
I was at loose ends- summer in Austin, as you may well know, is HOT. I was lacking some important things, like hair, and a job, and one day Shelley looked at me and said, in a way only she could- "Dude, you need a hobby. Seriously. How about sewing?"
I've enjoyed other pursuits in the past, like photography, singing, and playing guitar. As it turned out, watching Netflix every day and weeping is not actually considered a hobby, so I took her advice to heart.
She took me to a hip fabric store on South First street, where I bought a small stack of fat quarters, some buttons, the requisite needle and thread, and got to work. First I made a stuffed animal cat, for my little friend William Wolfheart. (He loved Cat Cat- I recently made him Dog Dog so he could start a collection.)
Then I started sewing pouches, bright little square bags with snaps and embroidery thread sewn up the sides. Maybe I make that sound cooler then it was- they were VERY simple.
When my Mom joined us in Texas she bought me a machine, a simple and very easy to use Janome, and then we were really off and sewing.
I started making bags, and slowly I moved to other square projects, like pillows and pillow cases, napkins, and finally, quilts.
I had never needed a hobby so much in my life. The beauty of sewing, of taking scraps and pieces of beautiful things, putting them together to create something new, was like meditating, or praying, or spinning straw into gold. As rapidly dividing cells were being destroyed throughout my body, I was focused on creating. It turned the dark, endless hours of uncertainty into something useful- time to build something new.
This fall I took two classes at the Singer Northwest Sewing Center, literally a block away from my house, and two doors down from an adorable fabric store called The Cloth Pocket.
My classes were peppered with the kinds of characters you cannot make up- the Vietnam Vet who asked me if I was a Mennonite because of my hat (I gave him a wide berth) my teacher Caroline, small and sassy, with a lisp and a passion for Renaissance Fairs, and my favorite student, Mac, a butch lesbian firefighter with a wicked sense of humor and a newborn baby daughter.
I come from a long line of seamstresses- both of my grandmothers, and my great grandmother, as it turns out, were brilliant and creative, though I sadly did not express interest in learning the craft while they were still with us.
Apparently I have the knack for it, and when I sew I stick the tip of my tongue out of the side of my mouth, just like Nanny always did. I remember the sound of the machine and the cool concrete floor of the basement, where Nanny would sew during the long hot Virginia summers. I remember Bubby, her small frame at the kitchen table, gray hair done up beautifully, sewing in our house when she would come to visit Seattle. She used to mend our towels- we still have some with wash clothes sewn over the holes, and they continue to live in the linen closet, decades later.
I wrote about my grandmothers in the previous post, and in reflecting on what they endured, it seems significant that during this difficult time I embarked on a creative journey that led me back to them.
Quilting feels similar to writing- you tell a narrative, without knowing exactly where it will go, but hopeful it will far outlive you, and serve as a way to share your heart with those close to you.
Now, when I talk on the phone to my Mom or sisters, as we run through the events of our day we also ask- did you make anything recently? We describe the square shaped projects we're sewing, imagine beautiful quilts we can make, and through the act of sewing, stitch ourselves closer together as a family.
So thank you, Shelley, for driving me to the fabric store on that hot July day. All the great journeys of our lives start once we've had the chance to dip our toes in the water.
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| Quilt I made for my parents. |
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| Bag party! |
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| Pillow Party! |
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| My first quilt, made in class with help from Teri :) |
