All Sewn Up!

Last night I was cutting out the pieces of a jumper I am making for my trip in March. The sound of the shears bumping against the top of the table every time I closed them took me back to when I was a little kid, tucked in for the night, and my mother would be in the dining room, working on something for my sister, me, or herself.

We raised chickens at the time, and more than once I heard my mother tell my father to be sure to ask for matching feed sacks, and that it took three sacks to make a dress.

It's a little easier now. I have a very good sewing machine, and some of the fabric I have is a long way from being feedsacks. But I get a charge out of making a dress that is just for me, tailored to my figure quirks, colors that I like, rather than when someone who makes clothes for WalMart thinks is popular.