The Results Are In!

I would like to thank all 81 of you who took the time to complete the children's pattern survey that I posted last week.  Anytime someone asks you to do something like this survey, it takes valuable "life minutes," and that does not escape me.  My philosophy of life is simple:  Life is a nonrenewable resource.  By responding to my survey, you honored me with the greatest of all contributions.  Having said that, let me also say that this was in no way a scientific or even highly accurately designed or analyzed survey instrument.  It was more one friend asking another's opinion.  The results that I want to share with you are just that--results.  I will make no effort to analyze what those results mean or what impact they may have on your consumerism.  Nor do the results in any way endorse any patternmaker's production decisions.  Each designer must ultimately decide how she wants to design, produce, and market her work.  I wanted your expert advice, and you graciously gave me that.  Again, thank you.
     The first question revealed what I had essentially decided on my own.  You advised me to take the Mary Claire dress up to a Size 6.  Like you, I feel the design might very well look inappropriate in any larger size.
     Question 2 asked about pattern printing, stacked (multi-size) vs. separate pattern pieces for each size.  You really like having separate pieces for each size.  In fact, the separate piece format beat stacked and no preference combined by about a third.  This really surprised me, as quite a few companies use the stacked format.  I even used it on the original versions of my patterns.  It is obviously cheaper to produce stacked.  I believe that I resolved in my mind the disconnect between your response to this question and the abundance of stacked patterns when I read the results to Question 7.  Stay tuned.
     Question 3 dealt with tissue color for patterns.  Well, you could not care less!  Overwhelmingly, you responded that the color of the tissue did not matter.  That will be good news to many patternmakers, as white tissue is more expensive.
     Question 4 asked you how you like to see the design represented on the cover of the pattern.  The results here were not so clear cut.  A clear line drawing and photograph were dead even.  Very few respondents selected the color sketch.  This question did not allow for comments, but quite a few of you referred to the graphic representation of the design in the next question.
     Question 5 polled your preferences for information given either on the back of the pattern (or inside on the guide sheet, as some of you mentioned). The question assumed that yardage and notion requirements would be given.  The highest rated additional requirements were text description of the garment, back view line drawing, and finished garment measurements. However, there were more feedback comments here than on any other question.  Your additional comments were:

• More precise yardage calculations, stating that some patterns required the same yardage for baby and children's sizes.
• Additional yardage information for longer and shorter versions.  (I see this rather consistently on all patterns that feature long and short versions, so I assume this commentator is referring to suggested information if the pattern is altered in some way. Tea length vs. regular length.  Not sure.)
• Size chart with measurements used by the pattern company to produce their patterns shown somewhere within the pattern package.
• I did have a couple of comments in favor of metric equivalents, mostly from our overseas sewing friends.  Being a science nerd, I almost always think in metric terms and just convert in my head.  However, it never dawned on me as I was producing my patterns that they would ever make it across either "pond!"  I do know that as we progress toward a more global economy, that our universities and fashion institutions are using metric units in their instruction.  I think it will be interesting to follow the new generation of designers to see how they handle the battle of the measurement systems!
• A couple of comments on this question related back to Question 4, as to the illustration of the garment.  Some respondents said that a line drawing should be included on the guide (instruction) sheet if the pattern cover was photographic. Several of you indicated that if the pattern illustration was photographic, that the photo needed to show the garment being worn by a child to show drape, fit, fullness, proportion, and wearability.  (I wondered if it ever looks the same on any two children...hmmm.)  Wow!  You gals thought of things that never dawned on me.

     Question 6 was another toss up.  Fifty percent of you would pay more for all sizes in one package, and the other half of you would prefer to pay less for a narrower size range.  I will have to think on that one. 
     Question 7 was perhaps the most revealing query for me.  The reason that I included this question is that it has always puzzled me as to why some companies who design for our sewing niche succeed and others do not.  So here is what you told me about your pattern buying history. The design/style itself was your overwhelming indicator for purchasing patterns.  This was so strongly indicated that I decided that it did not make a hill of beans whether it was on brown or white, stacked or not, if you like the style, you buy it.  Over 90% of you selected this indicator!  That explains a lot.  Coming in tied for second were clear instructions and consistent fit, at around 80% each.  The next leading indicator was previous experience with a certain pattern company--if you got good results with a company's patterns you went back for more.  The other choices were insignificant ranging from around two to five percent.
     Finally, Question 8 asked what type of patterns you would like to see produced in the future.  This question also allowed for comments, which focused almost exclusively on special populations such as tweens, fluffy (chunky) body shapes and extended sizes up to size 16 in classic tasteful (or as you put it "not trendy or trashy") styles.  I remember how hard it was to dress my middle school daughters, and about every other morning their dad--the dress code enforcement officer--sent them back to their rooms for a "wardrobe adjustment!"  I hear your pain.  I was a fluffy child until I hit high school.  My mama was a genius at camouflage for the less than perfect body.  For that reason, I went back into her box of '40s and '50s patterns to see what she made for me.  I have a number of these old patterns on my idea board in the sewing room for inspiration.  The best way that I can think of to show you the other results for this question is just to list your preferences, so here they are.

Design Theme	% choosing
Classic styles	93.44
Girl styles	68.85
Play clothes	57.38
Baby	55.74
Boy	54.10
Special occasion	54.10
Coats /outerwear	42.60
Tailored garments	36.00
Sleepwear	34.40
Tween	29.56
Contemporary/trendy	27.85
More challenging (skill level)	26.24
Underwear	11.49
Deconstructed	6.56
Easier (skill level)	6.56

So, there you have it.  Your responses have certainly informed my future plans.  After all, you are indeed the experts.  Have a sensational week, seek truth, be kind and take joy!

Hurry Up and Wait...and Wait...and Wait

Upon returning home from our Ikea / Pet Adoption adventure, we were exhausted but anxious to begin THE PROJECT.  Sunday afternoon Tommy put the drawer units together that are to act as the bases for my new sewing table.  Oh my mercy me, what a difference.  See for yourself.



New machine, new table, old / new serger that I finally took out of the box.

 

The machine is my fortieth wedding present from Tommy.  Our anniversary is not until December, but as I mentioned in the last post, Tommy is always early. One day at lunch a month or so ago, he said that he would like for me to start thinking about what I would like for our anniversary.  He mentioned several pieces of uninteresting jewelry, and finalized his offer with, "Or, you may just want to replace your engagement ring with a bigger diamond.  I know how you have always admired your friend's (whose name I will withhold)."  At one point in my life I suppose I did admire her megalithic ring, but that was before I discovered really expensive sewing machines. My response to Tommy's offer was instinctive and immediate, "What the heck would I do with another diamond?  I like the one you gave me forty years ago.  I want a sewing machine!"  Done.  I threw my arms around that man and kissed him right in the mouth--not just a peck either. 
     On Monday morning, Sara called very early and said for Nurse Nana to starch her cap, find her white hose, and polish her Clinic shoes.  Retirement affords me the opportunity to give my sick granddaughter tender loving care at home when she is puny.  I picked her up and brought her home with me.  Flo Nightingale could not have done better.  At the end of day two, she was miraculously healed and returned home.  I packed away my nursing regalia and went to bed with dreams of working in the sewing room the next morning.  Have you ever noticed how virulent little people germs are?  Sick Wednesday.  Sewing room must wait.  Sick Thursday.  Sewing room must wait.  Jello-legs-from-being-sick Friday.  Sewing room must wait.  But alas, the weekend heralds the arrival of my own personal Mr. Fix-It.  With drill and screwdriver in hand, Tommy went straight to work and as of today, he has completed the cutting table and installed all the Stolen system units that we were able to purchase at Ikea.  Still waiting for the Atlanta store to get more shelves and clothes hanging bars.  Sewing room must wait.  May have to go to Charlotte.  I have moved almost all my sewing belongings out into the living room.  I will stage the re-entry from there.  In the meantime, I have begun filling the drawers and shelves that I do have.  There are numerous "shiftabouts" involved in sewing room renovation.  I hope you will stop by in a day or two to see my progress.  Until then, as always gentle reader, be kind and take joy.


Love my new trestle cutting table. 
 

Awesome.  Cannot wait for remaining pieces to arrive.

Gathering Flat Lace for Application

In the name of full disclosure, let me begin by saying that this is only one of several ways that I gather flat lace for application.  It is not my most frequently used method due to the time and effort involved.  That being said, it is for me the most appropriate and accurate method when I am using antique or very expensive lace and fabric.  This is what I call “The Overachiever Method.”  I learned this from one of my teachers at the RSN who did a significant share of the christening gown restoration in the Studio there.  She often had to work with whatever could be salvaged of the original lace, and could not afford waste caused by shifting lace.

Note:   I always do this technique on a lace shaping board, but for visibility, I photographed these pictures on a black vinyl mat--and not very well at that! 

1.       Determine the length of lace you require for the fullness you desire.  This is strictly a personal decision.  There are no hard and fast rules.  To this amount, add seam allowance AND  1” extra on each end.

2.       As illustrated below, withdraw about 1” of the top two (2) threads from the heading of the lace and tie them together in a strong knot. Repeat this step on the other end.  This is why you allowed the two extra inches.

3.       Divide the length of lace between knots into fourths and mark with a wash away marker. (You will also divide and mark the edge to which the lace will be applied.)

 

 

4.       Insert easily visible straight pins at each knot and each marking.  The pins should be perpendicular to the lace heading.  Also insert a pin at the midpoint of each fourth.  It is helpful to use pins with different types of heads for the fourth markings and midpoint markings.

 

5.       Beginning at the midpoint of each section, withdraw the top two threads of the lace heading to gather the lace.  This will create a loop that enables you to pull the header threads in both directions.  I have used clear cellophane tape to “tame” the lace as I work with it.  Take care to distribute some of the gathers close to the midpoint pin, as this small space tends to lie flat.  The reason for withdrawing two threads is that by doing so you create greater friction between the heading threads and reduce slipping and sliding.  Sorry, I was a physics teacher after all.

 

 

 

6.       Once the flat lace between the one-fourth markings measures one-fourth the final application length required, secure the loop of heading threads around the midpoint pin with a figure-of-eight motion.  Move to the next section and repeat the above steps.

 

7.       Although somewhat awkward, I leave all pins in the lace until it is applied to the edge of my fabric or other trim.  The pins make really good landmarks as you hand or machine sew.  Of course, it goes without saying that you should take every precaution not to sew over the pins.  This seemed like a great deal of work the first time I saw it, but I have come to appreciate the way it minimizes the shifting of the lace as it is applied.  As I said in the beginning, I do not use this all the time, but when I want accuracy and economy it is my go to technique.

 

Breaking News

 

Nana's Toy Rescue announces the rescue of Mickey "Mit" Mouse and the apprehension of kidnapper Charles Mayday "Charlie" Neal.  The 2 year old plush toy was found in a remote area of a local sewing room when workers were clearing the area for renovation.  The young mouse is listed in guarded condition at a local toy clinic.  Charlie Neal faces charges of kidnapping and mouse molestation, carrying a maximum sentence of life in kennel without parole.  More on this story at six o'clock on News Nana Nine.

Be Careful Where You Buy Buttons

I am a woman on a mission.  I have a debit card, and I am not afraid to use it.  I have spent countless hours on the Internet looking at sewing room storage and organization materials.  I realized early on in my search that almost all of the pictures that I pursued farther than Google Images originated from Ikea, the Swedish everything-in-the-world company.  Their clean lines and design engineering captivated me.  Their prices are also very competitive.  I had called a local cabinetmaker for an estimate on putting in some custom drawer units and shelves.  I sucked all the air out of the room when he told me that it would cost at least $5000.00!  When I told my husband, he said that it did not matter what it cost, our vintage 1922 walls were not up to the task of holding up that much additional structure.  Yikes!  I had not even thought about that.  Luckily, I found just what I needed and I actually like the looks of the system as well.  Obviously designed with bedrooms in mind, Ikea's Stolmen system consists of drawer and shelving options that attach to sturdy floor-to-ceiling poles.  As an added bonus, I found perfect solutions to replace my cutting and sewing tables.  Tommy found them architecturally compliant as well.  Ikea, here I come.

My husband does not consider you on time unless you arrive at least half an hour early.  Backfired that day.  Arrived an hour before opening time.  Thank goodness they had a coffee shop.  Please note printed shopping list on dash, complete with aisle and bin numbers!

St. Tommy, patron saint of crazy sewing women.

What real women wear to Ikea...no makeup, school teacher shoes, shirt three sizes too big for modesty when climbing on shelves to reach top bin.  Had most of what we needed.  Headed home to construct the monolith.

I learned another valuable lesson that day.  Be careful, be very careful, where you buy buttons.  On the way home, I asked Tommy to stop in Conyers so that I could dash into Jo-Ann to look for a little bag of those teeny bright colored buttons that look just precious on smocking.  Tommy went to the PetSmart next door to pick up some replacement aquarium fish.  No buttons.  I headed next door to meet Tommy.  On the sidewalk between the stores, a metro Atlanta rescue shelter was having an adoption event.  I was just minding my own business when "he" caught my eye.  He was ignoring the people who were shouting at him to come to the edge of the doggie fence so that their unruly children could assault him.  I just sauntered over and stuck the back of my hand into the fence.  He sauntered over and licked it.  I picked him up.  By that time Tommy had joined us and was babbling on about our not getting a dog.  I slowly turned to him, put my  nose about three inches from his and said, "If you don't want a scene on your hands, drop the attitude and back away from doggie fence.  Do not raise your voice.  Do not speak at all.  This is my new buddy, and he is going home with us."  I made short order of the adoption.  The shelter lady was still stuttering as we drove off.  You see, last spring I lost my long time buddy, Max.  He had been with me for fifteen years, five of which were very difficult for our family.  In 2008, Tommy and I lost our younger daughter, Mary, in a tragic auto accident.  In the darkest hours of the longest nights, Max would sense my pain and tiptoe over and lick my tears away.  Although much joy has returned to our lives, there are still nights that I need a buddy--doggie buddies always know just what to do when humans suffer.  Charlie is no exception.  He is a great buddy and shows great promise of being a handful.  Perhaps we should have named him Mayday.  Yes, be very careful where you buy buttons.  You may end up with more than your money's worth!

 

Charlie says be kind and take joy.

Can This Sewing Room Be Saved?

    One of the greatest gifts my Daddy gave me was the idea that I should never base my self-worth on the opinions  of others. Perhaps that is why my cinematic heroine is Shirley MacLaine's Weezer in Steel Magnolias.  This comfort-in-my-own-skin philosophy has served me well in a number of areas, but none so much as the ability to eschew the teasing I have long endured regarding my total lack of organization skills.  As a child, I had two responsibilities at home, make all As on my report card and practice the piano.  That was it.  My mother handled everything else.  She was the consummate homemaker.  A favorite Southern compliment is "You could eat off her floors!"  Well, you could perform surgery on my mother's floors--they were antiseptic.  She made most of her own clothing as well as mine.  She was a marvelous cook and entertained with grace and poise.  She played a mean hand of bridge and was a pillar of the First Baptist Church.  All I did was make As and practice the piano.  The As paid off in spades, but despite all the practice, I am a lousy pianist.  How I gave birth to Sara, a talented musician and orchestra teacher is beyond me. Needless to say, my basic homemaking and organizational skills were stunted from an early age.
     Everything I touch becomes cluttered in a matter of minutes.  Worse, I hoard.  One needlework teacher with whom I roomed at numerous conferences was fond of saying that within five minutes of my arrival, there were no visible surfaces on my side of the hotel room. When I returned from these conferences, my girls were often angry with me because they could not find some item of underwear or another while I was away, necessitating a trip with their father to Wal-Mart to purchase replacements.  They said he lacked discretion and often shouted across the underwear department, "Hey ya'll, look at these over here.  They look like they'll fit." They admitted they acted as if they did not know him on such occasions.  My house is clean, but stacks and piles abound.  A psychiatrist friend once told me it is my filing system, that I have to see everything in order to efficiently use it.  He was right; it may be chaotic, but I know exactly to which pile to go to find anything.  This same friend urged me to seek the diagnosis and treatment of my adult ADHD, which was a tremendous help.  When I taught school, it was a running joke that everyone should take a look at my desk the first day of class, since it would not be seen thereafter.  When I was Teacher of the Year, my adorable student who introduced me at the banquet said that it looked as if a grenade had been detonated on my desk.
     My sewing has not escaped the disorder either.  "Oh...my...gosh, how do you sew in all this?" is the most frequent comment people make when first visiting my sewing room.  It is a common assumption that people who love and do beautiful work do that work in equally beautiful spaces.  You know the type of spaces, the ones you see on Pinterest on boards with names such as "Sewing Paradise" or "My Dream Creative Space" or "Amazing Sewing Rooms."  These descriptions do not remotely apply to my own sewing room, which brings me to the question of the day.  Can I actually create an orderly and comfortable space in which to do what I love most?  Do I really want to?  There is comfort in familiarity, and I am familiar with every inch of my disarray.  I have to admit, however, that since my retirement last year, I have been surprised by my growing dissatisfaction with the state of my space.  I never thought that possible.  Better late than never, or not at all?  I suppose the defining moment in all this occurred about three weeks ago, when I missed two phone calls as I searched for the cell phone I laid down in the sewing room five minutes earlier. Further impetus was finding three of my granddaughter's plush toys in Charlie's hiding place within the clutter--along with two bones, three skeins of stolen thread, a bandana, and a toothbrush!  Decision made.
     If I am going to save this sewing room, I suppose I must face the enormity of my task, face my challenge head on.  Oh, I know what you are thinking.  "It couldn't be that bad...could it?"  Yes, it could, and it is.  When I shared my new adventure with my friend, Lezette, via pictures, she immediately said that the project would make a Bloggie winning series of posts.  Her only advice was to take better pictures to post, because the ones that I sent her were blurry.  Here they are.



View from entrance.

My stitching chair.

The cutting table...is under there somewhere.

Now I ask you, would you have even a remote desire to see more?  I did not think so.  As I struggled to visualize exactly what I wanted to accomplish in my space, I had unexpected motivation.  I received an email from my friend and mentor, Jenny Adin-Christie.  She was my first teacher at the Royal School of Needlework.  We have enjoyed a number of adventures through the years, and she must have sensed another was brewing. She updated me on her recent work--the wedding dress of Kate Middleton, a teaching trek to Australia--and included a picture and description of her new studio.  As ever, she inspired me.  Although my space is much smaller and architecturally quite different, her studio pictures planted the seed that eventually grew to be my own design.  It had the feel I wanted.  Here is a picture of Jenny's studio to help you revive from the trauma of seeing mine.

                                           Jenny's new studio.  See the sidebar to view her website.
Be warned, I am about to chronicle another of my famous adventures.  I hope you will join me soon to see my progress.  Until then, be kind and take joy.

The Gentle Pursuits Chapter 4

1992 Martha Pullen School in Provo, Utah.  L-R are Martha Pullen, Margaret Boyles, Kathy McMakin, Me

     A very, very strange thing happened on the way to sewing class.  As I packed to go to Provo, Utah for the Martha Pullen School, I was obsessed with having every imaginable notion, sewing machine gadget and thingamajig.  In the midst of this mania, the phone rang.  It was Esther Randall.  I was so afraid that for some reason the school had been cancelled.  Her first statement confirmed my dread.
"Kathy, I have a little news for you,."  she said, "You aren't going to be a student at the school."
"Oh?" I tried desperately not to sound disappointed when her next word took my breath, literally.
"No.  We need you to be one of the teachers.  Theta had to have emergency surgery, and we suggested to Martha that you fill in for her.  Martha and Kathy thought it was a great idea.  I have told them about your lovely work."  Silence.
"Are you there?  Kathy?"
"Yes, I am here.  And just what is it I am supposed to teach?"
" Oh, it is a pillow and a child's square collar.  The technique is shark's teeth."  Needlework techniques have some really strange names.  Stump work.  Gimp work.  Hardanger.  Fagoting.  And this shark's teeth business.  I had read enough of the needlework classics to know that this latest craze was simply manipulated sewn tucks to create points along the folded edge.  The problem at hand was that I had never actually executed the technique.  I saw my escape route.
"Well, Esther, I am so flattered that you would think I could do that, but I have never done any of that work."
"No problem.  The last issue of Martha's magazine has the instructions and you can study it on the plane.  The final two classes for the school are hand embroidery classes, and you can do that with your eyes closed and one hand tied behind your back.  We will have you a good machine set up with all the settings already programmed in."  The door to that escape route slammed tighter than ten pounds of potatoes in a five pound bag.  I flew, I read, I conquered; and, my needlework teaching career was born.  For the next ten years,  I continued to teach for Martha at her Schools of Art Fashion in Huntsville, Alabama, traveled to thirty-nine of the fifty states conducting workshops for sewing and embroidery groups and guilds, and immensely enjoyed doing the Martha's Sewing Room series at the University of Alabama's Center for Public Television in Tuscaloosa.  This was a most creative time for me.  I designed and wrote articles for two heirloom sewing magazines, developed my own line of fine sewing and embroidery patterns, and furthered my embroidery education in a certificate program at the Royal School of Needlework at Hampton Court Palace near London.
     You can imagine my annoyance when I was compelled by God, community and  McDuffie County school children to take a ten year break to teach physical science and physics.  I asked  the Greater Power to double check the spelling of that name--Kathy with a K, Neal with an A.  Affirmative.  I taught the boys and girls of our little town for ten years, gleaning enough material in that time to write a best selling novel.  During that time, I rarely had time to pick up a needle, but was relieved to find that you really cannot die from a lack of embroidery.  After ten years, ten very rewarding and memorable years, I retired in May, 2012.  The year prior to my retirement, our older daughter made us the most outrageous and totally ridiculous grandparents that ever lived.  The solar system was no longer heliocentric--revolving around the sun.  That enormous star was totally eclipsed by the birth of Mary Morgan Lokey on April 5, 2011.  Whereas her mother was born with a part in her hair and a brief case in her hand, Morgan likes tutus, large hair bows, shoes in "every color they come in," and wakes up every morning and dons strands and strands of brightly colored beads.  I often have to go through her stash of accessories to reclaim my favorite costume jewelry, but only until her next visit.  And the girl loves, adores, relishes pretty clothes, especially dresses.  My sewing joy is complete.  Well, almost.  The only thing I love more than sitting in my sewing room making sweet classic clothes for my precious little one is to sit at my sewing machine, Morgan on my lap, letting her put her tiny hands on top of mine as I guide the fabric of her latest playschool dress through my sewing machine.  Life is good.  Love is better.  Joy abounds.  The gentle pursuits have their rewards.  Thank you, gentle reader, for so patiently letting me tell my story.  This is the final installment of the history of how I arrived at this point in my stitching life. I look forward to sharing the remainder of the journey with you post by post.  Come back soon so I can show you what Morgan and I are making.  Until then, be kind and take joy.

TheGentle Pursuits Chapter 3

I was eight months pregnant with my older daughter--it felt like fourteen--when my good friend Jeanie stopped by the house and informed me that I had to learn to do something called English smocking, and that I did not have time to waste with my due date approaching rapidly.  She assured me that I was the only young woman in Thomson who had neglected to learn this gentle pursuit.  She showed me the little bishop dress and bonnet that she had made for her daughter, Leslie, for the upcoming Easter.  As I have said many times, I have never met a needle technique I did not love, and smocking was no exception.  Weekly, I waddled to the smocking shop in Augusta for my three-lesson tuition.  Over the last thirty-three years, I have, from time to time, called my smocking teacher, Selly, to thank her for writing a new chapter in my life.  At the last of my three lessons, I began my first masterpiece, a daygown for my baby.  I finished it on Friday before going into labor on Saturday.  Timing is everything.  I still take that gown around with me to show my smocking and sewing students that any sewing or needlework handicap can be overcome.  I am living proof.

My First Masterpiece

   I was a prolific smocker.  Sara had a different dress for preschool every day for a month.  By then, Mary had come along and I was sewing for two.  I went to every class I knew about, and soon my hobby grew into a cottage business, as the girls could not wear all that I was turning out.  Ribbons and Rosebuds I called it, and for a number of years I made commissioned heirloom sewing creations with the help of another local seamstress.  As part of the business process, I often attended wholesale fabric markets to maintain an inventory of the latest fine fabrics, laces and trims.  It was at one such market in Charlotte, North Carolina that I met my next great teacher and mentor,  Esther Randall.  She and her husband, Dan, owned the only company at that time that sold Japanese silk ribbon used in Victorian ribbon embroidery techniques such as crazy quilting.  When I walked into the YLI booth, Dan was manning it while Esther had gone for lunch.  I was totally captivated by the beautiful dimensional work that Esther had done on a number of samples.  I was dying to meet Esther, and find out all I could about silk ribbon embroidery.  I returned to the YLI booth after lunch and met one of the greatest ladies in the needlework world.  Esther took me under her wing as a master would an apprentice, and our love for embroidery grew to an enduring friendship.  It was she who first encouraged me to become a needlework teacher.  Her confidence in me was the foundation on which I have been able to build a career that feeds my passion.  I began to teach small local classes, and pursued every learning opportunity available.  One of those opportunities turned out to be the turning point in my needlework career.  In the autumn of 1992, YLI was sponsoring the Martha Pullen School in Provo, Utah, and the Randalls graciously invited me to attend the school as their guest.  This was big.  Really big.  In addition to Martha and Kathy McMakin, two of my other idols were teaching as well, Margaret Boyles and Theta Happ. I had never met Margaret, but fell in love with Theta at a Smocking Arts Guild Convention in Atlanta a few years before.  Theta was the only teacher at that event that that did not look down her nose at my modest Kenmore sewing machine.  I bought my plane ticket, settled the girls with family for those few days, and was packing the last few items to go to the Atlanta airport when a very, very strange thing happened.  I will tell you about it, gentle reader, when we visit next.

The Gentle Pursuits Chapter 2

The year was 1973.  I was a senior in the pharmacy school at the University of Georgia, and I was in love.  My husband and I had met two years earlier in Physics 127.  Not very romantic, but we were the only two in the class who showed up for class in Greek letter jerseys.  We had to stick together among the nerds.  Little did we know our friends thought we were the nerds. Earlier, in the spring of that year, I had made the obligatory pilgrimage to Thomson, Georgia to meet his family.  That was the first step in the matrimonial ritual.  Having passed the muster, we became engaged and married in December.  In August, I graduated from pharmacy school and we moved to Augusta for Tommy to attend dental school.  We both worked long hours during the week, and looked forward to the weekends we enjoyed with his family or mine, both of whom lived nearby.  It was on one of these weekend excursions that I was catapulted back into the world of sewing.  Tommy and my father-in-law were fishing together at the family pond, while Mary Claire, my mother-in-law, and I were enjoying the lovely weather lounging on the bank.  I enjoyed sunbathing on a chaise, often napping, and only stirring to apply more tanning lotion.  There was little conversation as Mary Claire was aggressively engaged in the gentle pursuits--crossstitching Chrismons for the church's Christmas tree, crocheting around a baby blanket that she would present to some new mother in the near future,  or hemstitching around table linen for herself and the rest of us.  She was diligent in replacing worn table linen.  This scene--fishing and lounging--had repeated itself weekend after weekend until that afternoon when she abruptly interrupted my dreamy bliss.
"Kathy, don't you do anything?"
 Stunned, I attempted to analyze her question.  Was she suggesting that I was lazy or worthless?  I decided to take the pacifist's way out.
"Like what?"
"Like hand work, needlework, embroidery.  Don't you get bored just lying around?"
"Well, no, I don't do any of that."  I decided it safer not to address the "lying around" part.
"Do you want to learn?"
"I guess so."  Words that changed my life forever.  Before I could elevate the back of my lounge chair, that woman had pulled out Penelope canvas which she swiftly cut in a square, needlepoint wool and the biggest needle I had ever seen.
"Okay.  Bargello is easy and everyone needs an eyeglass case.  Here, this is how you do it."
She quickly explained the pattern she stitched and assured me that all I needed to do was repeat her initial pattern.  I left the pond that afternoon with a brand spanking new eyeglass case, and I was not about to tell her I did not even wear glasses.  Maybe my sunglasses would fit.  My mother-in-law was my first real needlework teacher, and I will always treasure the patience with which she guided me to learn and enjoy those first techniques.
     I thought I knew absolutely everything I would ever need to know about the gentle pursuits.  My buffet drawer was full of linen.  I had donated to the Chrismon tree at church.  I made embroidered gifts for friends and family.  What more could there be?  Lots, and it was my friend Jeanie, who brought this to my attention. Ah, I see the time has flown by.  We can continue this the next time you visit, gentle reader, if you wish.  Until then, be kind and take joy.

The Gentle Pursuits

     You may want to get a cup of tea.  This post is long, the first in several installments of a story of a lifetime of embroidery and sewing.  If such things bore you, you might want to opt for your Kindle® instead.  I will not be hurt.  The gentle pursuits do not thrill everyone the way they do me.  
       I come from a long line of talented sewists and embroiderers.  Granny Williamson was a farmer's wife of formidable skills in the homemaking arts. Her motto: Use it up; wear it out; make it do; or do without! There was nothing gentle nor fragile about her 4' 11" style. She raised four sons and a daughter, and stories of her ever-abundant dinner table still abound.  She made all of her dresses--every single one by the same shirtwaist pattern--and those of my aunt, her daughter.  She had no pattern for the girl's garments, just cut them out and sewed them up.  Mommie Kathleen, was a different story all together.  She had the gene.  The creative gene.  She did not use patterns either, but her design and sewing were nothing short of magical.  I still have old pictures of my mother and her two sisters dressed in Mommie's fashions.  Ruched net on the bodice of an evening gown.  Ribbon roses on a shoulder strap.  Interesting hemlines and sleeves.  All were hallmarks of this woman's immense talent to add interest and style to an otherwise ordinary garment.  My mother had the gene, even though it had mutated somewhat.  My mother made her clothes and mine.  My father, a textile engineer with the J. P. Stevens, Co., provided her with an unending supply of quality fabric, though the colors were limited--lots of greys and browns.  Mother was a skilled technician.  Her work was perfection, if not always imbued with the Wow Factor.  Every year we trekked to the University of Georgia Extension Service's sewing expo and competition in Athens.  She and I would parade down the runway at the culminating fashion show in our matching mother-daughter dresses, Mother proudly wearing the blue ribbon or best-of-show rosette pinned to the shoulder of her garment, showing her dominance over the other competitors.  A gentle pursuit, hardly.  She approached that competition each year with the determination of a guided missile. Mother sewed almost every day of her life for several hours.  For the life of me, I could not understand how she could sit there for so long doing something so boring.  By the time I was a teen, I believed that sewing was only for people who could not afford to shop in stores.  I had discovered The Villager, Bobbie Brooks and Pappagallo, all in an amazing spectrum of colors that rarely included grey and brown.
     In my day, all high school boys took at least one year of industrial arts a.k.a. shop, and all girls took a year of family and consumer sciences a.k.a. home ec.  High school Home Economics I class was a traumatic period in my sewing life.  The first project was an A-line jumper with a V-neck.  Mrs. Abercrombie was a woman with extremely high expectations for the sewing novice, and little patience with repeated mistakes.  Meeting her standard of excellence was far beyond me.  In fact, she made me repeat that V-neck so many times that the point of the V turned into a hole, over which I had to sew a button.  I still see her rolling her eyes.  The second project was a skirt with gores, and focused on fitting and pattern alteration.  My best friend Camilla and I were so excited.  We had picked out matching fabric and the same pattern so that we could be twins.  I wore a ladies size 6 and Camilla, bless her heart, wore a size 16.  We dove right into our latest adventure in fashion, straight pins, pattern pieces and gores flying in all directions.  Upon seaming all our gores together, we were ready for our first fitting with Mrs. Abercrombie.  I went first.  I slipped behind the screen set up for modesty, removed the necessary clothing, and donned my new creation proudly.  Camilla then took her turn behind the screen.  I was perplexed to discover that I had to hold a handful of fabric on each side of the skirt to keep it from falling off. 
"Didn't you take your measurements before you bought that pattern?" Mrs. Abercrombie inquired disgustedly.  
In fact, I had.  At that moment, Camilla literally hopped out from behind the screen, trapped in her skirt that bound her legs and thighs together like an elastic bandage.
 "I did, too," she said, "I just don't understand!"
"OH...MY...GOD!" Mrs. Abercrombie shouted loudly enough to wake the dead, and that was almost like cussing in those days.
In our exuberance, Camilla and I had inadvertently "swapped" a few of our gores with each other.  We had to stay after school and do a lot of seam ripping.  That afternoon, I swore I would never sew again if the God to whom Mrs. Abercrombie expressed her woes would just let me out of that class, and He did.  I kept my promise, too.  Almost.  I did not touch needle or thread again until I was twenty, and only then because some forces of nature cannot be withstood.  Mary Claire Morgan Neal, my future mother-in-law, swept in to my life like an autumn hurricane and annihilated all my vows eschewing sewing.  But alas, gentle reader, that is another story for another day.

Just Precious

    "Just precious..." is the ultimate southern compliment.  In other reaches, children may be cute, adorable or sweet, but in the South, they are just precious.  Couples with an abundance of wrinkles, who still walk arm-in-arm or holding hands, are just precious.  Really cute shoes are just precious.  A thank you note often bears the expression, "It was just precious of you to bring us the delicious casserole and include the little ones in your visit!" The Cherub Choir at church is just precious, if not predictable. I have often wondered just how these simple words became the South's quintessential accolade.  The Oxford defines "precious" as follows: of great value; not to be wasted or treated carelessly; greatly loved or treasured; scarce or rare.  I do not know about you, but I certainly would like to be all of those things.  Good manners and proper grammar--especially in the young--are just precious; of great value, both scarce and rare.  The wisdom and resources provided by our older generations are just precious, not to be wasted or treated carelessly.  Families and friends who love greatly and care deeply are just precious; for in these relationships the individual understands what it means to be a treasure like none other.  Southerners are often accused of exaggeration.  I like to think that we just emphasize a number of things we think and say. With "just precious" we simply emphasize our genuine appreciation for things tangible and intangible.
     When I decided to share my life, my passions and my stories,  I realized that these elements of my life are my true valuables, the things I do not waste on just anybody.  They are my treasure, the effects that bring me real joy.  So, with you, gentle reader, I wish to share all this, for it is indeed just precious to me.  After I created this blog yesterday, my greatest fear was that no one would share my enthusiasm, like having a party with no guests.  Often today, I left the tortures of cleaning up my sewing room to peek at the laptop perched strategically nearby.  My anxiety grew by the hour until I saw the glorious print at the bottom of the page that I had longed for all day, "1 Comment."  Anonymous, you are the best, and above all else, just precious.

To blog...or not to blog. That is the question.

Once again, I have decided what I want to be when I grow up.  I want to be a blogger.  
Since I never seem to stop growing up--thankfully--I find it occasionally necessary to make such decisions on the direction of life.  Since I love to write and teach and share, and I do not want to start a business, leave the coziness of my mouse hole, nor endure the rigors of a regular schedule, blogging seemed a good choice.  My inspiration in this pursuit has been the pleasure I have experienced in visiting the blogs of friends and colleagues.  Blogging seems a natural and comfortable choice, unlike some of my previous life choices.  In researching the logistics of a personal blog the last few days, I have discovered that there is more to the process than I first imagined; but then I always did love a challenge.  So in the next few days and weeks I will be creating my own blog space.  Please indulge me in this endeavor with your patience.  I look forward to a time very soon when I can invite you to the new wing of my mouse hole for tea.  Until then, gentle reader, be kind and joyful.