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.
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