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.