Three women tried to teach me to sew.
First, the Home Economics teacher at Pleasant Hills Middle School. I don’t recall her name, but I can see her in my memory. I can conjure the uneasy feeling that came with the sound of her voice. And I remember the C that showed up on my report card because the snap on my home-made skirt broke when I breathed too deeply in choir the period before our Home Ec final.
My second teacher was my mom. Her old Singer sewing machine was archaic compared to the humming school machines. It rumbled against the wall in the teeny closet of our apartment on East Bruceton Road. It was old, but well oiled, and got the job done for Mom once upon a time. But at the time she tried to walk me through making a vest I was dripping with teenage angst and a really bad case of know-it-allness. I regret rejecting what was being offered because of my misguided adolescent arrogance. My heart and mind yearn to have my mother whispering over my shoulder now.
Finally, in my fifth decade of life, I actually allowed myself to learn to sew. I accompanied my friend Suzanne to a sewing class taught by a woman in her eighties. Margaret Farmer had taught half of Davis County how to sew. Suzanne had been one of her students when she was a young teenager. All these decades later Suz went back to an adult women’s sewing class and took me with her. “You’ll totally love the teacher,” she said. She was right.
Margaret’s daytime sewing class was basically more of an opportunity to go into Margaret’s wonderful old sewing room built beneath her garage in Centerville. Her trusty Berninas lined up along the perimeter of the room. Margaret was there to mentor and advise. Almost all the women there had been sewing for years. Margaret had to teach me how to thread the machine, to adjust the tension and wind a bobbin. I was finally ready, as an old woman, to learn the basics.
Margaret delighted in my creative bend. I learned early on that what I lacked in general skill I could often mask with creativity. I didn’t so much want to follow a pre-fab pattern as create something original or repurpose something already made. I still could not tell you how to sew a zipper into a skirt. But I know enough to follow a YouTube video now. With Margaret’s tutelage I crafted a few years’ worth of treasures, including my brother’s Father Christmas cloak, the pajamas I wear every other night in the winter, the bag that holds my temple robes, a skirt and matching top, among other items.
Mostly I carved a piece of Wednesday mornings out for sewing because I wanted to be with Margaret. But I was also finally in a place to actually learn what I had always wanted to know. It would have been much more comfortable for my little daughter to dance in costumes that had been sewn rather than glued.
One of the great lessons learned in living this long is the power of timing.
It took me many years and lots of life experience to realize that sometimes I want to share something when the person I want to share it with may not be in the place to receive it. When I wrote the song Pontiac Rocket I wanted to offer it to my mom for a Mothers Day gift. I sat myself on the hearth and sang it to her when there was something else going on. I don’t recall what it was, or any other details except the fact that I felt like she didn’t really care for the song. First, you have to know that closet writers have really overly sensitive feelings about their creations. It takes a well seasoned professional creator to get to the place where they can take criticism or lack of enthusiasm as tools for direction rather than rejection. I didn’t play the song for a couple years after that. Once I finally got the courage to play it again Mom said “What a great song! How come I’ve never heard it before?” Now Pontiac Rocket is one of my most requested songs.
That was an important lesson to me. Just because I want to communicate something doesn’t mean it’s the right time or place for it. I’ve not only tried to train myself to read the room and “read the person”, I’ve also learned I sometimes have to use words and ask a person if now is a good time for them to hear, touch, taste or see what I have to offer.
