By Nici Holt Cline
It was 2:37 am when I slipped into bed last Friday. I had been sewing and I kept checking the time, making deals with myself. I’ll just attach the facing and then I’ll just finish the hem and then I’ll just cut out the pattern for the next project. I made deals with myself for hours and, while I was physically alone, I felt camaraderie and encouragement to keep going. I was sewing with my mom and my grandma.
I haven’t been sewing that long. Just three years ago I sewed only rectangles. One can never have too many pillow cases and curtains, although my husband might have a different opinion on that one. At that time I was more in love with the idea of sewing than actually doing it. I had a hard time taking necessary steps like ironing, pinning and paying attention to seam allowances. I was impatient and impulsive and wanted to real quick whip up an apron that was beautiful, functional and sturdy. I would instead end up with a whole lot of frustration and another item in the someday I’ll fix it pile.
I wanted the glory without the work and that never pans out.
My mom is an amazing seamstress. When I was a child she made me sweet little a-lines with matching pinafores for holidays and drop-waist dresses when I was in my Pollyanna phase. She made demin folders for my homework until I decided I needed a peachie like all the other kids. She made dolls and their clothes.
She learned to sew from her mom on a beautiful black metal Singer Featherweight. When my grandma died I inherited that machine and a wonderful archive of stories. My mom kindly told me that, when I was ready, she’d show me the ways of the Singer. I said I was ready right then. Despite her patient, dedicated efforts, I tripped on my twenty-something over-confidence. I remember one exchange in particular where she said was showing me how to do a clean finish hem and I asked, “Why does it matter if there is a mess of threads on the inside? People only see the outside.” And she replied, “A good seamstress always pays attention to the details. A good seamstress wants the inside to be as beautiful as the outside.” I think I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t ready to be a good seamstress.
The Singer sat in an important place in my art studio. I adored that machine even though I didn’t use it. I loved it’s history. Every so often it would whisper an alluring tale and I’d sit to listen as I clumsily wound the thread over the hooks and through the needle to sew a rectangle.
When I got pregnant with Margot in 2007, a little piece of my grandma pricked my heart. I thought of her often, how I wished she could meet my kid and sing gitsy gitsy goo gitsy gee. My belly grew and I learned to sew. I read the manual and practiced. I spent dozens of hours and explicatives on a simple mobile. I took a class and admitted to my fear of zippers and button holes. I straightened my fabric, noticed grain and found peace with thread tension.
I grew more and more pregnant and more and more in love with sewing items for my family and friends. Sewing and pregnancy have a similar progression: to start from scratch, grow an idea with love and patience and end up with a really cool, unique object. And so my baby and my seamstress evolved together.
Margot is nearly three now and she has a little sister. In my studio last Friday, I skipped sleep to sew dresses for each of them. I effortlessly threaded the machine, snapped a bobbin in its casing and guided fabric over the feed dogs that have moved many generations of fabric. Ruby’s is sprightly in a grass green floral, perfect for hip-perching. Margot’s is twirly in a polka dot that she picked out all myself, mama, perfect for dancing. I read pattern steps out loud over and over when I was confused, just like my mom does. I paid attention to the details and made the inside as beautiful as the outside.
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A fourth generation Montanan raising a fifth, Nici Holt Cline is a mama to Margot and Ruby, wife, gardener, crafter and runner who loves to write and take photos. She writes regularly on her popular blog dig this chick. You can read “Mama Digs” every Monday exclusively at www.mamalode.com. Read more of Nici’s mamalode articles here.
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Thank you for this thoughtful post Burb….I KNOW it put a smile on Mom’s face and a tear in her eye just as it did mine. AND you know what Nici? You are just like one of your finished pieces….as beautiful on the inside as the outside.
xoxo
ps….can’t wait to see the dresses!
Oh how this story touched me….for I was raised by the same kind of Mom. She knit, canned from our garden and our neighbors gardens, and she sewed…..a lot. She made all of her five kids and herself beautiful clothes and when weddings came around, made incredible wedding dresses. A few years ago all of us received quilt tops for Christmas and then she took them back . When they were backed and quilted, one by one, we each received our finished treasure, showing it off to each other. She is eighty-five now and currently making a sweet quilt for a new great-granddaughter. I am so appreciative that I was raised observing and learning from her. Although I am not even close to her skill level, I have the same goals…. and can relate to your moments of impatience! While it made great economic sense for her to do all of what she did, we were fortunate in that she also infused what some may have considered tasks, with her own artistry and passion. It made such a difference in how I see the world. Thanks for sharing.
Awww, I love this article… pregnancy brought out the creative makin-stuff juice in me, too. I think I knit more ugly (and some cute) sweaters than my poor kid will ever wear. I love the legacy of the sewing machine…. I sew on a machine that I learned on in 7th grad home EC! We bought it when the program was dicontinued. Maybe your girls will sew on yours someday…
“I wanted the glory without the work and that never pans out.”
The story of my sewing history right there. I’m glad you’ve picked up on the thread, so to speak. I always picked the hardest pattern, the most expensive, difficult to work with fabric, started, got frustrated and never finished anything–except a few things.
Luckily, it’s not the story of my life. Great post, Nici. See you in few.
This is EXACTLY what I needed to read right now. I am obsessed with the idea of learning to sew. I have this glorious image in my head of having hidden sewing talents and quickly whipping up a cute dress for my baby … over confidence much?!
I will start slow, I will curse a lot, and I will keep coming back to this post as a reminder.
That was a long-winded way of saying, thank you for this post
I love this. I have sewed since I was three years old – do you think my mom was a little obsessed? She used to make me an outfit every day while I was at school. At Easter when I was in the 6th grade my folks gave me a peach colored outfit (culottes and a vest, how ’70s) that had TAGS in it. It was my first item of clothing (other than underwear) that came from a store.
Nici,
I too am the daughter and granddaughter of seamstresses and I can relate to what you said about being more in love with the idea of sewing than actually doing it. I have several piles in my studio of beautiful fabric waiting to be made into kid dresses, curtains to make, pants to hem, things to fix, button holes to be made that terrify me. But every time I read your pieces about sewing and what it means to you, it gives me more and more inspiration to get my butt down there and thread that machine and start on those dresses for my little girls! Thank you!!
Nici,
I sew on a lovely little Singer Featherweight too! I loved that you were sewing with your Mom and Grandma. I always feel the very real presence of my Great-Grandmother when I sew. My machine says “chicca chicca chicca chic” but I hear my dear “Mimi” saying, “Be patient Aimee! Every stitch is important, don’t rush them!” Just like she always did as she taught me to sew! I never sew alone, either!
Thank you sew much for sharing!