Sew Grateful

SEW GRATEFUL

It's been my plan, since I began taking sewing lessons with Kathleen Johnson in Center Moriches a few months ago, that I would be able to make all of these wonderful little organic sachets and pillows and give them to family for Christmas. It means a lot to me to make something myself.

I made about a dozen of them, but through work and friendships, and buddies who had migraines and desperately wanted one of my migraine pillows, I gave away all the ones that I had already made.

No problem, I said. I'll make some more, I said.

But yesterday, when I sat down at my machine, something went wrong. Repeatedly. Kathleen even came over to take a look and get it going again, but eventually my needle bent, the thread got entangled, and not yet being an expert, I gave up.

I always loved the "Little House" books, in particular the first one, "Little House in the Big Woods." I loved the idea of the pioneer life and was amazed -- still am -- that Laura Ingalls had only one toy: a corncob that she named Susan. Really, can you imagine any child today spending endless hours playing with a piece of dried up food? Or even an adult without their phone/iPad/iPod, etc.? When young Laura received a fabric dolly with a drawn-on face, it was like winning PowerBall to her.

It occurred to me, long ago, that with my winning combination of no skills and sloth-like ways, I would have been good for only one thing back in the days of the Old West. Yup, I would have been working in the rooms above the saloon. You know what I'm saying. And even then, I'm not so sure I could have made a very good living at it.

But when PBS did its own version of a reality show back in 2002/2003 - "Pioneer House" -- where a bunch of families were dumped off in the prairie and made to build their own house, butcher their meat, and so on, I was entranced.

Somehow, even though I was living the life of a techno career woman, I did not want to leave this world without being able to create something with my own hands. A fabric dolly, perhaps.

So with that bent needle looking ever so much like a raised middle finger, I went back to the drawing board. Should I attempt to cook something, like spiced nuts? No…I like my family too
much and I want them to live.

And I HAD ironed and folded all the fabric…

So I did the hardest thing to do. Harder than sewing, cooking, raising a family.

I asked for help.

This morning I went over to my friend Jeannine's house. Jeannine has The Barr Farm down the road, and even though she considers herself a novice at sewing, she's a helluva lot better than me. She sewed, I stuffed the pillows, she sewed them closed, and we had a great time, drinking coffee and eating fresh-baked banana bread.

You can clearly see, when my pillow is next to hers, that she is much better at this than I am.

I can still fantasize about living a life on the prairie, but now my thoughts will include all the women friends that could help me, and that I could help as well. Because no one is an island, and how lucky we are to be able to reach out a hand -- whether we are pulling someone else up, or waiting for someone to grab our hand and give it the loving squeeze we need.