So So Sew

In the day, mine actually, schools had among other compulsory subjects, something called Home Economics. In these classes, which in my recollection, had nothing to do with economy, we girls in Grade Seven were ground through the tedium of making an apron. No one wore it or the dress we were painstakingly subjected to stitching: examples of  the skills required in the art of sewing. Fortunately, today, the matter of learning how to sew, is the making of useful and attractive items such as gym bags and cute totes. The worst of it, in the old days, was that most of us, out of dire necessity, were already making our own clothes under the guidance of our mothers. Mine  conducted a neighbourhood class in it. Her objectives were to make it fun, quick and practical. But the echo of the agonies involved in making that long white school apron remains with me today. When I approach the sewing machine, I feel as though I'm going off to battle. And lots of times, I am. I don't enjoy sewing even though I do it. My old sewer weighed a ton being made of metal with no add-ons. You sewed seams and anything extra such as button holes was what you did "off site". I miss that heavy old electric beast. Since the early days, I have suffered through lots of stitching projects but only out of necessity. Other than quilts that have invaded the planet, most people buy their garments off the rack. Fabric costs make sewing a luxury, not to mention the price of a sewing machine and its maintenance. The last time I went to a shop to buy a replacement for my old clunker, I felt like I was in a science lab. There are machines that you plug a disk into one end, and say "go", and an art quilt comes out the back. Others are more human oriented, but you have to be, not only someone with the fingers of a neurosurgeon, but also those as deft and smart as a jet flyer, to operate. There are sewing lessons of course. They come with the equipment, and the price reflects it. As I walked the aisles of the store past row after row of shining machines while heading to the back where the sale sign was, I was overwhelmed by the do-dads on these plastic wonders. Some of them sewed more than fifty different stitches and button holes to accommodate the buttons they also sewed on. What you would use all those jiggly stitches for, I have no idea. One of them actually read designs and executed them in any colour you chose. By the time I got to the sale section, I was completely intimidated. Did I think I could sew? I thought I would have to go to engineering school. I did walk out with a rather flimsy, by my standards, sewer, but it went back the first week. I broke the delicate automatic threader. Where, oh where was my brute of an old machine that stitched both leather and chiffon and when whacked in frustration, never complained - or broke.