But this I say, He which *seweth* sparingly shall reap also sparingly; and he which *seweth* bountifully shall reap also bountifully
At the end of the 1th grade, I was in my counselor’s office signing up for classes I would need to graduate. I needed another elective, but I had taken most of the classes I was interested in and was banned from taking any further typing classes. My friend Leslie took auto mechanics, but I was putting my foot down. The only options left were welding (probably should have) and sewing. My mom had attempted to teach me to sew, but I was against it, with the reasoning that the mall sold perfectly good clothes you could buy with out a lot of effort and get a pretzel to boot.
I was enrolled in sewing. As a very young looking, naive, and Mormon (everyone knew it) girl, my mom and the counselor accurately judged I was not equipped to deal with the welding crowd.
Classes began. In the first week, I bought and ruined a pattern, bought a second pattern, bought material and sewed my finger to a piece of flannel. Week 2 was about the same.
As the weeks went by, my interest grew, but my ability foundered. I broke more needles than anyone, tangled thread, attached sleeves backwards, a zipper upside down and sewed my finger repeatedly. I wasn’t allowed to touch the button-holer after Mrs. Wagoner saw what I did to one sewing machine. I don’t know who fixed those things, but I should probably send everyone involved a thank you and an apology.
I ended up loving that class. I sewed a half dozen articles of clothing that were not only wearable, but I wore them for years afterward. I was gifted my first sewing machine the Christmas after I got married. A Singer Merritt, from Woolworths. That thing lasted about 10 years. I sewed everything for babies. I sewed for myself and for others. For a while I supplemented my income sewing for a bridal shop. I’ve always taken in mending. The Singer was struggling to keep up with me. I needed a better machine. Blair took me to Dave’s Bernina in Provo and they let me trade in my limping Singer for a shiny new Bernina 1008. I never looked back. I love that thing! I added a cheap serger to partner the sewing machine this last year. It’s a Brother, and it’s doing it’s best to help me. I have a feeling that one of it’s problems was my fault. I think I resolved the issues. I always think of the Bernina as “Bernie” and now Bernie has a brother! Ha ha!
Anyway, I thought you’d like to know.
