Signs and Messages

I was only going to go to one estate sale Thursday morning. I have a quadrant in Albuquerque that I focus on, partly because I have other things to do and also because I've had more luck in certain areas than others. I went to one, not planning to go to the second one I knew about, because I didn't think the area would have anything of interest for me. 

I ran my errands and then decided I would go anyway. 

I entered a room of the townhouse and instantly saw some vintage blue and orange fabric. I bleed blue and orange, not so much for the Chicago Bears but because my high school colors were blue and orange. As I went to pick it up, a lady standing next to the pile said, "Oh, that's mine."

Oops.

She showed me where there was more but there was nothing more cool than that blue and orange she had picked up. And I had no idea what was under it. I began going through piles of fabric, finding a few neat things but nothing as great as what she had. And as I did, another woman started looking with me. We talked a bit and she told me she was the president of the Albuquerque chapter of the American Sewing Guild. And that she taught classes on fitting.

She left the room before me and as I drove home with my new stash, kicking myself for not going straight from the first estate sale to the second (thinking it was more important to buy dog food and bananas for the next week), I was reminded of a conversation on my run-walk with Hattie earlier in the morning.

We were walking with a man named Sam whom we often see. I happened to mention something about sewing and he looked at me, surprised, and asked, "You sew?"

He proceeded to tell me how he hadn't met anyone else so young who sewed and that his wife is a big sewer. 

"You should come shop at our house," he joked and I instantly knew what he meant (there is always the joke about who has the biggest stash of fabric- my friend Bonnie taught me that).

Twice in one day life had intersected with sewing. It was one of those moments where everything had fallen into place so I could receive a sign.

I'd been late getting out to run in the morning because Greg and I had stopped to talk to our newspaper carrier about an issue we'd had and then I opted for my shorter route rather than my longer route. If I had gone longer, Hattie and I would have missed Sam.

While I missed the elusive blue and orange fabric, had I not been in the room at that time, I wouldn't have gotten a chance to talk to that particular woman while we sorted through the boxes and bins of fabric.

I'm in the midst of recreating my own version of the blue and orange fabric on paper, hoping it might be the first of my own fabric designs. And knowing that the signs and messages are all around us all the time if we're open.

Keep sewing, I told myself. It's slowly coming together.

The Swimsuit

The plan had been to start making swimsuits. I just thought I had bit more time to learn my new serger before I tackled my first one. However, my friend Veronica was leaving on vacation at the end of July (to the beaches of California, no less) and she needed a suit. I wasn’t going to say no to the opportunity to create something for my friend, especially because it was a chance for me to start making them.

But I didn’t really consider what a daunting challenge I had in front of me. What didn’t scare me was that I knew my mom had created one for my older sister Karen in the 1970s– one that lasted Karen quite a long time– and Mom had done it on the same Bernina sewing machine that I am using.

We bought a serger for me in Late May but with two trips in June, I haven’t had much of a chance to use it. I would need to make Veronica’s swimsuit on the Bernina with lots of zig zag stitches.

Taking her measurements, the pattern, the notions, and the fabric she picked in hand, I realized what a daunting task I had in front of me. I couldn’t do it alone.

Often in the past I have written about my struggle to be the competitive runner I was supposed to be. I often joke that in high school God and I broke up- an unanswered prayer in eighth grade regarding my dad’s job situation left me not believing in God. I thought I had to do everything on my own.

But several weeks ago as I watched the Olympic trials, particularly track and field, many of the runners talked about how much God helped them.

If I was going to make a swimsuit, not only would I need to channel my mom but I’d need God’s help, too.

Sewing knits– which tend to slide all over the place– is tricky. Getting the needle and thread to behave on the knits can be perilous, too. I allowed myself hours at a time. Just in case. And prayed a lot, often shaking as I sat down, unsure how I could truly make Veronica’s measurements match a pattern that was confusing (my friend Bonnie often called pattern instructions “destructions” because of the chaos they cause). It also made me realize why women hate buying swimsuits. No one’s measurements are the same. How can we be standardized when our bodies are so unique? And I know this from trying on all the clothes that I do– how much doesn’t fit right because of my short frame.

With the seams sewn together but nothing else, Veronica came by and was happy with the fit. It looked great but I was mostly concerned that it felt good. I didn’t want to create something she would never wear.

And when the suit was finished, truly looking like a swimsuit, I felt like I’d survived a final exam and needed a nap. When she put it on, not only was it a perfect fit, but she was happy and comfortable. Excited is a better word.

It wasn’t beginners luck as I attribute some of my successful to the binkini bottom I made in January that taught me some elastic lessons, but rather it was taking the time and letting go, asking for help in a way it took me a long time to comprehend.