I know my limitations.
I’m the polar opposite of my older sister, who is a master seamstress. I mean we’re talking a freaking wizard. If memory serves me correctly, her first toy was a Singer Sewing Machine. By the age of five, she had talent enough to construct a man’s suit and an intricate wedding gown. I’m sew not exaggerating!
As years progressed, with only word-of-mouth advertisement, she had a constant flow of sewing projects for people in need. Nothing in the world of stitchery intimidated her. Nothing.
You can imagine what Mrs. K (our beloved high school home economics teacher) thought when I stepped into her classroom on the heels of my sister. I could practically read her puzzled thought bubble: “How can you possibly be related?!” I felt like I was all thumbs when it came to sewing and had little patience to overcome my shortcomings. One of our assignments was to sew a dress.
Sew what you say?!
I set my sights on creating a fashionable jumper with an empire waist, which I thought was cute (at the time). Let’s just say that the umpire called an out on my finished product. It was never worn, and I don’t think I even had the courage to notice the grade I received for my efforts. Somehow, I limped through and passed the class, most probably with the condolences and sympathy of Mrs. K, who maintained the patience of Job, and surely did not wish for me to repeat her class.
I don’t want to leave you hanging by a thread thinking I’m totally inept with a needle and thread. I mean I could sew a button, mend a seam, and stitch a hem if my life depended on it. In fact, at one point when my children were in grade school, I held a week’s domestic chores camp in our home and taught each of them the same basic sewing skills as were taught to me. After all, you never know when such skills will come in handy.
Curious George (a soft stuffed version) came to me years ago with a split gut, at risk of losing valuable stuffing. I mended him within minutes, much to the delight of our grandson Nolan, who was his constant companion at the time.
Most recently, the next youngest grandson, two years removed from Nolan, dropped off his green dragon hoping I hadn’t lost my touch to mend a thing or two. He hoped I could save his favorite “stuffy.”
I scrummaged through my small pink sewing basket and found the perfect shade of green thread and promptly began the necessary surgery. No worse for the wear, I thought when I was finished.
Then, among the spools of thread and buttons of various sizes and shapes, I noticed a small green gingham heart quietly tucked into a corner of the basket as if it had been purposely placed. I decided if the Wizard from the great land of Oz could give the Tin Man a heart, I could do the same for my grandson’s green dragon. And so I did.
Do you suppose, with a stitch in time, when our grandson reaches to snuggle with his green buddy, he will hear the small gingham heart whisper, “P.S. I love you.”
