For most of this year, I haven’t been sewing much because, well, I’ve been busy with work that pays me actual money. Seriously, though, things are very different now than they were this time last year, which is likely to be fodder for a forthcoming blog post. The long and short of it is that I’ve had a lot of rewarding work over the past six to nine months that has kept me very busy and away from my sewing machine. Good for the pocketbook, but not so great for conversation or making stuff.
As I’ve slowly been clawing my way out of workaholism (really…what else was I supposed to do during this awful, awful winter?), I’ve been trying to get back to some of my avocations, like sewing. There’s been no shortage of projects, and my collection of patterns, like sauerkraut left unattended in the fridge, seems to be multiplying on its own. (Seriously, if anyone can explain to me that sauerkraut phenomenon, I will be eternally grateful.)
I also have an ever-present pile of clothes earmarked for mending and altering that taunt me from the corner of my sewing room, and some of the clothes have been on the pile for years. Especially when I switch the clothes in my closets because of the season change, I am acutely aware of clothing that I haven’t worn in years. I’ve instated a rule: If a particular piece of clothing hasn’t been worn for the entirety of a season, it gets donated. However, this rule breaks down when it comes to clothing my grandmother made for me, which carry a certain sentimental value. Even though I know deep down in my heart of hearts that I’m never going to wear that large flower print pleasant dress that she made for me in the 90’s, I still harbor the completely unrealistic fantasy that perhaps Elaine Benes’ wardrobe will come back into style, and then I’ll be really glad that I hung on to all of those horribly unfashionable dresses that look like a cut-rate florist threw up on me.
