Sewing with Tremors, Yikes!
When I was a young girl, I loved all kinds of needlework, especially sewing. My grandmother was a seamstress and designed and sewed beautiful aprons. Women purchased her magnificent creations for holidays, special event and everyday use. She taught me how to sew using her own patterns. We sewed our masterpieces on an old Singer sewing machine with a foot pedal. I loved the whole process of choosing the perfect fabric, pinning and cutting out the pattern and sewing the pieces together. We would begin on a Saturday morning and have a finished original piece of art by dinner. Somehow we also had time to make a batch of homemade fudge to enjoy during our hard work. It was such a memorable time with my Nana.
Later in junior high school, I continued sewing as a member of the 4H Sewing Club. We made items that were exhibited at the local county fair. It was fun and creative. High school, college, marriage, career and motherhood occupied several decades of my life and sewing took a back seat, way back. In fact, I only sewed a few times in all those years. First, when my groom bought me a beautiful new Singer with all the bells and whistles. In between working and pursuing graduate degrees, the creative side of my brain begged for attention so I would make an easy skirt or top or tote bag. It was just enough to help me remember how to thread the machine, load the bobbin and sew a seam. After the kids came, my sewing skills became mending ones as I fixed buttons, uniforms and costumes. And of course, there were lots of home decorating projects. I sewed drapes, valances, pillow covers, dresser scarves, table runners and napkins. As long as the edges were somewhat straight, I was proud of my accomplishments. I would often remind my husband that I saved tons of money by sewing the projects myself. I am not sure he believed me, but he always smiled when he saw me at the Singer that he gave to me.
It is over fifty years since I sewed my first apron. Now it is much more difficult to use the machine and guide the fabric because of my Parkinson’s, but it is not impossible. I have to slow down (a lot) as I move the fabric along the guide mark on the machine’s footplate. I also find cutting to be very tough except when my meds are working great and the tremors subside. But I don’t care. So what if the edges are a bit wavy or the seams are a bit crooked? The memories I have of sewing with my grandmother with the smell of fudge in the air far outweigh the lack of perfection of the product. And isn’t that what life is really about? The journey not the destination.
I think I will wear one of my aprons this weekend, just for the memories.
