Sewing a Dream

It was blue with black pin stripes hither and thither. It was made of cotton that was still a little rough to the touch and it was adorned with plain wooden buttons that were sewn on by hand. The whole dress was hand sewn in fact.

I turned to my friend Eric and declared, “I would wear this as a wedding dress.”

We stood in the gift shop of our local pioneer village admiring that simple dress; Eric with passive interest; me with a passion that burned so hot I could nearly feel its tinge (I was a very dramatic teenager). This was not a thunderbolt of longing that suddenly hit me. I had always had a strange proclivity towards nostalgia.

When Eric and I eventually married I wore my mother’s gown – nostalgic enough I suppose. In truth I had zero choice in the matter. Besides, at twenty years old, wearing an old-fashioned work dress on my wedding day seemed just a little too fanciful (not to mention the fact that the original dress was probably long sold).

So yes, the wedding dress idea did not come to pass but I was able to hold on to inspiration long enough to learn how to sew, at least to some degree, from my mother and my aunt. For some time I joyfully made wonky clothes for my son and his hapless cousins but eventually as life got busy with book fairs and playdates sewing got put to the side.

The village remained an integral part of our lives though. Eric and I were so young when we had our child that we really didn’t have much else outside of love to give him. Eric took a job as a long-haul truck driver and every Sunday, to mask the difficulty of kissing Daddy good-bye for the week, we would take our little son to the village for a ride on the miniature train.

Then, many years later, came what I think of as the dark year. It started with our two dogs passing away seven weeks apart and ended with me in a hospice room holding my aunt’s hand. The night my aunt died Eric was away so my son slept on my bedroom floor because he didn’t want me to be alone. He was quickly growing up to be a man.

Our family inherited many things from my Aunt but three things especially stand out: Her old sewing machine, her rotary cutter and her scissors. These things seemed so personal and so dear. I knew I had to use them and treat them with the respect they deserved. In doing so it did not take long for me to arrive at three conclusions:

1. I was truly terrible at sewing.

How many times I sewed the right side to the wrong side I do not know!

2. I sincerely wanted to get better.

3. Sharp cutting tools are magical devices!

I started binge watching tutorials all the while experimenting with my new toys. I found that being more precise made a huge difference to the end results of my projects (who knew?). I would wheel around the curves of my patterns then finish the fiddly parts with the scissors. Next, I would turn to the sewing machine and actually try to use the seam allowance denoted in the pattern. Soon my efforts started to pay off and my obsession grew to the point that I had no choice: I had to enroll in fashion school.

Throwing all caution to the wind I next decided to apply for a job at the village. I figured it was a lark and that there was no way they would hire me. I had little experience and even less confidence. Well, I was right!

Studies continued.

The following year I applied to the village again and was rejected again. Undeterred where once even I myself was skeptical I applied for a third time the following year. And so it was that I finished my inaugural season at the museum the same year I graduated with a diploma in professional sewing.

The first project I was assigned at the village was a shot silk skirt that took me over 8 months and 3000 hand stitches to complete. It was based on a fashion plate from Godey’s Lady's Book and is now on display at the museum. There is a video of me on museum’s website at the dressmaker’s house! Best of all I get paid to teach little girls with glowing eyes how to sew their own dreams!

This summer is my twenty fifth wedding anniversary and my fifth season at the village. I wonder what I would be doing today were it not for the inheritance of that sewing machine, rotary cutter and scissors.

I think it might be time for me to sew a blue calico dress. After all, it is never too late to make a dream come true.