The Hat Lady

When I was a little girl visiting our grandparents on weekends was something that I looked forward to. Mom’s mom always made wonderful edible treats, perpetually ready for whomever might drop by. She taught me how to cook. My dad’s mom had a huge breakfront in her living room filled with the most amazing hats of all shapes, sizes and colors. She taught me how to sew.

Grandmother Denson made hats for the neighborhood ladies. Sunday hats! Back then wearing a fancy hat was obligatory in their community. A beautiful hat along with your Sunday’s best outfits. Even the men wore hats. Grandfather was a chef in the city at a fancy men’s club. Sometimes the members would bring him along on their hunting trips to dress the game and prepare it for them at the campground. Grandmother’s hat business supplemented the family income. She was also an amazing seamstress and a designer as well as a milliner. I believe her skills were passed from her mother and her mother’s mother. There was never any formal training to my knowledge. It was mostly natural talent and learned skills.

My parents would drop me off at my grandparents’ house for overnight stays sometimes. My first memory of wanting to sew is from about the age of 3. I remember begging grandmother to teach me. On one of my visits she produced a doll’s dress pattern to my delight. Finally! We used discarded sleeves, pant legs and scraps of colorful fabric left over from her clients to create doll outfits together. The first time grandmother guided my tiny hands with the sewing shears, her hands engulfing my own, assuring my safety, teaching me, is forever etched in my heart. I remember her effortlessly working the needle through the fabric with the machine, her petite foot on the pedal. My cheek would be pressed against her soft arm. She would be humming one of her favorite spirituals and smiling at me from time to time, never missing one stitch.

When I was 5 I got a toy sewing machine for Christmas. It worked. It wasn’t the same feeling at all as grandma’s machine. I did what I could but I was disappointed with what little I could make with that thing. The next year, mom bought a used old fashioned style sewing machine. The local high school home economics department was selling them for a charity event. It was black and shiny with gold detailing. It was magical! Mom really didn’t know much about sewing so I know that it was really for me.

My 7th grade year, mom traded in that old sewing machine for a brand new high tech one that was encased inside of its own cabinet. That was that years Christmas gift to me. 49 years later I still have that machine. By now I was taking home economics classes in middle school. We went to Woolworth, bought an orange tackle box and filled it with all the sewing supplies that I would need. I recall looking at the scissors hanging neatly in a row and mom grabbing my first pair of orange handled sewing shears. She told me that Fiskars are the best. My very own sewing shears! My first. Now, I had everything that I would need. I’m sure I chose the orange box to match my orange scissors. I realize now that it was a huge sacrifice for mom to be able to afford all of that. I’m sure my parents felt in their hearts that it was an investment in my joy. I’m sure they could feel my passion. 49 years later I still have that sewing box too.

After my first year in college studying social science and graphic design I knew that I had to switch my major to fashion design or costume design or something involving fabrics. I loved all things artistic and creative. In high school I took every art class that I could jam into my schedule. I studied water color, oil and acrylic painting. I studied charcoal, graphite pencil and pen and ink. We made tie dye and paper maché life sized animals using chicken wire as the base. We tried pottery and sculpture. We even had live models! Colored pencils, crayons, silk screen and pastels, all of it. My high school had an entire art wing. I was truly blessed for this opportunity and I was truly in my element. For my senior high school year project I made a tapestry that I had to sew by hand. I couldn’t bring my sewing machine with me to boarding school. I did, however, bring my orange handled scissors with me.

I tried another path after my freshman year of college because I missed sewing so much. I missed the feel of the scissors slicing through a new piece of fabric for the very first time. I missed the crinkling sound of tissue paper, the pins and the sewing needles. Even the search for the right type and color of thread and buttons. So in my sophomore year I became a fashion design student. Now it was time to get serious. I added to my tackle box my first purchase of professional quality shears and professional quality pinking shears. I’m sure the other students were giving me the side-eye for carrying around an orange well used tackle box as my college sewing box, but I knew the magic that was inside. Their opinion of me was not important. I just needed to add a few more things to my repertoire. Owning professional scissors are to a designer what professional knives are to a chef. They must be cared for and pampered. They are professionally sharpened regularly, oiled and stored appropriately. And as all designers know, you NEVER ever cut paper with your fabric shears. NEVER! Of course I had paper shears for pattern making and trimming. My old orange handled shears came in handy for that purpose. I remembered the first time holding my professional shears. The weight of them in my hand made my heart pump a tiny bit harder with the excitement of what I was about to create. True happiness.

To this day I still feel that excitement whenever I open my old sewing box or pick up those shears. There is nothing that really compares to that feeling. When I start cutting into the fabric everything around my disappears. I made my first wedding dress. I made my daughter’s wedding dress. I felt so much joy to open that box for her. I remember finding the shop that sold just the right type of off white satin. We purchased the entire bolt. I still love to sew. I will crank up some R&B and slide the pedal of my machine onto the floor, then under my foot. I like to sew in my bare feet. Although I still have my 7th grade machine, she is old and is in need of some repairs, I bought a new one. My plan is to teach my granddaughters on that old machine some day and pass it down to them. I will guide their tiny hands through the fabrics the way that my grandmother guided mine. I will pass down my special shears to them. There is nothing else that can replace the feeling of them in my hands and I want them to know that feeling as well. I know when the magic is about to begin and I cannot wait to share that with them.