Something's Gotta Give ...
Or “If you don’t put your dirty socks in the hamper, they will NEVER get washed.
I haven’t been knitting much this past week because I’ve been sewing. A lot. Two major projects, both with short deadlines that happened to coincide. I didn’t even have time to procrastinate. (Yes, thank you for asking. I did meet both deadlines with hours to spare. I even managed to get some sleep.) I just can’t squeeze in any knitting in my sewing room. The in-between-sewing time gets filled with cutting and pressing and picking all the stray threads from my clothes.
I had almost forgotten how much I love to sew. I enjoy fiddly sewing projects with tons of detail, seen and unseen. As long as I have a well-oiled machine, lots of time, lots of space and lots of underlining, I am happy. (Usually the “lots of time” and "lots of space" factors are missing. I will NOT show you a photo of my sewing room to prove my point. Just imagine "Ten pounds of sugar in a five pound sack.") The sense of satisfaction when I finish is tremendous, even more so when the dress fits.
I remember Mom teaching me to sew. I remember the first time I used The Machine -- a Czechoslovakian made Lada -- “sewing” sans thread along pencil drawn curves on a piece of notebook paper. (Lassie was on TV.) With a large family, half of them little girls, sewing was more a necessity for Mom than a pleasure; although she tells about elaborate maternity clothes with darling piped Peter Pan collars she made BC (Before Children). I guess each of us finds our own way to nest.
This past year, knitting has fit into my life better than sewing. Knitting is portable. It’s quiet. Its accoutrements take up less space. It nestles into the odd moments of things, into little blocks of time….
Which brings me to the dirty socks. My house tends to fall apart when I sew. I don’t notice hunger, so I don’t cook. There is no clock in my sewing room. I spend big blocks of time, measuring time’s passage only by the number of cassette tapes played from my early 80’s collection.
For now, I am happy to get back to my knitting and Criminy Jickets' Garterlac dishcloth.
Knitting works with my life. It doesn’t seem to take any time from anything else. It takes the edge off and fills up what would otherwise be irritating, wasted waiting. Knitting is the lubrication that keeps everyday friction from catching the house on fire. That big pile of socks could spontaneously combust.
I haven’t been knitting much this past week because I’ve been sewing. A lot. Two major projects, both with short deadlines that happened to coincide. I didn’t even have time to procrastinate. (Yes, thank you for asking. I did meet both deadlines with hours to spare. I even managed to get some sleep.) I just can’t squeeze in any knitting in my sewing room. The in-between-sewing time gets filled with cutting and pressing and picking all the stray threads from my clothes.
I had almost forgotten how much I love to sew. I enjoy fiddly sewing projects with tons of detail, seen and unseen. As long as I have a well-oiled machine, lots of time, lots of space and lots of underlining, I am happy. (Usually the “lots of time” and "lots of space" factors are missing. I will NOT show you a photo of my sewing room to prove my point. Just imagine "Ten pounds of sugar in a five pound sack.") The sense of satisfaction when I finish is tremendous, even more so when the dress fits.
I remember Mom teaching me to sew. I remember the first time I used The Machine -- a Czechoslovakian made Lada -- “sewing” sans thread along pencil drawn curves on a piece of notebook paper. (Lassie was on TV.) With a large family, half of them little girls, sewing was more a necessity for Mom than a pleasure; although she tells about elaborate maternity clothes with darling piped Peter Pan collars she made BC (Before Children). I guess each of us finds our own way to nest.
This past year, knitting has fit into my life better than sewing. Knitting is portable. It’s quiet. Its accoutrements take up less space. It nestles into the odd moments of things, into little blocks of time….
Which brings me to the dirty socks. My house tends to fall apart when I sew. I don’t notice hunger, so I don’t cook. There is no clock in my sewing room. I spend big blocks of time, measuring time’s passage only by the number of cassette tapes played from my early 80’s collection.
For now, I am happy to get back to my knitting and Criminy Jickets' Garterlac dishcloth.
Knitting works with my life. It doesn’t seem to take any time from anything else. It takes the edge off and fills up what would otherwise be irritating, wasted waiting. Knitting is the lubrication that keeps everyday friction from catching the house on fire. That big pile of socks could spontaneously combust.
posted by Gail | 12:46 PM
1 Comments:
Sounds like sewing works for you like painting works for me. The house could fall down around my ears when I'm painting and I wouldn't notice. Sewing was, is and always will be nerve wracking for me but it did come in handy when trying to stretch an already taut budget. I guess I should be happy with the knowledge that I can if I have to but I'd rather not have to.
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