Memory Lane Monday - Where It All Started...

Brynwood Needleworks - The Budding Seamstress

 

Although I don't write Memory Lane Monday posts any longer, I came across this photograph over the weekend. I'm going through closets in preparation for our eventual move, and found this in an old, falling apart photo album. I just had to share it with you.

  This is me at twelve years old.  

Yes, I know. I was a real fashion plate, right? My dress was dark green velvet, and although it seems a bit short to me now, twelve year old me loved it. It was my Christmas dress in 1966.

I'm sure you're wondering why I chose to share this particular image with you. I mean, why would I want to post a photo of this short-haired, classes-wearing, awkward girl-I-used-to-be? The real reason is that piece of furniture next to me. That early-American piece is a sewing cabinet, and inside is a 1965 era Elna sewing machine. 

My best friend, Cyd's dad, Don, used to sell sewing machines. In 1965, he sold the Elna to my mother. It came with six free sewing lessons. When he tried to schedule her for her first lesson, she pointed toward me and told him, "Teach her." She never learned how to use it, but man, I sure did! I took to it like an otter to water.

I would go to the sewing machine store where Uncle Don (that's how many Brits teach their children to refer to adults who are family friends), taught me how to sew. I learned straight and zigzag lines, and how to use the included cams to create decorative stitches. I don't remember my first project, or the model number of that machine, but I think I'd recognize it if I ever saw one again.

This photograph was taken fifty years ago in December. In the ensuing years, I've created many articles of clothing for myself and others - and everything from pillow cases to wedding dresses. All because the person who purchased this machine never really wanted to use it. (Maybe she just liked the cabinet?) No matter the reason, I'll always be grateful to Don for persisting until there was a sewing machine in our house. Little did he know (or perhaps he did), that it would forge a love for a pastime that would last a lifetime.