(Mis)adventures in sewing

So I promised one of my favorite bloggers Lisagh (Sophie calls her Crafty MacDafty) that I would sign up for a beginning sewing class. And although the thought of it threw me into a panic (I am terrified of our sewing machine; I am an idiot the minute I step out of the kitchen), I signed up. The class promised to familiarize me with sewing machine operation and basics. At the end of the class I would produce a pillow.

Off I went, all puffed up from the sewing experience I had logged over the weekend. I was particularly pleased to have along the pin cushion Lisagh sent me. My teacher was immediately impressed. "My friend made that," I explained. "She makes all kinds of amazing things" (as if this were some reflection on my own creative abilities).

The teacher explained that sewing machines are sort of like cars (good, I'm thinking, because I absolutely can drive). They all have a steering wheel, a gas pedal, an ignition, etc., but things like the lights and windshield wiper switches may be different. When you get in a car you have not driven before, you can always drive it, but it may take a minute to orient yourself.

So we watched, threaded, adjusted, lined up, and practiced on some scraps of cloth. I thought I was doing amazingly well. It was finally time to start on those pillows—two hours and fifteen minutes after class began and at the end of a long day at work. My energy was flagging, and if I had been home I would have been in bed with a book. And I had decided I did not like the fabric I had picked out. Whereas I had thought it looked sort of sweet and vintage-like, it now looked dowdy compared to the zippy selections of my classmates (granted, one woman was an interior designer and another an artist, which gave them a distinct advantage over me, who looks at black words on a white page or screen all day long).

But the main problem is that I did not measure properly. (I was tired, remember.) And so my pillow case fit too tightly, making my pillow look sort of lumpy.

And the back envelope enclosure did not quite close.

My teacher was so nice about it. "It looks just fine!" But I'm no dummy: IT DID NOT LOOK JUST FINE. The teacher suggested a little snap to hold it closed, but I'm going to huck it start again. With new fabric. On my own machine, about which I'm a little skeptical. The teacher was talking with several other students about what machines to consider buying, and noted that Bernina and Janomes are like the BMWs or Mercedes of machines, with others being the Volvos and the Hondas. She observed about the Singer, "Well, you wouldn't really go out and buy a Chevrolet, would you?" I was too embarrassed to tell her that I was already the humble owner of a Simplicity Demin Star, a brand she did not even mention because it is probably the Ford Pinto of sewing machines. 


So you can see why I cried a little bit as I rode home on my scooter. I had such high hopes of a fabulous new hobby, only to find out that when I'm the least bit tired my feeble attention wanders and I can't even operate a ruler.

But I will not give up because Sophie is watching, and I need to demonstrate resilience and perseverance. And besides, she told me my pillow was "really terrific," and I think she actually meant it.