Pretty sure I haven’t touched a sewing machine in 13 years, since I had to pick out the stitches in most of my projects in my middle school “Clothing 1” class. I still use the horseshoe pillowcase I made, and my mom was kind enough to keep my poorly quilted Americana pillow.
It wasn’t the greatest experience, with no fault to my teacher. I was sloppy and hurried and my stitches and I repelled like magnets held at the wrong ends.
But today, with the coaxing of my dear friend, her grandmother, grandfather, and aunt—I found myself between threads and needles once again. And you know something? It felt real, real good to be handling fabric again.
The art of sewing, before today, was just a hastily introduced acquaintance from my past. But now, we’ll, I can tell that we are gonna be friends.
It wasn’t the greatest experience, with no fault to my teacher. I was sloppy and hurried and my stitches and I repelled like magnets held at the wrong ends.
But today, with the coaxing of my dear friend, her grandmother, grandfather, and aunt—I found myself between threads and needles once again. And you know something? It felt real, real good to be handling fabric again.
The art of sewing, before today, was just a hastily introduced acquaintance from my past. But now, we’ll, I can tell that we are gonna be friends.
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