I picked up a needle and thread for the first time. I have this great idea of hand sewing quilts for those I love. My mom has been into quilting and sewing for years, always hoping, I think, that I would one day get the sewing bug and be ready to take an interest in what I consider to be one of my mom’s great passions in life. Just last week, my mom finally got her wish. I want to sew. More specifically, however, I want to make quilts.
I’ve always been intimidated by the sewing machine. The quiet hum in stark contrast to the overwhelming fear racing through me as I look at the mountains of books that tell me how to work it. I am not someone who has a lot of patience. I like to jump right into things and just get moving on them. I find the sewing machine forces me to sit still and plan, when all I really want to do is push forward and watch my patterns come to life. Using a sewing machine is therefore quite the struggle for me.
My mom, however, has infinite patience. I imagine being my mother has contributed to her ability to be calm, carefully reading and following directions until she has a well put together piece made with all the love that only mothers have. My mom is the one everyone turns to for advice. She can sit and listen to the rest of us talking about our problems for hours. Her patience with each of us, often repeating the same issues over and over to her is a testament to her strength.
My mother is a rule follower, while I am more of a fly by the seat of my pants kind of girl. As you can imagine our first conversation about quilting had us going round and round on our different ideas of how to make the quilt. I have this desire to create whatever I want, not being constrained to a pattern, as I make each block for my quilts. My mom, as you may have guessed, suggested that I follow specific books on how to sew a quilt, and use the patterns they recommend especially considering this is my first quilt.
I know inside that my mother is right, but my creative side rejects this sense of “telling me how to do something” vs. letting me create one my own way. I cannot accept the chains that would be holding me down, destroying my sense of fun and creativity. I cannot be tamed.
Our compromise was that I would start by hand sewing my blocks, cutting the fabric into whatever shapes I like. Later, however, I will have to learn the sewing machine as I stitch together each block into a quilt. This was a compromise I could accept.
Each time I pick up the needle and the thread I am reminded of my mother’s ability to stay still for hours, concentrating on the project in front of her. Her willingness to teach herself a machine with so many bells and whistles that I can feel myself shrink away from it in horror. I think to myself, I want to be that woman.
I want to have that ability to sit and concentrate, rather than feel this urgent need to be up and moving at all times. Every day that I find myself sewing is a lesson in the three P’s, patience, perseverance, and problem-solving. The challenge I find myself faced with goes far beyond my mediocre skill with a needle and thread. It causes me to dig deep, channel my mother’s behavior while still maintaining my need for the license to create whatever pattern I choose.
As I embark on this new hobby I find myself learning about my mother. Learning the difference and likenesses between us is a pleasure. I know I will never be as talented at sewing as my mother. I know I will never have a stitch as perfect as that a sewing machine would make. I also know that it’s okay that we have different approaches to the same task. It’s okay to be unique in my sewing technique, because in the end, we have both created something we love.
