The last time I took a night class, it was Introduction to Broadcast Journalism. Ten months later I was in the full time program. Ten years later, I still love getting paid to observe and report, and I'm finally taking that sewing class.
In ten 3 hour Saturday sessions, I will learn how to interpret a pattern, stitch up at least one simple dress complete with fusing for reinforcement, on an industrial sewing machine.
If I had been bold enough to follow my heart years ago, I would have pursued acting or fashion design. I was always a dramatic child, and I'm told I was coordinating my own outfits at three.
At 14, I saw Pretty in Pink. By 16 I bought my first vintage gown with the intention of transforming it just like Molly Ringwald's character did. It didn't work out for me then. The yellow satin dress (sort of rescued by a real tailor) was a disaster, so was the prom. Over the years I butchered many perfectly good garments, determined to turn scraps into sartorial works of art. Eventually I gave up and stuck with hemming curtains, and the occasional pair of pants, constrained only by a lack of skill.
Now I am reclaiming the dream, one small step at a time.
One class down, and I can thread a bobbin, stitch a straight line, a curved one, even a zig zag - on paper. Next week we graduate to fabric. Already, I am a card carrying member of Fabricland. Tailor's chalk, a seam ripper, a tracing wheel and hand sewing needles were part of my first purchase. So was some pretty cool fabric and a hideous pattern for a tunic dress everyone in the class has to sew.
I am as giddy as a school girl.
