When I was in middle school I asked my grandmother to teach me how to sew on a machine. We bought the cheapest brother we could find which means it did not come with the instruction book. I never got the hang of it, my grandmother thought I was hopeless, and the sewing machine is probably buried somewhere in my parents’ basement.
Last year I decided to give it another shot. I am 5′ 3″ and besides constantly hemming up pants by hand, I have so many clothes that “almost” fit that it seems crazy that I can’t just whip out my sewing machine and fix them! I went to a warehouse sale and bought a Husqvarna Viking E10 for 75 bucks. Then I took a 4 hour class and made these giant pajama pants from Simplicity 1494. ( I love the crazy fabric! I don’t care what anyone says!)
Woo-hoo! I loved it! For weeks I dreamed about spinning bobbins and running fabric under the dancing needle. When people ask me, “what’s new” I have to tell them that I started sewing and I am obsessed. The desire to spend my free time sewing seems to fascinate people. I’ve been called a domestic goddess, housewifely, and a seamstress. None of these words really to apply to me as I am not terribly domestic, I’m not a wife, nor do I stay-at-home, and I am certainly not good enough to warrant the connotations of a professional seamstress. Instead I have been referring to myself as a beginning or weekend sewist. I had no idea that it wasn’t really a word until my partner questioned it. To which I replied, “Of course, it’s a word! I think.”
What do you think? Sewer vs. Sewist?