Sharing

I was totally game when my sister-in-law texted earlier this week to say she'd just come across a vintage Sears Kenmore sewing machine and she wanted me to teach her how to use it. She didn't know what she wanted to make, but she wanted to learn to sew. For herself. Because she needs a hobby.
My first question? "What are your thoughts about leggings?"

Friday night she trundled over, machine in tow. It was a steal for 25 clams. The machine runs smoothly, as someone in its past had been liberal with the oil and gentle on the moving parts. After some tension tweaking and some adjusting to figure out how the cams worked on this particular machine, we got a very nice straight stitch and a very happy zigzag.

My mother-in-law jokingly calls herself and her offspring The Tribe of the Stick People. My mother-in-law, my husband, and his two sisters are a lean, long-limbed, beautiful bunch. They don't show their age; there doesn't appear to be a stretch mark or wrinkle among them. With their flawless Mediterranean-ness, I'm sure that each of them has inspired his or her share of swooning.

Not surprisingly, thought, this body type has more than its share of fitting issues. I found as much when I finished the Western shirt for my husband earlier this fall. For my SIL, if something fits in the shoulders or waist, the legs and arms are never long enough. She's a beautiful woman who most of the time looks like a kid who is outgrowing her clothes. She was really excited to learn that we would be able to make her clothes fit if we drafted a pattern from her measurements. It's moments like these that I realize that we all have our baggage -- mine just happens to be carried in my butt.

While my SIL was anxious to get down to the actual sewing bit, I explained how taking her measurements would allow us to get out of that awful and frustrating "but it doesn't fit like it should nor does it look like the envelop" territory for beginning sewists. We traced out Cake's Espresso leggings, cut out a knee-length practice pair from the gobs of weird oatmeal polyester knit I have in my stash for such purposes, and she stitched them together with a wobbly seam. And lime green thread. She was beaming when she emerged from the bedroom after slipping them on.

She popped over today so I could help her cut out a real pair. She chose a stretch microsuede with a laser cut dot pattern, quirky, but very cool. I sent her home with written instructions for the process we followed last night, and she quickly sent me a text with a picture of her new pair. She's on the lookout for a second project, although I think there are going to be more leggings before then.

I'm really glad I could share a little bit of what I know. Now if only I could download my mom's (and posthumously my grandmas' and great aunts') sewing know how. Now wouldn't that be something?