I can’t think of a better way to spend a day waiting for spring to arrive than a gathering of weavers at Judith’s home filled with sunlight and art everywhere you look. Apparently she is not the only talented artist in her family. We all greatly admire the dedication and beauty of Judith’s art journals. She shared one from her trip to Ireland and showed us a couple of lovely hand stitched journals. So far I have gone so far as to find my pens and get out a sketchbook but that first blank page has me stuck. All things in their own time.
My weaving has been at a standstill, so the day before our gathering I was determined to finish a wool tote I was sewing so that I would at least have something for show and tell. Sewing and I have a tumultuous relationship. Trauma lingering from making one too many Frostline Kits in the days when I was too poor to buy good camping equipment and resorted to sewing a tent, sleeping bag, down vests, and god knows what else. For me it’s not sewing unless I spend half the time ripping seams out. Things were going pretty well until my machine broke about six inches short of the final stitching before I could turn the lining inside out and be done. I went downstairs and dug my grandmothers Singer, unused for about 20 years, out of the storage room and it actually made some noise when I turned it on. That machine was just about froze solid, but stitch by stitch I managed to sew those last 6 inches. It was about midnight by the time I got the handles and label sewn on. I didn’t even care that much the next morning, when I realized as I was throwing it over my shoulder, that I had sewed the handles on wrong. Kind of felt like I have my bad sewing mojo back and darn if I didn’t have something to show for it.