Take Me Home, Country Roads

Last weekend I went back to where it all started. Well, sort of. I was born in Louisiana and moved when I was five. Anyway, I went home for the weekend for a much needed visit and relaxing weekend with my parents. Dad was out of town, so I didn't get to see him this trip. Since I knew I was going home, I decided to take my torn pants to fix with her gorgeous sewing machine and other fun tools. Mom was, after all, offered a job with Coats and Clark in Manhattan, but that was before my time. Good thing she didn't take it otherwise she wouldn't have met Dad and then had me. Perish the thought!


Now, you may ask, "How did your pants get torn?" It was a situation that I thought would never happen to me. I bought the pants at Macy's because I was (and still am, sadly) in desperate need of work clothes. I'm really bad about buying clothes for myself even when I really need them because I know the money could be spent elsewhere on more important things. Like food, which causes my pant size to fluctuate. But I digress. I find these wonderful, classic black and white checkered print like old man pants. Not like Dorothy from Oz kind of checkered. Anyway, they're comfortable, the perfect length, so I buy them. I had already envisioned the outfit I was going to wear to work next day, so I was ready for the morning.


Morning comes, and I shower before changing. I get everything but my boots on and when I bend down to get them...riiiiip. I stand up quickly in mild shock and confusion. "Did that really just happen? No, surely not. I have no backside to speak of!" Lo and behold though, when I looked in the mirror, there it was. A hold as big as a quarter. My first thought was, "Maybe no one will notice." Right. I think they'll notice the pink contrast in the middle of black and white fabric. So I sigh, change pants, and don't feel as put together as I originally did. I was excited about those pants.


Thankfully, the rip was just where some thread in the seam was weak, so fixing it would be no problem. So I go home and get to fixing the pants. I machine-stitched them to death so they wouldn't come undone, oh no buddy. These pants weren't going to play peekaboo with no man! Or woman. Or dog. Whatever. No one was going to see my underwear.


Mom's sewing machine is very unique in the way that it operates. It was originally a treadle machine, where you pump the foot pedal which powered the machine, going only as fast you went. Her dad, an incredible handyman, built her a motor to go with the machine that would be powered when you pushed the treadle. So her machine has the early 1900s look with the modern feel. The best of both worlds, I say! It still runs beautifully and will one day be mine. I can only hope to do it justice, and find someone to repair it if I screw up. *cringe*


Now this handy gadget is one of my favorites that I have yet to see anywhere else but firmly attached to the end of Mom's sewing stand. It's an antique pinker which is SO much easier than using pinking shears. You just feed your fabric under the cutting wheel on the left and turn the crank on the right. There's even a guide so you don't cut your fabric crooked. I wonder if Mom would notice it missing? Since I have no nifty sewing stand like she does, I'd have to mount it to something like the kitchen counter. Wouldn't that be a lovely conversation piece? Perhaps Victoria and Bo would come over, see it, and say:

V/B: "I didn't notice this last time! What handy kitchen gadget is this?"
Me: "It's a pinker."
V/B: "Oh, what does it make pink?"
Me: "It cuts fabric."
V/B: ...

Then they would probably never come back again thinking I'm crazy for having a fabric cutter right next to my toaster and mixer. Nah, I think Victoria would be pretty fascinated by it and would still come back. She likes things like that. And understands my crazy.