Not incarcerated yet thanks to my own procrastination.\

I've been sewing furiously. The quilt is fully assembled but now needs every seam clipped before I haul it to the laundomat to wash it. I spent 4 hours sewing last night and another 3 today to finish assembly. I've been clipping for the last 2 hours and still have over half the quilt to clip but my right hand it beginning to curl into a claw and my shoulder is completely tensed up. Diana goes to college tomorrow. It will be interesting to see if I can manage to finish thing fully in time.

The combination of spackle dust lint which coat the mucous membranes of my nose, sinuses, and lungs provide an interesting manner of asphyxiation. Excuse me while I hork up a hair ball and blow some particularly interesting snot rockets. (You know, that rednecky maneuver where you just close one nostril and shoot the snot out the other one.) I figure if I can work up enough respiratory force they could be some deadly projectiles once I give them enough time to harden up.

Stitches in Time

When I was small my mother allowed me to use her old sewing machine once she replaced it with a new one. It was an old, blue Singer that was notorious for jamming. It drove me out of my mind. I had not yet developed skill so the least bit of resistance or malfunction tripped my frustration. Mom would happily sew away in her own little world and I'd want to throw the blue beast on the floor. I couldn't understand what on earth she enjoyed about sewing when all I ever got were tangles, knots, and a jammed machine. "Keep at it, don't give up, take your time. You're just a beginner. It will get easier." But I couldn't get past the frustration.

I could do basic repairs like sewing on buttons or fixing a seam by the time I entered Junior High when I had to take Home Economics. The teacher was a miserable woman who found out my mother was a seamstress and therefore expected perfection from me. This did nothing to endear me to the art of sewing. Mom got me through that class with her gentle patience and encouragement...as well as the secret agreement that my teacher was in fact being a completely nit-picky twit. In the meantime, I picked up crocheting from my grandmother. I did graduate high school knowing how to read a pattern and construct a basic garment, nothing too fancy or tailored very precisely though and it had to have explicit instruction from which I would not dream of deviating.

In college I picked up cross stitching and continued a little crocheting. I began to see how these sorts of things could be relaxing, contemplative, restoring, even meditative. I made a lot of gifts that way. Especially in college, in between reading, studying, and writing papers, it felt good to disengage the brain for a bit and focus on something else and yet have something to show for the time. I even went so far as to design some of my own pieces since I couldn't find patterns like what I wanted to do. Mom and Nana were delighted to see I'd found some sort of art involving needles and threads and that I enjoyed it and made it my own. They encouraged that and showed off my work to people they knew. I felt like I had accomplished some rite of passage.

Shortly after getting married I acquired a very old, very heavy, but very trusty sewing machine from our landlord. It had been his grandmother's and it seemed his fiancee turned up her nose at the old machine. I was delighted to receive it after giving it a try. It worked like a charm and had an external belt and other features that made maintenance easy. I could do repairs and minor alterations now without having to rely on mom's machine when we went to visit. I also had fun making just a few very simple outfits for Diana when she was a baby. Mom was thrilled to share some baby patterns with me and coach me along the way. Heavy as my machine was, I paid to ship it to Trinidad when we moved there.

Then in Trinidad I found I was pregnant with Calypso. Diana had been born in the middle of winter so most of my maternity clothes were winter-wear, which was much too heavy for the tropics. Off the rack maternity clothes were either hard to come by in Trinidad or extremely expensive. I had my mom send me some patterns and I set to work sewing since fabric there was very inexpensive. I had a couple of disasters and Mom was not close at hand to help me figure out how to fix them. It was just the machine and me. I ripped out mistakes and resewed new mistakes and jerry-rigged some I just couldn't cope with ripping again. I also had some nice successes. Mom wanted to hear all about it and see pictures. She laughed about my endless mistakes but commended me for figuring out how to make it work telling me that was a normal part of the process. I felt more confident. Then we were robbed and the thieves took my machine. We had a very high wall with broken bottle embedded in it. I will admit I prayed they all got a hernia or two trying to heft that machine over the wall.

When we came back to the US and Mr. Lime found a job, he got me a new sewing machine. It was a pretty basic model but it did what I needed it to do and has remained reliable. I continued to do repairs and minor alterations and the occasional item of clothes for the kids or me. Then came the challenge of costumes for the living history farm where the kids and I have volunteered. I was able to lay my hands on a basic pattern for the blouses and bonnets...VERY basic. Basic as in, "Here's a rough shape to cut out with a bunch of pieces but we aren't going to give you any directions as to how to assemble them. Oh, and for the skirt you're completely on your own. Here's a picture of how it should look." Yowza, I was just a wee tad nervous about this whole endeavor. Thankfully, I had some borrowed garments I could examine to see how they were constructed and I had a book that explained different techniques. I was thrilled when I managed to produce wearable, reasonably accurate costumes AND to have my mother tell me they were well-constructed. This is the woman who made my wedding gown, her gown, and all the gowns for my attendants, the woman who made my prom gown and Diana's, the woman who had been making quilts since before I was born (including one for me with scraps of my old baby clothes and kitchen curtains she had also made). This woman looked on my work, the work of a kid who used to scream and cry at the old blue beast sewing machine, and she pronounced it "very good."

So now I am working on this quilt for Diana. Mom and I worked together on the one I have on my bed but she did at least 85% of the work. I committed to make my first ever quilt from start to finish for Diana. Mom has advised me. She helped buy the fabric as a gift for Diana. Mom asked if I wanted her to help sew it or if I was determined to do the project myself. I told her it's my goal to do all the work myself on this one. It's the next rite of passage for the machine and me. She seemed to understand. The more I get to know my way around the machine the more accomplished I feel and the more I understand about Mom and the line of seamstresses, knitters, tatters, and quilters who came before her in our family.

This past week and weekend it's rained a lot so I have been catching up on this project because in three short weeks Diana heads off to school. The quilt needs to be done by then. In the process I am finding the stitches don't just bind fabric together. They are binding generations.

Slice of Lime-Prom

It's that time of year when girls primp and boys strangle themselves with ties and corsage/boutonniere sales skyrocket. It's prom season. We shall commence with the old pictures and move through time to present day. Here we have young Lime when she was a junior in high school and asked to attend this young man's prom. Finances being what they were, she borrowed a frothy pink confection from a friend. It was the mid 80s after all, when froth was at its height. Please take note that Young Lime;'s hair was not at its height as she resisted baptism into the Church of Aquanet. Upon seeing this and other pictures her father could only comment on the proliferation of upper lip whiskers possessed by "the date" in spite of said date's tender age. Lime's cousin, who was an exchange student to Spain and who had found herself a Spanish boyfriend, told Young Lime half of this picture was being carried around by her Spanish boyfriend's best pal who wanted to be able to tell folks he had an American girlfriend like his amigo. I wonder if he was a better dancer than my date?

The following year I was a senior and it was time for my own prom. Mother Lime told me since I had been so thrifty the previous year she'd make me the prom gown of my choosing for my own prom. I was very grateful. Here she is hard at work on my gown.

And here is the finished product. Yes, it was the 80s so it was still covered in lace, but it lacked froth and it wasn't pink. It was a simple, strapless tea length with an A-line skirt. I was quite pleased with the work Mother Lime had done. Pity I had such rotten posture.

It is interesting to note that though my date this year was....erm...considerably older than the previous year's date, the younger guy had a better 'stache. In the words of Forest Gump, "That's all I have to say about that." Let's skip ahead shall we?

Now we come to my own Limelette and her prom. Two years ago she and her sister found my old blue prom gown and wanted to try it on. It fit them like a glove and they declared, "We never knew you were as skinny as us!" I resisted the urge to smack them and extended grace when they asked if they could wear it to their respective proms by granting permission to do so. Flash forward to earlier this year when Diana pulled it from the closet once again and discovered she could no longer wedge herself into the tiny garment. She asked Mother Lime if she'd be willing to sew her dress. If you recall, Mother Lime agreed most delightedly and a pattern and fabric were selected. Here is an early mock up made from bed sheets.

Mother Lime worked diligently and produced a fine garment. Since I bought the pattern and fabric she said she wanted to pay for the hairdresser. Last Friday Prom day arrived so we all piled in to the salon as Diana had her hair piled up. Just for a point of reference I offer a "before" picture.

After about an hour here is a midstage picture. Quite the mass of curls, no?

Finally, after another hour, 2 rubber bands, 58 bobby pins, and a gallon of hairspray, we have the completed work. We were all quite pleased even if Diana said her hair felt somewhat helmet like. It was at this point I reminded her of the advice she gave me when she was but 8 years old and I complained about something I had to endure for a semi formal occasion, "It's fashion. It has to hurt."

After a quick bite for lunch and some time primping at home we have the grand unveiling along with the seamstress.

The full effect.

The date, with nary a trace of fuzz upon his upper lip.

"The look," which has defined this child's expression for much of her life. "Would you take the last picture already so I can just get on with it???" There are those who have suggested this look is a perfect derivative of someone else they know. I can't imagine who they might mean.

Just a little closeup I thought was nice. I am happy to report, a good time was had by all.

Slice of Lime-Wedding Dress Edition

On Tuesday Cooper, Susie, Breazy, and Jocelyn left comments demanding to see my wedding gown and what my bridesmaids wore since I mentioned my mother made all the dresses. Having no other actual ideas for this week's Slice of Lime I am subjecting you all to showing you the requested pictures.

First, the evidence. My mother took over my vacated bedroom to use as sewing space. The clean, empty floor was the only space big enough to lay out all the fabric and patterns. Here she's cutting out a bridesmaid dress.

My gown, my veil, a couple of bridesmaids gowns, and her own dress for the wedding, which she also made. I only asked her to make my gown. She eagerly volunteered to make the bridesmaids' gowns as well. My girls were ecstatic to only have to pay for the cost of fabric and notions. It's hard to beat $35 for a full length taffeta dress.

The finished product for Mom and me. Please keep in mind this was 1988 when hair was worn big (I never had big hair. My conscience is clear regarding the effect of Aquanet on the ozone layer.) and wedding gowns were expected to drip beading and baubles and pearls and bows and all manner of other geegaws. Fussy, complicated gowns were the style. Mine was fairly understated for the time...well, except for those linebacker shoulders. Hey, don't laugh. The Little Mermaid wore that dress a few years later. I didnt' have a flower girl or a ring bearer. They were misbehaving so as punishment I carried them inside my sleeves. Mom did a beautiful job. Everyone was happy with how their gowns fit and she actually changed the waistline on mine. It was supposed to be straight but I wanted the v-shape so she changed the pattern.

The one fussy feature about the dress was the 40 or 50 buttons that went up the back of it. Mom asked if I wanted the buttons or if she should just put a zipper in. I asked for the buttons. She covered each one in satin and hand crocheted the loops for them. That's motherly love. It took my girls a while to get me buttoned in. I had ideas as to how fun it might be having them unbuttoned later, hence my preference for buttons over a zipper. Mr. Lime did not share my thoughts on the matter. I want to further emphasize the understated design of this 80s gown. Gigantic bows on the bride's rear-end were the in thing. I opted out of that particular trend if you'll notice. My girls had very small bows atop each shoulder. My mom made enough extra bows out of scraps to go on the bases of candles on the tables at the reception. Afterward, we gathered them up and every year I put them on our Christmas tree.

So now that I am all buttoned in and bedecked in the various finery here's the fully finished product of my girls with me as my maid of honor adds the last touch. May I say the buttons are the only reason getting dressed took me more than 15 minutes. I did my own hair (single french braid down the back) and didn't wear any make-up. Heck, this was even in the days before I decided eyebrow plucking was a good idea. It was well before middle aged hormones and my Greek heritage would conspire to provide me with an upper lip in need of regular waxing. Low maintenance, baby. But I digress, I was supposed to be showing the finished product or my mom's labors.

Take note of the $9.99 Payless shoes with a half inch heel in this next shot. I do believe I have mentioned I hate high heels too. Comfort, that's what I am talking about. I guess I clean up reasonably well, but I still can't be overly formal for very long. We got married the week before Christmas. At the reception I took off my grandmother's pearl earrings and wore red Christmas ball earrings. If I knew how to photoshop in arrows and labels and stuff I'd do that but I can't so you'll have to tolerate the explanation in paragraph form. See the two older ladies looking like they might beat the crap out of anyone who tries to take the bouquet from them? Yeah, those are my great aunts. The girl in the red dress who has her hand up is my cousin. The girl in the front in the black dress with the red belt is also a cousin. They are all in a life and death struggle for that bouquet and fully intend to launch themselves at whoever catches the garter. Such is my family at a wedding. Twenty years later and the white haired, octogenarian aunt will trip you with her walker then beat you senseless to get at the bouquet. However, the winner was the slight girl in the blue dress. She promptly came over to gleefully hug me at which point one of my Christmas ball earrings pulled off its wire and found itself down her neckline and nestled in her bra. As I whirled around trying to find it she deadpanned, "It's in my bra. See? I look like I have three boobs now."

Finally, I'd be remiss in not having at least one picture showing the groom. Neither of us quite understood what the heck the photographer was trying to get us to do at this point. The pose you see is what we wound up doing spontaneously. I liked the playfulness of it.

So there you have it. My mom's mad sewing skillz on full parade nearly 20 years ago.
Thanks, Mom. You're the best!