Sewing with two left hands

I was going to write about Call Me by Your Name (go read the book, it’s beautifully written. Then watch the movie), but I have something else that I need to get off my chest. It is by no means more important than discussing the contents of the aforementioned book and movie, but it’s taking up my mind as of this morning more so than what I’ve read through the past month.

I’m talking about sewing. I told you it wasn’t existential. Sewing is a thing in our family and is also becoming a thing in my extended family. My grandfather is a learned tailor and has always done his magic on a non-electric machine. He even was involved in a European project attempting to teach me a few tricks, though I wonder if anything stuck. My mother is self-taught and whizzes through zips and fine silk in a matter of minutes and few hours. My sister has also been teaching herself ever since she was a teenager whilst I was dreaming up all the nice things one could do. Even my cousin has taken it up recently and been doing all sorts of nice things you could sell on Etsy.

Amidst these wonderful people that seem to have a knack for cutting, lining and fabric handling, I have two left hands. For someone that is very logical (or at least I’d like to think so), my brain shuts off. It’s like I have never held a pair of scissors before or wouldn’t know how to use needles and measurement tape to get the right size for a squared pillow cover. I have to checked about 3 times whether I put the fabric to be sewn together is left of left and not left on right. There have been plenty of occasions when even checking a bazillion times I still got it wrong and had to undo my seem that I sewed at 1km an hour taking up a whole morning!

I have many ideas, some a bit strange and out there (I can see my mum’s right eyebrow raise from afar). Ideas however don’t translate into easy convertible, fun sewing projects to me. These ideas usually turn into projects that end in tears and me swearing I’d never do it again – and other kinds of swearing. Until about six months time, when I think that I have another genius idea that shouldn’t be passed. You’d think I’d have learned that I shouldn’t be allowed near a sewing machine unless it’s stiff cotton fabric and a straight line, even then I am not guaranteed success at first try.

So here we are again, one pillow case later, with help from my mum, cause who has time to shed tears over a zip! There was fabric and an idea for another pillow case, but I thought I’d end on a high instead.