My mother could pick you apart with her eyes. Her hazel orbs scrutinized the tiniest of details as they scanned her subject. Before I brought friends to the house, I warned that Mama would stare at them. From the top of their head to the tip of their longest toe she analyzed every inch. By the time she was done, she knew the texture and color of their hair, the color of their eyes, how much they weighed, whether their clothing was bought or handmade, their personality, and what they had for breakfast. Yep – by the time she was done, one could be partially unclad. But she did not show partiality. No, it wasn’t just youth who suffered her visual interrogation. Adults were not exempt, especially those unsuspecting women who attempted to create their own handmade garments.
You see, my mother was an expert seamstress. Every stitch had to be perfect. If it wasn’t, she would rip it out and sew it again. Daddy claimed she ripped more stitches out than she put in. Not only did she make all of her clothes (even her underwear) and ours, she also “took in” sewing for others.
Look at those tucks at the shoulder seams and that perfect collar
She made tailored men’s and women’s suits and other garments, and altered patterns to fit her clients perfectly. Every seam, lapel, pleat, collar and cuff were sewn and ironed to perfection. If there were stripes or plaids, her seams matched. Even the designs on the sleeves were in line with the rest of the garment. Collars laid properly on the garment, understitched to keep from rolling, the turned corners crisp and clean. All seams were pressed open neatly. Pleats were ironed straight and sharp. Gathers were evenly spaced and stitched perfectly so there were no gaps or bunched up fabric. Mama was a perfectionist and her sewing showed that characteristic and her skill. She also had the gift of color coordinating, especially when it came to quilts. She could look at bolt after bolt of fabric and a picture would emerge in her mind of the finished product. The colors would all fit together precisely.
Back in my young days, many of the women made their own clothes. Believe me, if you wore a homemade garment, you sure didn’t want to sit in front of my mother at church or any other place for that matter. On the ride home, we often heard about Mrs. So ‘n So’s skirt or Mrs. Such ‘n Such’s dress or Mrs. Tu Tu’s blouse or Mr. Brown’s suit jacket sleeves or pants that needed to be hemmed properly. Her analyzation of the sewing job was, more often than not, a true assessment. However, the women probably did the best they could, and most did not have the skill my mother had. They sure didn’t want to sit in front of Miss Jean! She could pick out stitches without a seam ripper. Honestly, by the time the service was over, some of those ladies went home with less on than when they arrived.
As a true perfectionist, Mama didn’t have a high opinion of her own skills though her work was sought by brides and bridesmaids, pageant queens (including a Miss Georgia contestant), prom teens, and women of means who could afford to pay someone to make their garments. Mama wasn’t just an expert seamstress, she was an artist.
How about those pleats?
Though I have sewn for others, as well as my family, my skills in no way compare to my mother’s. I have about quit sewing garments. I can imagine her breath on the back of my neck as she inspects my seams and collar corners.
I guess I’ll just stick to sewing quilts. Now where is that seam ripper? Oh, never mind, a quilting friend says imperfections just make each project unique and special, and I’m creating a masterpiece.
