Thursday, March 09, 2006

For me, the pen; for her, the needle

Lynn has a wonderful post about sewing, which seems to me slightly reflective of the mood of my post the other day about old books:

I'm the last of my line. I have no one to whom I can pass on the sewing tradtion. Granddaughers? I'm not counting on any and even if I am so blessed at some point in the future I won't count on her having any interest in sewing. Once a necessity, once something that every woman was expected to do, it is now just a quaint, old-fashioned hobby. That's sad. There's something special about clothes you make for yourself. You choose a fabric, pick a pattern, pick out buttons, trim and other notions to go with it, possibly re-design the pattern a little and the result is a garment that is yours alone, not like anyone else's.

The Wife is really very good at sewing, and she loves nothing better than to go to JoAnn's and stock up on fabric. It fascinates me that she can look at a bolt of cloth and get the same look in her eye that I'm pretty sure I get at mine when I behold a blank sheet of paper.

Anyway, go read Lynn's post.

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