Ever wish you had more sewing time? How about alone time? Perhaps the two combined would be a euphoric experience. Looking through some old Quilter’s Newsletter magazines I came across an article describing one woman’s experiences in her sewing space.
Note: You need not resubscribe to magazines if you keep your old copies long enough That’s because you’re likely to forget everything you read more than 2 years ago. It’s like getting a new magazine with every old issue!
On to Alison Bolt’s writing. Hope you enjoy these excerpts from “The Joy of Being Sew Alone” p. 22 Quilters Newsletter July/August 2008.
“Last week, as I listened to the radio . . . I heard the repetitive strains of a familiar oldies tune, “One is the loneliest number . . . ” I thought to myself, no wife or mother could ever write lyrics like that with a straight face. I remember women in my family crying, shrieking, even hissing that all they wanted was to be left alone! I didn’t get it – until I married and reproduced. . . That’s when I decided I needed a sewing room. . . a place I could be by myself with my fabric and machine, silent partners that didn’t want me to converse with them, solve their problems, cook for them, or drive them anywhere.”
. . . all that was available was our tiny laundry room . . . just turning around to reach my fabric was a trick worthy of Cirque du Soleil. None of that mattered. It was all mine and had a locking door. Years later, as my stash grew, so did my need for bigger digs. I commandeered the new basement bedroom with a double closet . . . and two lockable obstacles to fend off intruders. It was paradise. My husband, who supported this move as a way to alleviate my stress, was always trying to help – usually creating more stress. Once while I was out, he decided to change a ceiling tile over my design wall. In doing so, he released a storm of construction sawdust that had been lying in wait since the house was built. I learned that night that the only thing that clings to a design wall better than cotton is sawdust. All 40 of the 6 inch blocks I had spent hours arranging and rearranging suddenly were covered in shavings. Fearing my reaction to the mess, he tried to remediate the situation with the vacuum cleaner. As none of the blocks were pinned to the flannel, several of them were instantly sucked into filthy oblivion. As he wrestled with the machine to retrieve my vanishing blocks, its exhaust vents blew the rest of them off the wall and all over the room. He was immediately and irrevocably banned from my space.
. . . we built a new house and I designed myself a dream studio. I had all the usual sewing tools and an obscene amount of fabric, but I also had a stocked fridge, a bed, a balcony, and a TV that never played sports channels. I loved my fortress of solitude. That’s the good new. The bad news is that Ron nags me incessantly about sewing each night, thereby sucking the joy out of it. Sometimes I just want to read and down a few butter creams. . . I recalled a friend whose husband always nagged her to ‘get fit.’ She agreed to use the treadmill for an hour a day if he agreed never to come in and watch her . . . every day, behind the locked door, she opened the windows, turned on the treadmill . . . and read . . . I figure if I lay some scraps around . . .don’t thread my needle and press my foot pedal hard now and then, I can watch chick flicks for hours and eat contraband . . . ”
Check out Alison Bolt on Facebook “RightOff theBolt”