The Three Words My Mother Used To Say

My maternal grandmother was a seamstress by profession. She was damn good. Her every stitch was executed in much the same way she tackles housework: clean, purposeful and screaming with perfection. When my mother wanted a dress made just like the one she saw in the latest Hindi film, it was created like magic. No pattern necessary. Wedding dresses, baby clothes, everyday wear - all had the mark of my Nanimaa.
My dad's sisters and their daughters can sew. My dad can hold his own, too, with a sewing machine. But he's my dad and he can do everything. (Look for a future blog on 'fathers and daughters have umbilical-like connections too').
Around the time I was 15, I visited my cousin who lived in Chilliwack at the time, and who was at the cusp of finding her magic fingers under the pulsating needle of a machine. We shopped for a simple dress pattern, found some really floral material, and voila; by the end of my weekend stay there I had a new dress. I'd really like to be able to do that, I thought.
When my dad's sister showed me her completed quilt made of 1000 perfect squares depicting the turrets and domes of an Islamic mosque, I was in awe. I'd really like to be able to do that. When my cousin told me that for Christmas she planned to make pyjamas for her nieces and nephews, I felt the familiar twinge. I'd really like to be able to do that.
I bought a skirt pattern and material at some point in my early college years. I even got as far as opening the package and spreading out the pattern. I realized that I didn't even know which end was up. I couldn't figure it out. This must not be for me, I thought, and tucked the pattern away. I held on to the pattern and material for months - just in case the magic sewing fairy visited me in my dreams and bestowed upon me these abilities that should, gosh darnit, come easy to me...again, let me remind you, I come from two families of talented hands! But alas, no such dream visited me, and I finally made my way to a seamstress with the material. "I'd like a skirt, please."
When I returned to pick up the finished product, I was struck again with the thought I'd really like to be able to do that.
When my aunt gifted my daughter with handmade blankets, there it was again: I'd really like to be able to do that.
So, in the spirit of examining my thought processes and giving myself permission to be me, I started asking myself several weeks ago, what is that which I'd really like to do? The answer came to me easily - I'd really like to be a perfect seamstress. Digging deeper, my subconscious response to that has always been "Well, I'm not a perfect seamstress, I'll leave that to the experts." This is kind of along the same lines as what I always voiced out loud to my mother, "I can't be good at everything!"
I took that thought and I changed it. "I'd like to experience creating something with material, needle and thread. I just want to experience it." WHOOSH! That's the sound of the pressure flying off my shoulders! The goal now is not to be perfect, just to try it and then check it off my list for this life. That is a very different and liberating goal! The switch in thought process is not like an on/off switch, however. As my husband and I sorted through our furniture to decide what to take to our new home, I said to him, "The sewing machine and table can go back to my dad." He replied, "Are you sure? Maybe you can take a class or something?" I shrugged it off, shook my head, "I dunno." I turned my attention elsewhere.
But I had planted the seed of change and now the Universe was doing its part. A few days later, my mother-in-law offered me some saree material that I could use to make a new outfit. We just needed to buy the material for the pants and dupata (worn around the shoulders). She offered to decorate the dupata with sequins and beading. I casually suggested she show me how to do it so I could 'see' how it was done.
Yesterday she and I had a pre-planned date. We decided for the first part of it we'd take the saree to a seamstress, have my measurements taken, then shop for the needed material. Then our plan was to go to a pottery studio and paint ceramics for the afternoon. It turned out that the pottery studio was closed for the long weekend so my mother-in-law suggested we go back to her place and start designing the dupata.
When we got to her place, there was a wrapped package on her dining table for me. Inside was a beautifully designed white cotton material with a note explaining that it was for my sewing project. When she handed my the second part of the gift, my heart laughed. (which is a neat feeling by the way...so much nicer than palpitations!). It was a package of shirt patterns. The Universe went so far as to raise that scenario from the dead! Thank you :) First things first, though, we set to work on the dupata.
And so I learned to stitch sequined flowers. Basic stuff. It wasn't difficult to discern which flower was her example and which were my attempts, based on the stitches. But guess what? Turn the material over to the shiny green sequins and they look the same! By the time I stitched about half a dozen, the process got easier and after that the stitches began to look a little more...neat.
As I worked, a couple of old companions came to visit. First came Doubt. You think you can actually do this? You know, you have to wear it...in public! Then came Fear. If I try this and fail then I'll be confirming to myself and the whole wide world that I can't do this.
Well, I have a new companion now who follows me everywhere I go...my mother's spirit and the three words she used to say (learned from a co-worker). These profound words can be used on any occasion when one feels confronted by an obstacle (from fear of failure to a hormonal teenager). "Shit on you!" So, that's what I told Doubt and Fear. "Shit on you!"
And that's what I'll keep telling them when they creep up on me. Try it...it's guaranteed to make you feel just a teenier tinier bit stronger!
Thanks for reading...