When I was in college, I took an American Lit class with a new teacher. He had been hired upon the retirement of a beloved professor and I disliked him simply because he wasn’t his predecessor.
The only thing I remember from the class was the day our professor asked a white student to read a passage from a Flannery O’Connor book that contained the N-word. The room was tense, and a Black student in the back of the room (the only one?) walked out when our fellow student said the word.
We also had a Toni Morrison book assigned that semester.
You can’t go wrong with a sack dress, right?
I still haven’t really cottoned onto making muslins (a tester version of a pattern in inexpensive fabric you can make changes on before cutting into your nice fabric). Even if I had, I probably wouldn’t have made a muslin for a sack dress. It’s a sack. How can it not fit?
I was surprised by the tweaking the Wiksten pattern would have required for a good fit. I’m glad, though, because I learned about two alterations I can make for future projects.
Remember how I was a floundering blob of anxiety for the beginning of the mindful making retreat? That didn’t completely go away.
But the temperature of the anxious energy that was burning up my insides went way down.
By the time the retreat ended late Sunday afternoon, I was exhausted from all the driving and the social interactions, and already had a vulnerability hangover, but I was so relaxed.
The best part of this is that much of what we did is stuff I do at home, but it was how we did it.
I had dal for the first time on my Netherlands retreat. Out in the countryside in a cabin at a long, farmhouse-style table with the other ladies from my group, we ate blindfolded, with our bare hands.
It was a sensuous experience. The only things to focus on were the flavors and textures of the food. After we finished eating, we remained in the dark comfort of our blindfolds, not having to worry about what we looked like or what others were thinking. Someone started singing and we all joined in.
I knew when I got home that I had to make me some dal, whether the kids liked it or not.
This past spring, I learned there would be a Mindful Making Retreat about an hour away from me, co-taught by Katrina Rodabaugh and Meg McElwee. I’ve made a number of Meg’s patterns this spring and summer and have been gradually embracing the idea of slowing my sewing down and making it more of a practice than a drive.
That has been a process. My typical M.O. is to bring all my other responsibilities to a halt, let my children run feral, and whip up a top or a pair of shorts as quickly as possible.
