Simplicity Was Not Always Simple: Simplicity Was Not Always Simple

When I was in junior high, I took a class in sewing, for it was expected of all the girls in my junior high school in those mid-twentieth-century years. Now, years later, I am grateful for the ways it helped me understand myself and the world around me. Throughout the past century, American public junior high schools and high schools offered sewing as one of the key subjects under the umbrella of Home Economics. Although classes were typically for girls, many school districts had boys take sewing classes as well.


As the century came to an end, though, the popularity of sewing waned and classes were eventually replaced or renamed (Clothing, Fashion), partly to dispel images of girls limited to destinies as housewives. A push for all students to be college-prepared meant that the home-based and industrial arts were seen as lesser, non-essential. Too, the advent of the computer hastened the demise of sewing classes, along with other subjects in the curriculum, such as cursive writing.


Now, as we round the first quarter of the twenty-first century, many educators advocate a return to offering classes that offer practical, hands-on skills. Trends and news in education and mental health indicate the needs for considerations of whole human beings with social, emotional, and mechanical capabilities beyond academic prowess. Perhaps my personal reflections can shed light on that viewpoint. Memories of those classes and projects remain clear, probably because the planning, cutting, and stitching activities engaged all the senses. The outcomes were tangible and, usually, practical. And—for this writer—images of my creations remain, etched in vivid color.


Although I thought sewing was pretty “neat,” I recall that not everyone enjoyed sewing class. It was often difficult and frustrating, for it required focus to follow directions and apply new skills. Sewing machine needles broke, threading needles required eye-hand coordination, bobbins wouldn’t load properly, threads would break, and patience—including mine— was often tested. Mistakes, once made, were usually pretty obvious and not always very easy to correct. Creative problem- solving had to be called upon quite often. Despite the difficulties, though, most of us embraced sewing as an important thing to do. Working with tools to create something useful brought a sense of accomplishment.


In seventh grade, our introductory assignment was to make a set of six placemats from kettle cloth, conveniently purchased from bolts of fabric at our town’s dry goods store. We could also see and touch other textiles and realize that they came manufactured in different widths. We had many colors to choose from. It was important to calculate needs, then measure and cut accurately. Steps required both forethought and creativity. Then we had to operate the sewing machine to sew two straight lines on all four sides of each mat, slowly guiding the cloth. It was a challenge to master how the parts of the machine worked and interacted.
 
The next step was to pull the warp and woof threads out of the weave one-by-one, turning the four edges into decorative fringe. When all mats were finished, we ironed the sets to present to our families with pride. My set of rust-colored placemats had a place of honor when our family of five sat down to meals. They were kind: “How practical—and at a much more reasonable cost than those we could purchase at the department stores.”

Next, it was time to use a pattern for a first piece of clothing. It was to be a gathered skirt, and I chose yellow and white checked cotton. After I read the directions, I cut the fabric, pinned the seams together, and stitched away. The front and back rectangles were joined with the right sides together, held beneath the presser foot, and stitched with seams up both sides. Then the top edges of the joined fabric were guided so that two rows of loose “basting” stitches across the top. For a waistband, a long strip of cloth was folded in half the long way and then stitched with right sides together across the front and then turned over to hand-stitch across the inside. Next the skirt hem required ribbon tape be sewn on the raw edge of the material, then turned up and hand-stitched, making sure the turned-up edge was even all around, and the tiny stitches that anchored the hem were evenly-spaced and “invisible.” My reward was being able to wear my creation with a white blouse tucked in, and a hold a warm sense of accomplishment in my mind.


My choice for the next project was a nightshirt—I chose red and white striped flannel. The brand name on the pattern package I bought was Simplicity, and the colorful picture drawn on the front assured me that the finished product would look great. I needed six buttons that would look good with the flannel. The tissue-paper pattern pieces had to be ironed flat and pinned onto the fabric with straight pins with care so the stripes would match when the garment was put together, but also so the various sections all fit onto the fabric. I had a sweet pin cushion that attached to my wrist like a bracelet, so the pins were easy to access and return when all the cuts were made. Stitching the pieces together required an understanding that all seams would be made from the inside. The collar and two sleeves required careful easing into their places. The front placket required evenly-spaced button holes. Plus both sleeves and the garment itself needed hemming. The project required applying many skills, but perhaps the one tapped most of all was patience. Finishing all those steps was not very simple at all.


My sewing story continued for years, through high school, college, and onward. However, to help make a long story short, here’s a partial list. Green cotton nightgown with white-flower appliques. Two two-piece dressy outfits; one in orange-and-white patterned cotton for Baccalaureate and then one in white raw silk (fully lined) for graduation. College homecoming dress, three summer shift dresses, a wedding-guest dress, curtains for the apartment, a husband’s jacket, an embroidered shirt for a friend, slip covers for the couch, baby clothes, puppets, quilts.


But life went on, and, as the world turned, I was compelled to do other things with my time and energies. I also saw garments in stores that were, well, more in vogue. Now, at this time of life, I still enjoy visits to fabric stores, and I feel happy with a needle and thread to do small projects. However, not only did I give my original sewing machine away to my daughter, I gave away a much newer model to someone who will carry on the tradition of sewing. Buying a machine was within a phase of wishful thinking, but I’m over that. I am, nevertheless, grateful to know how to appreciate the efforts of others, and very grateful for my past life as a sewer. (Pronounced so-er, please.)


Submitted by Greta Nagel
MOTAL President and CEO