And my heart says..... "Ahhhh"......

I have been able to sew this week. Really sew. Not a make-it-tonight, wear-it-tomorrow quickie. Not something for my girls, or the house, or my precious customers....something for ME. That required tons of tailoring, trimming, and topstitching. Its been several years since I took on this type of project. I loved every minute of it. And throughout the process, I of course thought about all the women who have given my heart the ability to........."ahhhhh".....

Mom, yes. I cut straight, sat up straight at the machine, and absolutely...You can look at the inside of my pencil skirt when you get home. Provided I'm not wearing it. Mrs. Overbey...I loved and patted that fabric every minute I was handling it. I loved it so carefully, there are not even enough scraps for a quilt square. Mrs. Bourgois, I pulled and tied my tails. In a perfect square knot. I trimmed, and notched, and understitched every blessed square inch. And while I was doing the hand stitching, I remembered how in class you would at times take our hand stitching away from us. Just so you could do a few stitches. You loved it that much. Ms. Rablais, I agree. The pink damask is more suited to an upholstery project than clothing. But upon my fiber testing, I determined that it was made of all natural components (cotton, to be exact) and I properly treated it before I began. I felt that the juxtaposition of the damask to a pencil skirt would be the only way Mrs. Marquette would climb on board...I just never was quite modern enough for her taste. Upon completion, I have determined that my rear very closely resembles a couch cushion, so in the end...you should both be happy. Dr. Belleau, Ma'am, it is with great reverence and trepidation that I humbly submit my project for your approval...all while never making eye contact and backing slowly from the room. My eyes were appropriately dropped to the floor, Ma'am, except for the brief moment that they glanced up to see if your nostril would flare, or if your eyebrow would flicker. Ma'am. Thank you, Ma'am. Cym...I miss you. I miss your shop. I miss you inspecting every seam while I sat with baited breath. I even miss you telling me to rip it out 37 times and try again, if only for the satisfaction I felt when the 38th time was acceptable. I miss you telling me it was time for a coffee break....which meant I was to hop up, and fix the coffee....I miss your regalness, your confidence, your impeccableness (is that even a word? It should be. She was always impeccable.) I miss the bolts of Italian cashmere that sewed....like butter...the silk charmuse that could be ruined by a hang-nail. The linen, that made everything in the world seem right. Egyptian cottons, that made shirts so crisp...the women would stand and look at themselves in the fitting mirror for endless amounts of time. Or maybe that was just because they were the most self-involved blue bloods under the sun. I even miss them. And the look that would pass between us when they were prattling on and on about the upcoming Cotillions (nothing more than a fancy dance with lots of liquor). I've missed my Bs this week, but I have thoroughly enjoyed revisiting, in my mind, the ladies that gave me the skills (after I gave them LOTS of money) that have allowed my heart to say........ahhhhh.......