On Monday I posted about a trip back to my childhood. Today is a peek into my sons' childhoods via a box of saved items buried deep under the stairs.
We don't have a basement. Even after remodeling our home with an entire second story addition, storage space is still less than we would like. Of course, if it were more, we might never edit our possessions and then we would truly burst at the seams or have our kids curse us after our demise. The stairway to the upper story has a deep closet underneath, deep but with a declining ceiling that ends in a cubby hole under the landing. We're going to need access to that area soon for an upcoming project so I decided to weed through the closet this past weekend. I knew there was a box of baby items but didn't remember the exact contents.
My babies are 33 and 31. Yes, it is true but hard to believe. I received special dispensation to marry at 5 and adopted the first one at the age of 6. If they don't start lying about their ages soon, I am cutting them off their birthday gifts, but that is another story.
I should have laundered and pressed their christening outfit before photographing it, but I was in a bit of a hurry to get it repacked and there are no plans to use it soon. Colton was too big to wear this at his christening.
The guild wasn't the only temptation that Joyce led me into. She introduced me to heirloom sewing instructors, duplicate stitch teachers, silk ribbon embroiderers and so on. Bill joked that if the supplies were expensive and no one else in Michigan had knowledge of the technique, Joyce and I were doing it. Have you heard of Martha Pullen? She holds classes in Huntsville, AL in February and July. The school is now called the School of Art Fashion and I assume it is just as wonderful an experience now as the times I went in the late 80s and early 90s. I went three times and each was a wild adventure that I'll share at some point. One year, the course I took was baby themed. I was beyond baby making days and the boys were way too young to think of grandbabies. I took the classes for the techniques involved.
The work is beautiful but not always practical. While I hate to generalize a whole population, most northern men think heirloom sewing is way too frou-frou for their sons and many northern women are afraid of caring for the items. Many just plain don't like to iron and I can identify with that. We've become such a casual dress society, I can't think of the last time I saw the finery I learned to sew at Martha Pullen's, but I don't regret the classes at all.
Here is a heirloom baby quilt. Again, I should have pressed it for photos but we had company coming and I was rushed to put things back in boxes.
I know enough not to judge a book by its cover, but nostalgic enough to hope that someday people will take a little more pride in their appearance again. They don't have to wear heirloom clothing that needs gentle washing, starch and ironing. Just stop wearing pajama pants and slippers in public and if you really think offensive language and gestures on tee shirts is funny, save them for your friends who might appreciate them.
Guess I got a little off track from how I began this post. An interruption and watching scruffy adults and unkempt little ones in Kroger caused this. I'd like to beautify America, one person at a time. Guess I will start with myself by combing my hair.