I’m a sewist.
Yes, you heard it right.
That means I can sew anything … you know, once I learn how.
I’m on the right track, for sure. My parents came out last weekend and my mom, otherwise known as The Best Quilter West of the East, bought me my very own sewing machine. (I cannot reveal the brand because it might compromise her royal status.)
So far, I’ve sewn a handful of straight lines and a few decorative stitches.
But my dreams are visions of layers because I love layers. In fact, layers will usually land an article of clothing in my shopping cart. I love contrasting fabrics, 3-D appliqués and anything, anything out of the ordinary. (Ribbons all over a pair of shoes? SOLD!)
Yes, you heard it right.
That means I can sew anything … you know, once I learn how.
I’m on the right track, for sure. My parents came out last weekend and my mom, otherwise known as The Best Quilter West of the East, bought me my very own sewing machine. (I cannot reveal the brand because it might compromise her royal status.)
So far, I’ve sewn a handful of straight lines and a few decorative stitches.
But my dreams are visions of layers because I love layers. In fact, layers will usually land an article of clothing in my shopping cart. I love contrasting fabrics, 3-D appliqués and anything, anything out of the ordinary. (Ribbons all over a pair of shoes? SOLD!)
This is the point where I realize that I’m not sure where this post is going, but I hope you’ll either join me for the ride or kindly hail a cab.
Speaking of cabs, they are all over this town. And while you might think cabbies would be good drivers, they’re not. In fact, I would urge you to hitchhike with deranged truckers over hailing a taxi. Because these guys think that the proper way to turn left is to shoot out into oncoming traffic, force everyone to slam on their brakes and then turn on a right angle - which is an effective maneuver 50 percent of the time. The other half, you’re not only late to the airport but early to the hospital, if you know what I’m saying?
Do you know what I’m saying? I sure don’t. I’m rambling and hoping that the blogger heavens will shine upon me and turn this fuddlesome mess into a marvelous musing. But I think I saw a sign this morning that read, “Blogger Heavens closed for construction.” (Hope my cabbie knows an alternate route!)
I interrupt this interruption to ask a very important question – Do you know what word I love? Colloquial. Love it. Also, picnic. Say it ten times fast and you’ll still be in awe of its sharp consonants. (And yummy potato salad.) I love the word so much I may have already blogged about it, but I don’t remember. And if I, the author of this piece of blog, can’t remember, I highly doubt any of you can remember.
That’s what I figure about clothing. Sometimes I go to meet a friend and think to myself, “Did I wear this outfit last time?” And then I realize that if I can’t remember what I wore last time, it’s highly doubtful that they’re going to remember what I wore last time.
Except for two things – my memory is terrible and my wardrobe can be memorable. Because it is sparse and home to colorful items and accessories and lots and lot of layers.
I love layers. Have I already blogged about that? I don’t think so.
But I do love them. And since I’m now a sewist, they are going to be everywhere.
On my bags.
On my skirts.
On my shoes.
You can sew on shoes, can’t you?
Where’s that Queen when I need her?
