Obsession

I am a fabric junky. There is no 12-step program I can join or I would consider it. Colors, patterns, prints and textures call to me from quilt and fabric stores. I have my own leaning tower of jelly rolls—2½-inch strips of color-coordinated fabric wound in a cylinder. I never met a fabric I didn’t like.

Constantly amazed at how much of my life is shaped by childhood interests and experiences, this obsession began when I was small. Remember trolls—also called dam dolls? I had a family of them. My cupboard in the wall of cupboards in our den served as their house. All I had to do was open the doors and I was ready to play. They had a kitchen, bedrooms and a living area. But they needed clothes. I made primitive clothing from felt and trims filched from my mother’s sewing supplies.

TG&Y and the toy store in downtown North Hollywood, California, even hosted fashion shows for trolls. Disturbingly, I still have my trolls. Even more disturbing to me is the fact I knew exactly where to find them when I decided to take their picture.

Blanche and Ozzie – still together after all these years

My first troll, Creola, in a Jean Jegel original

My sewing journey took its next step forward when I decided to purchase a sewing machine before my eldest son was born. I wanted to sew clothing. Mom told me she would help me get started. I purchased my first real piece of fabric and a pattern and sought her advice.

My aptitude for spatial relationships triggered alarms when she told me to, “just sew the pieces together. I never look at directions.”

“Shouldn’t I have an even hem as I sew?”

“No. Try it on and fit the garment as you go.”

While I’m certain that’s the way Mom learned to sew back in the day, the idea of running fabric through the machine at random distances from the edge violated my every logical inclination. Heading for home with my fabric and pattern, I read the directions. As I imagined, seam widths are supposed to be standard. I taught myself to sew.

I became adept at making Halloween costumes and crafts. Later, doll clothes and quilts became favored projects. My grandkids pick out whatever outfit they can imagine for Halloween and I construct it. Now, all their dolls have matching attire. That was only supposed to happen once. Really, how many costumes does a doll need? Evidently, they need a new one every year. There is nothing quite like the fulfillment I get from watching my young trick-or-treaters head down the street wearing my creations. It’s worth all the work.

My books have strong themes of family and home. Funny to think, those imaginary relationships began in a cupboard in my childhood home.

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