After my mother-in-law Donna, died, we sorted her things. She sewed, the kind of seamstress that will deconstruct her favorite dress, figure out how to improve it, and make herself three more.
My mother-in-law was always on the looking for odds and ends at the thrift store where she worked, especially anything mechanical or vintage.
In her workroom, I came across a box full of metallic doohickeys. I looked at the box for a long time, wondering what they were for. Hating that I couldn’t just go ask her.
After a bit more digging, I came across some in their original packages.
They were sewing machine attachments for gathering fabrics. Once in place, they’d make frills and ruffles effortlessly.
The year before, I’d made a doll for my daughter, and gathered the skirt. It required a running stitch: up and down, like waves, through the fabric. Then I pulled the thread tight, cinching the fabric into neat accordion pleats.
So simple, right?
Except for when the thread broke, or slipped, or snagged, and the wear and tear of it started making holes in the fabric.
Honestly, gathering was a pain in the ass.
I stared at Donna’s attachment, wishing I’d had it back then, wondering how it worked, wondering if it worked as advertised.
Or whether gathering, dependent as it was on that one, slender strand, was hard no matter what.
This isn’t actually a post about sewing. It’s a post about friendship, with which I clearly have some issues. And I’m baring a few today, over at SheLoves. Come and see!
Image credit: Internet Archive Book Image with my modifications