I forgot I love to sew
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I’m on my way to San Francisco. The plane is on the runway, the flight crew is in a small city 100 miles north of here. They couldn’t land in the Salt Lake fog. We wait. We change gates. Our 8:35 am departure stretches to noon.
Seen on Market Street, San Francisco
I’m thrilled to be attedning an art class while visiting the city of crusty sourdough bread, great seafood, palm trees, trolleys, a certain laid-back hippie-style ambience, fabulous chocolate bars, and the best fabric store in the world: Britex. Four floors of silks, wools, cottons, and linens. My grown-up sense of being patient gives way to little girl fretting. I calculate how many hours I’ll have left to shop given the location of our flight crew.
I sewed and tailored most of my clothes most of my life. Then about 15 years ago I grew disinterested and over time forgot that I love to sew. Today, my vintage 1977 sewing machine is newly oiled, awaiting gorgeous fabrics for stitching. Patrick bought me an IRON for our anniversary. Stupid, in a guy I-love-you sort of way, but smart. We saw it at the January home show and it’s the perfect sewing steam iron.
Oh, gosh. My blood sugar levels start to dip and my hunger is high. Lest I enter planet hypoglycemia, I pull out some all-natural beef jerky and an apple. Yoga meditation breaths soothe my spirit. As does a largish square of dark chocolate.
We take off. We land. I almost run the mile from my hotel to Union Square and Britex. It smells just as I remember. My eyes well up. I truly had forgotten how much I love to sew.
In the narrow, high-ceiling first floor, bolts of solids, plaids, and printed woolens are stacked up to ceiling, accessed by library-type pull ladders. The tables in the center are piled with rolls of luscious silks from Italy, France, the Orient.
I forget how to start. Then along comes Pat, a country and western singer on weekends, who knows exactly how to help. In the solid silk section we find apricot, pink purple, marigold, and rose crepe-backed satin for blouses and tops. A heavy black silk with lycra for slacks. She knows how many yards I need of each. I find 4-ply navy silk charmeuse for a dress. A silk metallic bronze with black brocade for a sash to dress up simple slacks and top for an evening out. I purchase an entire roll of black crepe-backed silk for harem pants, tops, a skirt, and whatever else I may think up. Then we find paneled silk pieces printed in teals, greens, bronzes that are perfect for scarves. I shop until I slowly fade to blubbering. I leave empty handed. Britex ships.
silks and first blouse sewn
I attend art class for two days. Then, on my last day, I’m drawn back to Britex. On the remnant floor I find marigold wool double knit for a winter outfit and crisp linen for summer T’s. The vast notions floor outfits my upcoming sewing safaris: pins, pincushions, snippers, buttons, trims, tape measure.
In San Francisco, I ate Crab Louis salads, palm trees delighted my eyes, the chocolate was amazing. The folks in my art classes exuded the flavor of laid-back California days. But none of the sights spoke so directly to my heart and the fiber of my being as my moments at Britex. I love to sew.
