The Potential of 39' of Unconventionality

I'm the new proud owner of 13.167 yards of fabric.  That's over 39 feet of fabric that has major potential.

This idea reminds me of the concept of potential energy: energy stored up for work to be done.  I think about the machinery that once knitted the small fibers together to become cloth--the work that went into the creation of the fabric.  It was stored up briefly while resting on a cardboard bolt in a fabric store, and now transferred into my possession.  Maybe this only makes sense to me, but I've become aware of this energy. And I'm no scientist, but a helpless sentimentalist.    

Purchase price?  $28.46. 

Two coupons and a two-day sale could possibly mean I get down the aisle in a dress worth less than I paid for my last pair of jeans.  My thriftiness has even surprised myself.

So, the top fabric is unconventional.  Seriously.  It's a "jet knit" that feels like a dream, and drapes beautifully.  Some research might indicate what the fabric is made of, but I won't admit it.  Let's just say this bride won't be wearing silk, satin, or chiffon.  Not even faille.

But when it came down to it:  I want to feel comfortable on my wedding day.  I know that the memory of the fabric on my skin on my wedding day will last for the rest of my life. And while I can accept many of the wedding traditions imposed on us, I'm feeling confident in breaking some fabric rules.

Afterall, perhaps processing life and making decisions is like shopping in a fabric store.  We take in the possibilities, consider prices, potentially fall in love with some things we can't have, but then find treasure in unexpected places.

And I'm content to be sentimental about it.

Fingers made of Faille

I have a wedding dress pattern in the floor.

I pulled out the instructions, printed on paper that reminds me of penmanship paper from the third grade.  The smell and feel of the brown paper brings back memories of heavy concentration, a pencil in my hand, and the awareness of the rewards for a job well-done.

Except this time, it's not a scratch and sniff sticker.

I've got to be honest:  I'm overwhelmed.  I'm wondering if I'll do the easier thing:  walk into a boutique, deal with an overly eager salesperson, pull on dress after dress in a hall full of mirrors.  Yes, it would be easier.

It rained most of the day on Saturday, alternating between drizzle and heavy fog.  I watched the drops off the overhang outside my kitchen windows.  And then I decided to go.  I went to an expensive fabric store on the south side, where I met an overly eager salesperson.

I recited the list of possible fabric options:  georgette, lightweight crepe, and poorly pronounced "faille".  She lead me around the store, pulling them out.  It was good to finally get fabric in my hands, to feel the texture of each.  I had to imagine it gathered up around my waist, how it would fall near the ground in a hem.

Like I said:  I'm overwhelmed.

The saleslady (Helen?) asked me what pattern--and I quickly answered "McCalls 5806".  I surprised myself.  How often does someone quickly provide a four digit pattern number?  Especially someone that mispronounces faille?

We pulled it out of the tall metal file cabinet.  To my relief, she said the pattern wouldn't be difficult.  "Especially if your grandma helps you".  Of course.

Several mannequins in the store modeled beautiful, handmade dresses.  I circled them like a sculpture, taking in all of the details.  Handmade!  The lady in the corner was giving a consultation, and Helen told me she made the dresses.

The lady had the aura of creation, of confidence, of experience.  Her blonde hair fell around her like a veil.  How fitting.

So, here's to weekends.  Here's to rainy Saturdays, and dreams of dresses yet to be made.

The Modern Dowery

I have little sewing experience.  I've sewn crooked hems into curtains and a few pants.  But I'm undertaking something that probably makes me crazy, an indication of my usual inclination to the beginnings of impossible, huge, projects.

I'm going to sew my own wedding dress.

I bought a pattern online and it arrived in my mailbox on Dec. 31, 2009.  I have Brother sewing machine, and my precious grandma bought me a serger for Christmas.

It's a simple dress, and it's based on a Claire Pettibone dress for which I have developed a moderate preoccupation (well, obsession).  Since I could never afford a Claire Pettibone dress, I decided to tap into my inner-child, the little girl drawing dress designs in church.

 
We may bring to marriage only what we have created or collected for ourselves up until the moment the foot approaches the aisle.  For me, it's a nice collection of memories, way too many books, and idealizations of the life yet to come.  And hopefully, it will be a handmade wedding dress.

I've imagined that walk down the aisle, the grass beneath my foot, the faces of people standing to the left and right.  I see him standing there, waiting at the end, and with all of the emotions that could consume, I know seeing his face will mean the calmness and peace he has always brought me.  I know, in that moment, I won't be afraid.  Like life, it's always one foot in front of the other.

A good friend of mine told me that we must embrace change.  She said that means reflecting on the time that I've spent single (all my life!).  Reflecting means celebrating, and sometimes grieving, all that is gained or lost. 

Maybe making a wedding dress is a very utilitarian thing to do.  But, I'm seeing it as a journey.  I'm seeing it as an extension of the preparation for marriage that I need.  This preparation will come in waves of journal writing, hikes up mountains, afternoons in coffeeshops and bookstores, but hopefully, in the hum of a sewing machine in my small kitchen.