Somewhere, on Instagram, or a sewing blog, or podcast there was mention of using up those ends of thread spools for basting. It was a small light bulb moment as I have a pile of those from my Mum.
There is something oddly pleasing about finishing these small tail ends. It appeals to my sense of thrift, as well as my ongoing desire to have less 'stuff'. Or more accurately to have things in my life which enhance it rather than weigh me down.
This trip into the drawer of assorted left over threads is also an opportunity to reflect on my mother's making life, and how she has influenced my making life - legacy.
Born just at the start of WWII my mother grew up in a small farming villlage, Ormond, just out of Gisborne in provincial New Zealand. Thrift was creative but it was also about getting by; nothing was wasted, much was kept for some future use or re-use.
Gran, my maternal grandmother was not a sewer although I recall Mum told me that she did knit socks and could turn a heel. There was treadle Singer dewing machine in that house and I understand my mother and her sisters all sewed, by necessity I think. According to Mum one sister's work was carefully and very thoroughtly constructed, whilst the other sister left the house wearing dresses which, it could be argued, were unfinished. However this is only one view, and that Aunt has reassured me that her clothes never fell apart. (That sort of logic would appeal to the generation of young men in my house - why expend any more effort than is absolutely essential, but that is another story.)
My mother was a prolific maker across many fields. Sewer of clothes, for herself, my father my brother and me, of soft furnishings, table linen, countless pot mits and aprons, and quilts. A knitter of jerseys, hats and scarves. In the kitchen a preserver and chutney relish and jam maker. In the garden she was a sometime help mate in the vegetable garden, which was mainly my father's domain, but shared duties in the orchard pruning and harvesting. She also kept a large well maintained garden full of plants collected or grown from cuttings. Her home making skills extended to interior renovations, wall-papering and painting and, as often recalled by my father, she polyurethaned the entire corktile floor. She had her own Estwing woman's hammer, which I have inherited. She restored countless pieces of furniture, rescued from back rooms and sheds of her childhood home, as well as recovered from skip bins or discovered at the second hand mart. She also tried her hand at many a making trend, from macrame plant hangers, and basket making.
In the 2020 Auckland Writer's Festival Paula Morrison made a comment about her migrant English mother being slightly exasperated as the talents of the New Zealand housewife in the 1960's. 'They made everything'.
I feel immensely grateful for my mother's model of a 'making life'. This also included making friendships which I can relate to. Those people who like to create are a vital part of growing and learning. I have special friends I have made at sewing classes, or with our hands in finger paint as Playcentre mums. These friendship foster my own creative pursuits, as well as spawning opportunities to try new ideas. Not surprisingly there are often many similarities we share about growing up with sewing and making mothers. I recall the delight in reminiscing with a friend about the novel containers our mothers made in the late 1970's. The bases were 2 litre icecream containers, holes punched around the upper rim, and a drawerstring bag attached, most likely in orange paisely or floral patterned fabric. In our house these were our 'camping toilet bags', in hers they were 'wet tog bags'.
Thinking back I am in awe of all the clothes she sewed for me, and my dolls. Wedding dress for my bride doll, dancing outfits, dresses, togs, the list goes on and on. If she were here now I would like to reflect on this huge body of work.
I still have my Vogue Individualist Claude Montana 1492 pattern, slightly tattered through much use, as a reminder of all those clothes. I remember the skirt, in a navy blue linen-like, the shirt, one in a deep teal but these were others, and the pants, made multiple times.
Although my parents never threw things away, which led to a mammoth job when I was clearing out their home of 50 years, Mum did in fact use a lot of these saved 'resources'. Thinking in particular about her sewing this would now be termed stash busting. Seems trendy these days but for my Mum this was a habit of lifelong resourcefulness. Things were thoughtfully saved and stored. Scraps of fabric re-appears as pocket linings. And the thread, at the end of a project - the bobbin thread was carefully wound back onto the spool for use at a later date.
So there is a nice sense of connection as I use up these saved threads.
Claire, October 2021
