Friday, 25 September 2020

Whole Cloth

 A little bit of skill employed regularly over the course of many years can give off the impression of talent, even when exceptionality is never really achieved. So much of what I do falls into this category of "mediocre expertise," especially my sewing. 

In grade eight I was gifted sewing lessons under the tutelage of a local seamstress, and with an immense amount of her help and patient instruction, I made my own grad dress: a floor-length, spaghetti-strap, glitter-covered masterpiece that I wore many, many times after that glorious first event. From there, I have employed very basic sewing machine skills to make and mend all kinds of things, from simple hemming of pants to furry werewolf costumes. 

Recently though, I'm been cloning my clothes.

This project started about a month ago when I realized that I enjoyed wearing exactly one of my tops. With a little help from YouTube, I built myself a wrapping paper pattern and have made three or four identical garments so far, all giant sweaters that go so well with a pair of oversized glasses and my fave leggings (that I have five pairs of, in different colours). It's like a uniform . . . for . . . parenting. Yep. Going with that. 

I really enjoy the process of turning thrifted blankets and two-yard stretches of fabric into clothing. It feels properly creative, like a minor echo of the moment in Genesis when God took the "earth without form, and void" and made the universe from whole cloth. Monumental potential exists in the time before an action is taken. How long did the LORD wait before He "let there be light," I wonder? An eternity, I suppose, thinking through all of the histories that could have been, if ours was not begun. Fiction can take us to some of the "if" places, but the imagination of God is definitionally infinitely greater than ours, and I find that wild notion so inspiring. Even with all the variables that exist in a day in the life of any person here on earth -- there are a million million things that could have been otherwise -- and yet He chose this. Why? Why was this world and this timeline His favourite option? There are endless mental corridors to meader through down this line of thinking. 

Unlike the fabric of all time and space, two yards of material has a limited potential, but even such a finite resource can still yeild to many plans. A pair of scissors, a spool of thread, a few hours, an idea, and generally an audiobook: my favourite way to spend an evening alone. I have three more blankets waiting in the wings for their chance to stretch out on my drafting / dining table. What will they become? More sweaters? Another sack for toys? Sitting in the potential, for now. Hopefully not for an eternity.

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