gift

It was her birthday and my present for her was a disaster. The saga started a few weeks ago when I was actually organised and excited about what I was going to make for her. She wants for little but not because she has everything.

I had seen a garment that I immediately thought would be perfect for her lifestyle and how she dressed. It was expensive though and I thought that I could make it instead. When she was little I made many of her clothes. Not only was it out of necessity; I enjoyed it and was good at it. I knew her pleasure would diminish if she felt that I had spent too much hard cash on her so here was a perfect solution.

I spent a day or two searching for a pattern. After some frustration and many false starts I found one. With care I worked out how much material I needed and set a morning aside to find the right piece of cloth. I came home pleased with my buy, the fabric was strong, the muted tones and subtle classic pattern spoke to me. Already I could envisage the finished work on her.

A couple of busy weeks intervened before I could make a start but I still had plenty of time. I cleared the kitchen table and with care laid out the material and marked it up for cutting. With my precious handed down scissors poised I took a deep breath - and cut. The journey had begun. 

I had put the next day aside to sew. I should have it done in a day. As soon as I began to pin it together I discovered my mistake. I had not cut in the direction of the pattern. Disaster. Off to the store for more material, cursing all the way. By the time I got there I had myself convinced that they would have sold out - but they hadn't. That was enough for one day. 

 It took a week for my enthusiasm to return and I again cleared the kitchen table and prepared for battle. This time I cut the material in the right direction and proceeded to pin it together and adjust the fit. Happy with my construction I threaded up my trusty sewing machine. 

It felt familiar and comfortable and with relish I started on the first of the long seams. All went well until I ran out of thread partway through the front seam. Before I could resew it I had to unpick it, the front has to be right. But worse was to come. I didn't have any thread that was even close in colour amongst my sizeable collection of cotton reels. Back to the store I go. 

I fought off my frustration and picked up my work again fresh the following day. After the ordeal of rethreading the machine all goes well. Only two pockets left to sew on. I took a break in my labours thinking that there was only another hour at the most before I would be finished. Already I was congratulating myself. 

Back at the sewing machine I sewed part way around the first pocket and was feeling smug. Then the needle on my, used to be, faithful machine broke. I sorted through my sewing kit in a minor state of disbelief. No spare needle, despite my pitiful pleading to the sewing gods. Back to the store again hastily before they closed. Tomorrow is her birthday. 

Still furious, but laser beam focused, I returned home and fitted the new needle to my machine. For whatever reason it took me a lifetime to rethread the needle - again. I then unpicked the half sewn pocket, a tedious but satisfying chore because for her it should be perfect. 

I started on re-sewing the pocket and bang, the new needle broke. This time I investigated my machine closer and found out that the problem was much bigger. There was a good reason for the broken needles, they were the symptom not the cause. My machine had finally decided to retire, two pockets and a hem short of making its last piece of clothing for her.

I stood away from my sewing, picked up my swimming bag, grabbed the car keys and left. Time following the black line on the bottom of the lap pool should help me find the joy again. There was no joy here that was for sure.

Once out of the pool I knew what it was that I had to do. My gift to her will be the story of her present that she won't have for tomorrow.

I called her. I told it all to her. What her present was going to be, why I wanted to make it for her, why she would not be getting it tomorrow. We laughed. We reminisced about other creations of mine she has had to wear. She comforted me when I told her I was throwing the old machine out. We are both loved. We are close for those exquisite moments. Best birthday gift ever.

It was several weeks after her birthday when I gave her the bought version of my creation. She loved it, no scolding about the cost. Neither of us saw it as anything other than what I had made for her. 

Oh, the garment - a Japanese Apron (not that complicated you’d think).