I have a sewing machine that I inherited. It’s about 40 years old, and it’s a serious piece of machinery. It stays in the closet most of the time, and when I think I want to use it, I lift all 50 pounds of it on to the dining table. Then I sit there and look at it, and try to work up the nerve to actually sew something.
I have a lot of plans for sewing, lots of ideas for things to make, but it’s hard to get started. If you ever spend time reading crafting blogs, you come away with a lot of new project ideas. They look so simple and nice. It’s a lot easier to collect ideas than to do them. Reading and planning are in my comfort level, but implementing? Not so much.
I’ve sewn stuff before. Mainly mending torn seams or sewing hems on curtains. I’ve even made a few gifts. I’m always a little nervous to give something handmade. I think it’s the idea that my gift might be relegated to “It’s the thought that counts”, or even scarier, “What was she thinking?” (By the way, if you ever receive a gift from me that you don’t want or can’t use, please donate it. I don’t want to add to clutter.)
So here I am this weekend, once again getting ready to face the machine. Working up the nerve to cut into a piece of linen. Reassuring myself that a finished project is better than a potential one. Hoping that I’ll like it when it’s done.