Ghosties and ghoulies, (and lizards)

 And from things that go bump in the night, Good Lord deliver us.

I learned to sew on a machine at age eight and did hand sewing before that. Doll clothes, as I recall, and simple embroidery. My mother and grandmother both did a lot of sewing; my mother could tailor, even, and made my father’s sports jackets. I remember wearing blouses cut down from old shirts of my father’s, for one thing. Because not only did they sew, they were, politely, frugal. And I learned that too.

It is Hallowe’en, and on this day, many years ago, I had costumes for my daughters, and later for my granddaughter that I made to order. Or ordered them to wear what I made, depending. I looked up a few photographs for this post as illustrations, and am amused all over again at the first one I found. The ED (elder daughter) was a clown 

in a costume made from old curtains. There were a lot of costumes like that – I regularly rummaged the ends and scraps bins in the local fabric store and received, joyfully, donations of clothing not needed that could be adapted, either for regular wear or costumes.  

I wish this photo were colour – the dragon is a pale spring green with a red ridge. Later the granddaughter got a much more elaborate dragon costume as I was rummaging in a more high-end store – her deep green and golden scaled fabric had a shiny gold ridge. 

But the best ever costume required both father and me – first the ED and then, because she saw the photo of her mother’s wings, the granddaughter, got to be a monarch butterfly.

Father bent the wires into shape and I sewed old sheets onto the wire. I then painted the fabric, using a reference book to get the markings positioned correctly. One set of wings was donated to the school; the second was used by the ED and partner at an adult party as shown.

Sewing costumes was a lot of fun as they did not require finishing the way a proper garment did. No buttonholes, hemstitch or binding required. Measure, cut and sew. Once, when I did not measure carefully enough, the costume just barely fit. Luckily it was worn on a warm for October night. Tonight bids fare to be much colder. A prepared parent makes the costume big enough that lots of sweaters can be stuffed underneath. However, I did make ‘real’ clothes. For myself, and for the daughters until they rebelled and wanted clothes like their peer group; i.e., jeans with a label. For her last costume with me, the granddaughter sewed it herself under supervision. As shown; a long dress with a collar, puff sleeves and a yoke made from fabric she chose herself.

And I mended, our increasing affluence having allowed me to purchase a brand new sewing machine with a ‘drop arm’. This fine invention allowed me to patch a leg without unpicking the whole [censored] seam to get to the worn spot. And thereby hangs a tale. I wish my aunt, a marvellous raconteur, were here to tell it, but you will have to put up with me. This aunt, my mother’s youngest sister, lived near us and was actually closer in age to me than to my mother. Her children, two boys, were only a few years older than my girls. And my aunt and I did a good few things together. At one point, soon after I got this marvellous sewing machine, she arrived with three or four pairs of her son’s jeans, all with considerable worn patches, rips, and wear. She was, she said, tired of the boy (he was in his early teens) looking like a tramp and could I mend the jeans. I could. I sacrificed one pair to make patches and I reseamed, invisibly patched and trimmed the others into respectability. Son, receiving these garments, was devastated. The fashion in his high school was that the jeans be ripped and worn to pieces. My mends had wrecked his sartorial splendour and, in fact, he was now a laughing stock. His mother was most amused.

I am now on my third sewing machine, this one an all-singing all-dancing Scandinavian monster. On which I mend. And do not, alas, make costumes any more. However, there is a bowl of chocolate bars at the ready, should a costumed child appear out here this evening. And I hope for the full spooky moon.