It seems like I’ve had some type of needle in my hand since about the age of 5. My grandmother always had some needlework project ready for my summer vacation arrival at the farm in Missouri. One year I had to make enough yo yo’s to cover a pillow and to this day I dislike making them, but I know how. Between my grandmother and my high school sewing teacher the correct way to stitch/sew something was drilled into my head, they didn’t tolerate my shortcuts. Now these days I can and do stitch in any manner I feel like, secure in the knowledge that I do know the correct way and that any shortcuts I take don’t compromise or take away from the project.
OK, you’re wondering where the heck is all this information coming from? I was just sitting here remembering the summer evenings spent with grandma, sitting on the back porch at the farm, stitching, hearing the “preacher” birds and listening to the hunters and their dogs running through the woods.
