The Seamstress

Both Jeanne and I were seniors in this shot. My last fall at Lincoln High and Jeanne was in her last year at ISU. What drew me to this photo in particular is that my jacket and skirt, and Jeanne's outfit were no doubt creations of Ruthie and her magic sewing machine. Ruthie knew how to sew and she made us more really cool outfits than our bank account could've afforded without her. Honestly, the woman had a good sense of style. Jeanne and I were so well-dressed because of her penny-saving efforts.

Looking back, I remember she'd drag me over the fabric store - one of her favorite places in the world - to look at material and patterns. (Are there still patterns??) Grumbling, I'd succumb to constant measurings and fittings, knowing in the back of my mind how truly lucky I was, but still only as appreciative as the typical sullen teenager. She didn't care. It was her lifeline; her way to drift into her own place and create. While the seams were not perfectly straight on close inspection, and sometimes the hems would come undone or buttons wouldn't match, the end result always looked impressive and fashionable. Did I mention that I was glum when she called me during my favorite tv shows for fittings? And yet, I would be so excited about wearing some new outfit that I once wore a jumper to school that she hadn't quite finished, and halfway through the day the hem started to unravel and hang. I tried scotch tape and pins, only to get stabbed every time I sat down. I finally resorted to stapling it. She got a huge kick out of that.

I think Ruthie sewed up until the day that she went into the hospital that last time in Manchester. As Jeanne and I well know from trying to move her clothing to Stratford, she made herself dozens of pants in every hue, with tops to match. When Justin was small, she made him everything from feety pajamas to button down shirts, complete with collars and cuffs made of nice flannel material. She even made blue velvet pants to replace the care-worn pair that Justin's Good Girl (GiGi) wore.

Jeanne might remember the pattern box that was a permanent fixture in Ruthie's closet. Buttons, "zippahs" and thread in every color. You couldn't cross her bedroom in our old house in Des Moines without stepping on a stray pin in the carpet, and Dad's feet seemed the pin magnet. I have kept a few of the later creations that she put her label in - Justin's shirts and a few skirt and vest pairings that I can't bring myself to part with.

I miss the rumble of her sewing machine because I knew when she was busy with a project for Jeanne or me (or later, for Justin), that she was happy.