Here Be Dragons

 

          Here Be Dragons

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Here be dragons on my mind map.

I think. Therefore I am. Am I? Until I’m not. Will the me that I am I go on thinking? This is 4:00 in the morning when my mind leads me, willingly following, down strange pathways. Not often. I treasure my sleep, laying up storerooms of good dreams, a few uneasy dreams, and, way, way back in the dusty corner, a couple of old nightmares whinny.

Now and then my mind wakes me up, grabs my metaphorical hands and dances me onward.

What started last night’s dance was a length of fabric. Our neighbor Janet had been cleaning out cupboards. She had given a piece of cotton goods to Crin who brought it over to me a few months ago with the suggestion that maybe it would suit us both for outdoor cushion covers. I put the fabric, colorful, obviously a piece of decorator fabric made for a specific purpose, evident by its narrow width, on a shelf for later.

Every single piece of clothing in my wardrobe, long pants and tunic tops, I stitched with my imagination and a sewing machine. Most of my clothing began as used discards, teardowns and remakes, sheets, odds and ends and finds.

Fabric stores in town sell synthetics suitable for weddings, dancing, quincineras and such. I wear natural fibers, so find cottons and linens when and where I can. With time, a most useful commodity, and thought, my finds gradually reveal to me what they want to become and I make it happen.

This is not a hardship. I live frugally. I live creatively. I own a dressmakers form. I like figuring out how to make wearable clothing from things not meant to be worn. My clothes look nice, are unusual, colorful, and are comfortable.

Now and then I would pull this length of cotton, fuscia with gray ribbon stripes, off the shelf and sit with it a while in silence. It remained mute.

Yesterday, Crin, here for a three-week surprise visit, came over to ask if our fabric would be good for covering two couple kitchen bar stools. Perfect, I told her, and there will be plenty for leftovers to make a matching table cloth. Or place mats, she countered.

At 4:00 in the morning, awake with my thoughts, a quite simple tunic began to design itself. They do that sometimes. First, I saw the front and back take shape. Then a scalloped neckline showed up, giving the severe lines a softness. Once I got to going down that pathway, there was no return. How about a slender cap sleeve, with the stripe going horizontally rather than vertically. Oh, yes. In my mind, I saw the shirt cut, pinned on the dress form and stitched together.

I dragged myself out of bed at the usual time, early riser that I am, went to my sewing room out in the bodega, measured enough fabric for the tunic with a few added inches for any changes that might need to happen, folded the fabric and set it aside for putting together later. The design that has unfolded is so simple and so obvious that I am amazed at myself, that I never saw it earlier.

I folded Crin’s portion, plenty for barstools, a large tablecloth and several placemats, to give to her when she comes over this afternoon.

That is how I spent part of my time. What did I use for currency? I paid attention. My wallet of time is thin. It seems to me that I spend more time than I save time, yet, there always seems to be enough time.

Sondra Ashton

Looking out my back door

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