pattern junkie

Happy Mother's Day: Green Tube Tops, Capri Overalls and Gunne Sax Dresses

Well, my mother taught her son to sew as well -- but after a few projects, he decided he preferred racing the sewing machines.  With me, the sewing stuck. 

The first thing I remember making was a bright green tube top.  (We're talking BRIGHT green -- this was the mid 70s.)  A great beginner's project, really -- one big rectangle with elastic casing at both sides.  I don't remember how old I was -- eight?  ten? --- but I do remember how proud I was of that garment.  It's a feeling I still get whenever I complete a project.

Two absolute commandments were drilled into me by Mom.  They were:

1. Always always ALWAYS align the grain.
2. Be wary of Simplicity patterns.

The second may have been more a matter of opinion, but the first?  Words to live by.  They've been so well instilled that I simply cannot begin a project without taking the time to find the true grain.  The thought of just throwing down fabric and cutting into it sends shivers down my spine.

She taught me many other things, of course, but what I remember are the feelings.  The excitement of looking through pattern books, the joy of mulling over fabrics.  She taught me that sewing was a form of self-expression, and -- most importantly -- she gave me free rein to express myself.  The baggy bright Hawaiian shorts I made in high school and wore to death were one thing, but the men's pajamas I converted into a suit with four inch shoulder pads to emulate David Byrne in "Stop Making Sense"?  That must have been a test.  (It's a two-way street, by the way -- I only rolled my eyes once over the striped capri overalls she unleashed upon the world sometime in the late 90s.)

Most of all, she taught me that sewing could be a way to show love -- both to others and yourself.  Sewing and love could be a matter of planning: growing up poor in South Texas in the 50s, she wore dresses made from flour sack fabric.  She fell in love with one certain rare print and, though it took months, her mother made sure to find and buy enough flour with that print to make her a dress.  Sewing and love were evident in the velour robe in crazy 60s colors in her closet, made by my father for her their first Christmas together, as well as in the Gunne Sax dress she surprised me with in junior high.

So, a Mother's Day thank you...although Mom, we're still going to have to agree to disagree over those overalls.

Pattern Junkie on the case...The Bishop Method

Today I was in the process of listing this Advance pattern in my shop when I noticed the writing on the bottom right-hand corner:

"This pattern features The Bishop Method of clothing construction."  Curious to know more about the Bishop Method, I pulled out the instructions.  No help there -- it's one of those amazingly efficient one-sheet instruction pages that you so often find in older patterns. 

A little more poking around revealed this pattern on etsy, which offered a teensy bit of info on the mysterious Method of Bishop:

The Bishop Method, apparently, features fitting with "Key Grain Lines."  Hmm.  Well, I DO agree that grain lines are important.  In fact, the first rule of sewing that my mother drilled into my head was the importance of aligning the grain before cutting out the pattern.  (The second was "Never trust Simplicity patterns," which may not be quite as universal a rule.)

Further googling revealed copies of "The Bishop Method of Clothing Construction" by Edna Bryte Bishop available on etsy and Amazon.  Never one to turn down an excuse to buy a vintage sewing book, I ordered one -- hopefully I'll be able to report back soon.  Anyone out there know more about Advance's Bishop Method?

Of Buffums and Pearl Buttons

One of the things I love about collecting vintage patterns is discovering notes and other bits of ephemera that the original owners stashed in the envelope.  It might be a note about pattern adjustments -- a shopping list gone astray -- a fabric sample tucked away.  Whatever it is, it's a little window on the past of the pattern and the seamstress who used it.

Recently I was checking pattern pieces on Simplicity 4103 and discovered this newspaper ad tucked inside:

Here's the pattern itself:

I wonder -- was it a little girl who saw the Buffums (Buffums!  Great name!) ad and pointed it out to her mom?  Or did mom see it and decide that's what she wanted to make for her daughter?  The pattern pieces are cut out, so I do hope the dream Buffums dress became a reality.

Whatever the story, it brings back fond memories for me.  Back in the early 80s when I was an eighth grader, the Prairie Dress/Gunne Sax fad swept over Parker Junior High.  I was at the age where I HAD to dress like my friends -- the dorky "Mork and Mindy" suspenders of earlier years had been tossed, and my era of hacking up men's pajamas to make suits and trolling thrift stores for vinyl coats was yet to come.  A Gunne Sax dress was essential for my social survival -- and pearl buttons were absolutely crucial.  Without pearl buttons, the dress would be nothing.

My mom decided to take on this project herself -- and in secret, no less.  She surprised me with an absolutely gorgeous dress.  Blue calico, cream calico, lace, ribbon and yes...pearl buttons.  I have pictures of myself in it: I was thirteen, awkward, gawky and unsure of myself, but that dress made me feel great.  And that had very little to do with the fact that it was "in" and everything to do with the fact that it was a labor of love, made with me and only me in mind.  Thanks, Mom!