*

There’s a lot of sleepless nights over seam finishes.  In the heat of things, one does things simply, crudely, mowing down the right-side-together 5/8s thingy, eager to see what is flat turn into what has shape.  Then regret -- with a little planning, that could have been a french seam, or something better, exotic or sturdy or spectacularly imitative of ready-to-wear.   The sewing book says the quality of one’s seam is really the measure of one’s character.  You hear that repeated a lot. That’s bad news. I think of some future for the garment, inspected in the thrift store at which it will someday, for some reason, rest:  this was not a lovely, attentive sewist, the future shopper thinks, and wrinkles her nose or whatever, shrugs.  It’s me always praying no one will ever look at the inside of my navy blue skirt.  To never leave evidence of excitement (someday, soon, finally).