My father’s family is comprised of artists. My grandmother was an actress and a painter. My father and his brother are talented musicians. My cousin graduated from a prestigious music school, specializing in jazz guitar. One of my aunts is such a talented painter that she has recreated classical works of art down to the last detail. To sum up their talents in such a shorthanded way is to do them a major disservice. There is talent in that family to say the least. I cannot say that I have acquired any musical talent and my painting skills leave a lot to be desired, but my crafting and sewing skills are where I shine. These particular skills, I learned from my father’s younger sister, a woman whose amazing talents spread into so many fields. For that reason, I am dedicating my first post to her.
As a child, my siblings and I would spend the summers on my aunt’s farm in Pennsylvania. Along with our cousins, we would spend our days collecting eggs, swimming in the lake, getting chased by llamas, singing along to our CD of Savage Garden and berry picking. My memories of those days are mostly picturesque (omitting the llama part), but my favorite parts were the times I spent sewing and crafting with my aunt. She had a room attached to her bedroom that was entirely dedicated to crafting and sewing. This room overlooked the animal pens, the barn, and the chicken coop and was filled with so much natural light. If Joanna Gaines could see this room (well, the entire gorgeous farmhouse in general), she would fall in love. The room had a sewing machine, beads, fabric, yarn, thread, and everything else you may need to create something wonderful. When we started a particular project, my aunt would take us to the fabric store where we picked out patterns and fabrics, then we would come back to the house and make our own clothing. We painted, we crocheted, we knitted.
As a middle schooler, she helped me begin to design and make my future prom dress, which, regrettably, I never finished. She helped my oldest sister make her prom dress and she wanted to pass on the tradition. She was moving and she knew she would not be around to help when the time came. Since middle school, I have only seen my aunt one time, but I think of her every time I sit down to my sewing machine. She is in every stitch. She is in every craft. The distance between us may be great and we may very rarely talk, but I love her with all of my heart.
