Sooo, I’m not sure exactly when – or where – my first solo will debut, but likely within the next month. The choreography is more or less done and I am oh-so-diligently working on my costume. Which is bringing to mind a few tihngs.
While I come from sewing stock – my namesake (grandma) was a seamstress by trade and sewed on a 1930s Singer machine until she died in the ’90s – the sewing gene has skipped some of us. My mom doesn’t have it but one of my sisters does. I was in 4-H for years growing up and my mom has several drawers’ worth of placemats and tote bags and simple skirts that I made. And while I can sew on a button or mend a hole, the whole idea of a sewing project frightens me a bit. (Namely because I don’t have a sewing machine and everything needs to be done by hand.) I went to the fabric store yesterday and felt strangely at home, reminiscing about trips to Hancock Fabrics with grandma when I loved to run my fingers over the displays of thread to push the spools back into their clever little holes.
The reminiscing stopped though when the guy cutting the cheap chiffon for my cape (yes, my cape) furrowed his eyebrows and asked, “What are you making?”
“Oh me? Um, a costume. A matador’s costume.” That needs to be pretty and shiny and easy to take off.
But I left that last part out.