It's time to think about Grandma.

Every time I’m faced with clothes construction problem I think about Grandma. She was a professional tailor.

Grandma was born in 19^th century, in the Jewish quarter of the city of Minsk, the largest city and the capitol of Belorussia.  She went to work at the small women’s made to order fashion shop when she was eight, first swiping the floors, then finishing seams by hand (no zigzag machines, no sergers back then), attaching buttons, and so on. She didn’t put her needle down for the next eighty years. Needless to say Grandma despised ready-to-wear. She could do anything – from mink coat to wedding gown. Her formal education was practically non-existent, but she was voracious reader. 

As it is customary in Russia, we lived together – my parents, my older brother, Grandma and I. I grew up under the sewing machine. I would look for rolled away bobbins, collect pins from the floor, and play with scraps of fabric. Nobody had much concern about pricked fingers; I had access to sharp scissors and hot iron as much as I wanted.

Grandma didn’t do paper patterns. She would spread the fabric on the table and with a scrap of paper with measurements she drew the shape of the pattern on the fabric with chalk. Then there were fittings, long detailed fittings.  I can’t say how many fittings I have witnessed in my life. Women of all shapes and ages. Dresses, skirts, jackets, coats, slacks - you name it.  

Unfortunately, Grandma didn’t explain things to me, most probably because nobody ever explained anything to her. She was taught by praise for what she did right and punishment for what she did wrong.  And she did the same to me. But I went to school, six days a week back then in Russia; I had my school homework and if you think American kids are overloaded with homework you are very much mistaken – in comparison to Russia in my school days they have nothing to do; and I wanted to play with my friends. Now I know that I would be better off finishing seams for Grandma instead of spending my time with neighborhood kids.

I absorbed a lot from Grandma by osmosis. Love for natural fibers. I remember first time Grandma was brought some new synthetic fabric by one customer; it was all rage back then. Grandma felt it between her hands and said “Dreck!” That was it.  She would touch the fabric for a winter coat and say “Cheviot!” with such reverence as if it was Her Majesty the Quinn.  My intuitive understanding of fit. I just see where and how to correct the fit of the clothes, where to let out and where to take in. All these folds and wrinkles just talk to me.  I can press dress pants, well, anything. I know how to work with fur. 

Thank you, Grandma. Thinking about you.