I like taking something and making it my own, personalizing it, kicking it up a notch from ordinary to extraordinary. Sometimes that happens with paint, other times with hammers, glue guns or pliers, but this time it happened with sewing.
I am not the kind of highly trained seamstress that has a special room filled with everything in its place, sunlight and flat space framed with cabinets of storage abounding. I am the kind of seamstress that tries to remember a few pointers from 1974 when I was in Mrs. Smith’s 101 Home Ec class, then takes over the dining room table my great grandfather built for my grandmothers kitchen nook. I am the kind of seamstress who sweeps the kitchen floor before laying out the 50% off $24.99 a yard fabric on the floor for cutting. I am the kind of seamstress who has paper bags of fabric scraps to dig through and one organized sewing basket of sorts. I have great ideas, and YouTube videos to figure out how to make those ideas come to pass. I am not, I repeat NOT professional, and I am okay with that. What I am is creative and not afraid to work at a project until I consider it a success. What I am learning is, I am not a group project kind of person. Here is how I know. When my 8 month old kitten and my 3 year old blue Heeler want to help my sewing, I think about making them into jerky instead of enjoying their company. The jerky didn’t happen of course, I am just admitting to the thought.
Vintage Roving started out as a dream come true for a 50 year old, who was once a little girl at a summer picnic in the eastern Oregon mountains of Grant county. The first time I saw a small travel trailer it wasn’t vintage. It probably wasn’t five years old, but I knew I wanted one of my very own. I never told anyone, but the dream lingered with me. Fathers Day 2011, my husband I drove to Prineville and considered my first ownership. We towed it home and the work of cleaning it up to look like a dream, instead of a nightmare, and a vision of ‘what could be’ began. On that creative journey of cleaning and personalizing my playhouse, I had a mustard seed of an idea planted in me to share my trailer with those who wanted to share her unique ability to help folks relax. That would mean decorating with less of me in mind, and a theme a wider range of people could enjoy.
Thelma Lou’s dinette the day I brought her home to stay. The walls were sloppily painted a color a I labeled “Hot dog barf” and white, navy cotton fabric folded over the top of dirty canvas was the upholstery.
I initially used some old fabric my mother had leftover from a loveseat she had recovered, because I had it. Now I am recovering those original dinette cushions with something more period correct, washable, durable, and less girly. Something a man won’t force his eyes to not to roll when he spies the cushions. Hence, my kitchen/dining room sewing project with Lily the Heeler and Reece the wildcat/kitten. It has been a challenge. Something akin to taking a 3 year old shopping with you for a formal dress, or rebuilding a carburetor with your 2 year old ‘helping’.
Apparently if you are a Heeler who never leaves her humans side for more than 5 minutes, and your best friend-enemy is a kitten who loves to provoke as much as to be chased, a sewing project on the floor is the best kind of project in the world. All the bonding you could ever hope for in one central spot in the house. So when you rent one of these rolling adventures, don’t forget someone with lots of love and patience made those cushion covers, with lots of help from my friends, who share this vision, a little more involved than perhaps I would like from time to time. This was one ‘Adventure, delivered’ I had not bargained for, but an adventure nonetheless. I will show you the before and after when I get this project all sewn up and in place.