Juliet Resuscitated

My sewing machine's name is Juliet. 

Not kidding. Her name is really Juliet.

She just burst out of her grave like a rockstar and totally reminded me of that horror scene from the movie Carrie where the really nice girl goes crazy then dies and comes out of her grave. My sewing machine did that but in a much cooler way.

The inspiration for my sewing machine. 

My sewing machine is pink, named Juliet and about 15 years old. She was a treasured high school graduation gift given to me by my parents who knew how much I loved to sew. I used her to make several quilts, summer dresses, skirts, and tailor clothes. I won a quilting competition thanks to Juliet. We spent many a night together hearing the hum of bluegrass music and putting together a beautiful dress till the wee hours of the morning. Juliet sewed and people slept. Sadly, Juliet did not see the light of day for the last few years while I was busy skipping continents in the pursuit of life, liberty and happiness. She was sitting in her box in a cold cold storage room, collecting dust and humming the blues thinking that life had given her a sip of poison and sensed imminent death. In a way I was Romeo and Juliet wanted to come back to life.

Juliet had something on her mind, like horror movie Carrie she would come back, she refused to accept this poison as the blow that would lay her in a grave. She would burst out of that dusty box like dynamite and sew again. Not any garment would do though. Not, not for Juliet, after years of twiddling her thimbles she knew she had to sew something fantastic, something spectacular, something like never before.

And NYC steps in. I was strolling through the city minding my own happy business and suddenly there it was: a pair of Georgio Armani harem pants flirting at me through the window of a very stylish consignment shop. Harem pants!

My heart fluttered and for a second I thought I was in some cheesy Nicolas Sparks movie falling in love with these pants. This was better, way better than Mr. Sparks novels. I made my way in the store, tried on the silk Armani pants and wowed at how soft and well made they were. I let go the waist band and they dropped to the floor, Bam. Darn, they were a size 48 (Italian, of course). Being an Italian size 40 I wondered how I could take apart and tailor this exquisite pair of pants. The price tag got me $4. yeah. Hello?! NYC, Armani, $4 silk harem pants, can I get a Hoorah?! Hoorah!! Then, for the price of a dirty street pretzel, the soft silky seductive pants were mine and on their way home.

I consulted a fellow sewing friend who is quite the tailoring genius and we agreed on the best plan of action to take apart and tailor this delightful pair of pants. I have to say, taking apart an Armani was like doing open heart surgery on my cat: nerve wrecking! Stitch by stitch I nervously took apart the perfectly made waist.

 I carefully pinned the pleats exactly where they should go.

I basted ever so gently then said a little prayer as I plugged in Juliet. "Please work", I whispered to her.

Pink don't play

She smiled, knew it was well worth the wait and dug her needle ever so perfectly into the silky Armani fabric.

Gliding over the soft fabric gently she created the perfect seam. In one hour I was done, ecstatic and in love again with my sewing machine. She is a rock star, even in her name is Juliet. My harem pants on the other hand? Perfect as well!

Ready for a magic carpet!

They might terrify my husband a bit but I plan on wearing them in a very fashionable way one day, prancing into the Guggenheim and openly expressing my distaste for Picasso. "Pff pff pff! That Picasso painting is garbage!" Perhaps people will agree with me, seeing that I am sashaying around in the most fabulous pair of pants ever, and Picasso's silly paintings will be shunned and replaced with much better ones made by Botero.

Like cats and babies, I prefer people in paintings plump.