It has been a tough week, so when my calendar buzzed to remind me about sashiko class this afternoon, I had mixed feelings. Though I knew it would be good for me to be around other humans, going to class takes so much effort. I know I’m whining, but listening is hard work.
I decided to buck up and go, and as always, I am glad I did. It turned out I really just needed to stab something.
In case you are new here, a quick debriefing: my craft-time pastime of choice is sashiko, a style of embroidery, which in Japanese means “little stabs.” And I love to overwork the pun. As can be evidenced here, here and here. And here.
The concentrated craft time made me feel better.
A new kit was waiting for me when I got to class, a pouch for holding my sashiko goods. The kit comes with everything you’ll need — thread, fabric, pattern. The design includes an image of Japanese scissors, which according to Dan look like Pac Man. I have scissors more like this, which all the ladies get a kick out of. (For those observant few — yep, that is a sashiko coaster. More on that to come…)
Class-time chatter was mostly about shopping. I think I picked up on this mostly because I’ve become familiar with the various department stores (mmmm, food halls), though I’ve also learned a few more verbs (yay for action words!). The ladies were cheerful, and they watched me stitch and nodded their approval. My sensei even sent me home with her pouch, so I can have a model to look at while I work between classes. Look at the size of her stitches on the left, compared to mine on the right. So teeeny. I’ve got some practicing to do.
Here is the reverse, what my pouch will look like someday. The red felt is for holding pins and needles, and the pouch will hold all my threads and tools. I’m so excited. The only thing I love as much as crafting is organizing my crafts.
My favorite part of every class is show-and-tell. I love watching as everyone pulls out the projects they’ve completed since we last met, and the whole table echos with sugoi! With this group of crafty old ladies it comes from the gut, and the table sounds like a chorus of beer-chuggin’ dudes. I love it.