Free Don't Sing at the Table by Adriana Trigiani Page B

come. The factory worker should wear a cashmere sweater in the drafty mill, because it’s the wool of the highest quality, and therefore it lasts. Cashmere is also durable, and the most comfortable wool against the skin; it adapts in fluctuating temperatures, and does not pill. A child should wear brushed corduroy coveralls, because it’s the most sturdy material, a washable cotton that holds color through the hand-me-down chain.
    A fine-gauge cotton is easier to press, a strong silk holds its shape, a thick velvet is sumptuous and also warm. Lucy believed if you used the best material, the garment would make a statement. Choose the best fabric once, and you’ve chosen quality, and therefore simplicity. No need to shop and buy ten items, when one beautifully built garment made of the finest fabric would serve your purpose and have you look forward to wearing it. Lucy thought the most deserving of elegance were the folks who provided it. Nothing made her happier than to build a beautiful garment for a woman who would appreciate it, someone like her, a working woman.

    Lucy and her daughter, Ida, in the Progressive Shoe Shop showroom in 1972, in Chisholm, Minnesota.
    Nobody has to see how many times you rip out the hem.
    There isn’t a workday that goes by that I don’t consider this bit of wisdom. Lucy ripped out hems, over and over again, until the seams were straight and perfect. She spent hours draping fabric to show off its texture and create the perfect shape. Each fitting improved the garment, and Lucy would not rest until she was satisfied with every stitch. Details mattered.
    The results of your hard work should appear effortless. The most glorious creations seem to appear in full out of nowhere. That’s the sign of a craftsman. Creating something from nothing is a triumph of imagination and skill. When you sew a stitch, it should be so small that it disappears into the fabric, and becomes part of the whole. The smaller the stitch, the better the seamstress. I imagine words in a novel like stitches. Words should flow seamlessly, without a tug or a pull to take you out of the thought itself.
    Aim for sprezzatura , elegance that is neither forced nor dictated, that comes from within, effortlessly like zippy dialogue, and is an extension of the person, not words for the sake of them. Description, like sartorial details, should inspire a mood—the way a covered button blends into a coat, never breaking the line, or by contrast how a brass button on the same coat turns it into a uniform. The smallest details make a difference. They change the message.
    Once you cut the pattern, do not stop until you’ve sewn the last seam.
    There are all kinds of seamstresses, as there are levels of craft in every profession. Some seamstresses like to have several projects going at once. They cut several patterns, stack them up, then plow through them, assembling them on the machine. Not so for Lucy. She cut one pattern at a time and then would sew until the garment was complete. Lucy did not rest until a particular garment was finished, every seam perfect, pressed and steamed on the hanger, ready for the customer. Then, she’d start the process all over again with the next job.
    Lucy finished what she started. She liked to work methodically, without the distraction of the next job tugging for her attention. Chaos was for the circus. Three rings of action with trapeze artists flipping overhead might be entertaining, but it didn’t get the job done. The execution of a good design takes focus and concentration. It may be easier to cut a pile of patterns first, and then sit for long stretches and sew, but Lucy was having none of it. When I asked her why, she told me that she could not do her best unless she focused on one garment at a time. She felt a sense of completion when the job was done from start to finish. She was satisfied when the customer came to pick up her garment, tried it on, and was