I take it for granted that I can create anything I want with fabric. Sewing is a lost art and I was lucky enough to grow up in a subculture where most female clothes were handmade. As a teenager, I was desperate for creative outlets. In addition to playing with food preparation, I discovered the medium of textiles. Of course I made my own dresses. There was a basic pattern for our Mennonite cape dresses, with very few opportunities for variance. There were four variables where you could exercise free choice in the construction of a dress: color and type of fabric, neckline design, finish on the edge of the sleeve, and type of skirt (a-line, pleated, or gathered). The female form needed to be covered and since individuals could not be trusted to make good choices, male church leaders determined the rules for modesty and conformity of dress. My creativity oozed out in other sewing projects: decorative pillows, fabric purses, aprons, gifts, and whatever I could get my hands on. Several years ago, our friend, Ellen Kessel, attended Parson's School of Design in NYC. I read a description she wrote of one of her required projects and I thought to myself, "I could have made a career out of this myself!" I understand all the sewing terms, I know how to line a garment, I can finish seams with a french seam so they look neat, I know how fabrics drape, I know how to work with patterns and can make button holes in my sleep. Oh well, maybe next go round, I can be a designer. 

One of my favorite things to sew has been clothes for my young children. To see them running and playing in outfits that I personally designed and crafted, always warmed my heart. And yes, sometimes their clothes matched, sort of like the von Trapp children in The Sound of Music when Maria made them matching play clothes.

In early 1987, Larry and I spent some time in India. One of the things you can't help but notice there is the plethora of textiles. Even among the lower class, many females were resplendent in vibrant colored silk saris. When we were in Varanasi, exploring the Ganges River, we found a man with a loom, hand weaving silk fabric. It was fascinating to watch the process of those threads becoming a cloth! When we left India several months later, I took some yards of fabric along home, to remember our adventures in that country which assaults one's senses. I chose a raw silk piece: grayish blue with tan woven throughout and flecked with those uneven slubs that give raw silk its rough charm. I had no plans for a specific sewing project, but knew the fabric would speak to me, when the time was right. Ten years, six moves, and three children later, I heard its voice. I remember the delicious satisfaction as I planned each child's outfit: two year old Derek would have shorts buttoned to a coordinating shirt with piping and a peter pan collar. Four year old Lauren would have a simple gathered dress, with a large bib collar featuring piping and an embroidered "L", southern style. And six year old Christopher was still young enough to appreciate a lined vest to wear over his blue button down shirt and khakis. I sewed my heart into those clothes; the garments were visible signs of my love for those three gifts from the hand of God.

These outfits and the children in them were captured and immortalized by Brad Cansler of Cansler Photography. Brad has photographed our family enough for me to know that cutesy, matchy is not his first choice of clothing, but he accommodated us well, and I am most grateful.

Several months after these portraits were taken, Larry and his twin sister, Linda, celebrated their 40th birthday. All ten Schlabach siblings, along with several spouses, came to Chattanooga for the weekend. Sunday morning I was busy getting lunch in the oven for everyone, before we left for church. Seeing toddler Derek running around the house in a partial state of undress, Larry's thoughtful brother, Willard offered his assistance. He started dressing Derek in the Indian, raw silk, outfit, which I had laid out. After much squirming and movement of chubby legs in shorts, everything seemed to be in place, until Derek looked down at his shirt front. With his big blue eyes wide open, he looked up and said in his two year old voice, "Uncle Willard, the buttons go in the back." Perhaps I got too creative with that outfit!