Tuesday night was our last remedial sewing class. I brought a zippered pouch I was making with me to work on. That was also supposed to be our final class project.
Also, because I'd gotten a cryptic e-mail from Val earlier in the day, suggesting she was having a bit of a crazy week, I opted to be a good team player and grabbed a handful of fabric, several zippers and matching thread and threw them in my bag--just in case Val needed them as part of her class. Because nobody else advanced that far, these supplies didn't matter. The rest of the class finished their project from the second week: gift bags.
Meanwhile, while I worked on every step of my zippered pouch, Val took what I was doing and passed it around the room, demonstrating what the next part of the process should look like. She'd cheerfully say things like: "see how the pinning is done here," or "when you install a zipper, make sure to test it before you top stitch," or "if you don't test your zipper before you top stitch you will be picking out every single stitch and starting over and this is what THAT will look like."
That evening, as Val and I got into the elevator when class was over, I made some platitude about the class ending. All Val uttered was a "finally" under her breath. That was the most frustration she'd shown about this group of students. But I certainly understood her point.
Incidentally, Val is offering a canning class next month. But she didn't mention that to her sewing class.
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