Goodbye my friends it's hard...
The boyfriend jacket circa 1990's. I loved you even when my students laughed at me in 2010 when I wore you again. I did not care. Please know you were loved and you were very well-made and inspired by a Mary Rohr workshop I attended when I lived in the frozen tundra. Butterick 5725 OOP, goodbye my friend.
Dear skirts, I loved you too but you had no pockets. I cannot function at school (work) without pockets. I should have known this before I made you. I'm sorry. I am even more sorry that you no longer fit my new/old-lady body. Goodbye my friends.
Dear gray plaid jacket, you have lived an amazing life. I loved you because I could just throw you on and no one knew how old you were or how tattered your lining had become. I knew. I knew that if I opened you up or took you off, threads would fall. Thank you for making me look so good for so long. McCalls 8306 OOP.
Sigh. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. You are a dream raincoat made from a fabulous pattern (Amy Butler) that came out when I had no idea home sewers could make raincoats. If only I were 13 years old I would speak to my classmates through you. When you are shy you can let your clothes speak for you. Sadly, time was not on your side. By the time the buttons were ready to be sewn on, your model was too big and was phasing out of her pink stage. I had the greatest buttons ready to put on you and there was that nice orange gingham lining...goodbye my friend.
Such a nice jacket made from the pattern as the gray plaid, you just never clicked in the wardrobe. My vision was to wear you with a cream turtleneck and pants but it just never happened. What really killed you was that there wasn't enough fabric for a the fashion-fabric facing on the front piece. The ivory lining I used just didn't work. It kept wanting to peek out. I sure hope you find a new home. Goodbye my friend. McCalls 8360 OOP.