The Thread that Binds: Four Generations of Sarcasm and Sewing

There are two skills I proudly learned from the 3 generations of women who preceded me, the art of quick-wit (aka a smart mouth) and the timeless art of sewing.

My great-grandmother was the most entertaining woman I’d ever met. She was a woman who did what she wanted– didn’t like the name her mother gave her, so she changed it. Kind and caring, feisty, and funny, she’d wake up, step down from her waist-high bed, do some light calisthenics, then make breakfast from scratch.

My great-grandmother’s sewing machine is still in the family and all I know is, she was in far better shape than I because that jawn is heavy! Her machine’s foot pedal is the size of my laptop. I remember her stories of working in the fields and being responsible for all the laundry. Her wardrobe was handmade and she later used that machine to make her children’s clothes and teach them to sew.

My grandmother has been my biggest fan since birth. No matter where I am or what I’m doing, she makes my business her business, often mailing me news articles about something related to my school, job, or neighborhood. For years I tried to explain to her that I could read the article online and she could save her stamp, but that didn’t stop her. Eventually, though, she went from sending postal mail to telling me to “Google it!” every 3 seconds. She’s the kind of funny person who has no clue they’re funny.

My entire childhood, I remember the desk in her kitchen being the home of her green, Necchi sewing machine. But, when I went to her house to take a picture of it, it was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was this Singer machine, her replacement when her Necchi failed her. From curtains and tablecloths to hemming pants and mending holes, my grandmother made it all and passed that skill down to my mother.

My mom is a master crafter and busybody; I’ve never known her to not have a project going on. She worked a taxing full-time job and yet, each night of the week she had a second job. After work she’d get busy with an income-earning side hustle or participate in something community, school-district, or church-based. Because of that, I was always involved in something as well. A fan of the arts, my mom encouraged any creative endeavor I wanted to try. While other parents deterred their kids from artistic professions not known to garner high incomes, such as writing, my mom was the parent telling me about every poetry contest, writing conference, and person looking for a writer. She bought my first journal and to this day she’ll buy me a cute pen or notebook, despite me having more than I could ever use.

One of my mom’s numerous side jobs was sewing. I won best-dressed in school as a child because of all the custom outfits my mom sewed and crocheted for me. I would give anything to have back the pink poodle skirt she made me in elementary school (though it wouldn’t fit around one thigh these days). Our dining room table wasn’t for meals, it was for her fabric cutting mat, yardstick, and yards of fabric she’d just bought at The Mill fabric store. Prom dresses, pillow covers, costumes, jumpsuits, holiday-themed vests, you name it, she made it for me, family, friends, and strangers referred by others. I learned to sew on my mom’s machine and that helped earn me an ‘A’ grade in my home economics class when we had to cut and sew shorts from a pattern. The sound of my mom’s sewing machine at night is a core memory.

In December of 2021, a few months into my mom’s caretaking for my grandmother full-time, I learned Philadelphia was to enforce its single-use plastic bag ban soon. Feeling the pull to create something that allowed my mom and I to continue to care for my grandmother while also earning a living, I prayed for wisdom. My mom and grandmother are bag ladies who’ve carried reusable bags in their cars since before “eco-friendly” was a trendy term.

I ordered sample tote bags from numerous companies, hated them all, and decided to draw my own. I knew there were millions of minimalists like me who were more likely to carry a bag they liked, that matched their fit, and that was big enough and sturdy enough to carry everything from groceries or gym clothes to beach gear or kid accessories.

So, Tote Jawn launched its inaugural Philly neighborhood collection with the slogan, “Minimal, modern, canvas bags to carry your stuff and match your swag.” We continue to strive to be a green/eco-friendly company sourcing biodegradable and sustainable materials and adapting the slow-fashion model so that the thread that binds the next four generations isn’t a landfill full of totes.