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#MySeauxingStory by Kathryn S. Scioneaux

Updated: Feb 5



My Sewing Start


Looking back, I often wondered if she was brave or crazy. I was only three when my beloved mother allowed me to sit in front of a sewing machine. It was one of my earliest recollections...


We were a trio, my mama, daddy and me, that moved around the country frequently back then. He was an Airman First Class in the Air Force and this time we were in Gulfport, Mississippi where they had rented a small apartment from an elderly lady. Her two-story stately white house, with its rambling front porch, sat directly across the street from Gulfport's magnificent white beach. It was one of those quintessential Southern homes that proudly lined the Mississippi coast. If you stood on that beach and looked back at the house (which my mom and I did frequently as she and I went there almost daily), our apartment was on left side of the first floor. Fully furnished, the elderly lady's treadle Singer sat in the modest living room by the doorway which led to the dining room. And that is where it began.


How can I remember this? Great question which I'm not sure I can fully answer. All I know is that, as a military brat, I can remember how old I was by where we lived. I do think there were probably confirming photographs somewhere, but many were lost in our numerous moves or in Katrina (that's another story). Nonetheless, for this “only, lonely child” being on that Singer is one of my earliest memories, followed by those in Florida (twice), Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, South Carolina (several times), and Arkansas. And somewhere along the way, mama bought an electric machine…As they say, the rest is history!



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