Memories of grandma's pin-cushion lesson stuck

Cheryl-Anne Millsap  /  Staff writer

A pin-cushion fashioned from a Coke can and a cushion in the shape of a shoe are some of the collectible styles. (Brian Plonka/The Spokesman-Review) Favorite sewing tools? Do you have a special pin-cushion or other favorite sewing tool? Tell us your story. Your letter may appear on the Treasure Hunt blog at http://www.spokesmanreview.com/blogs/treasure/ @On the Web For an archive of great Home content, including Treasure Hunting columns and Cheryl-Anne Millsap's blog, access the information at no charge at spokesmanreview.com/home

Pins and needles are the little tools that help us keep buttons and hems intact. They are basic wardrobe supplies.

It doesn't matter if you are an accomplished seamstress or just someone who knows how to deal with an occasional clothing emergency. You need to be able to find one of these things when you need them.

Most of us keep pins and needles handy, stuck in a drawer or into a cushion made for that purpose.

I've got a collection of three little vintage pin-cushions. Naturally, each one has a story.

The little gold, velvet-lined, metal cushion shaped like a woman's slipper was a gift from a friend. He picked it out of the things in his antique shop and offered it to me because he knew I had a thing for shoes. Each time I look at it, I remember that day, and it makes me smile.

That was a long time ago, but I've still got the little pin-cushion, and I've still got a thing for shoes.

The miniature dress form, with a faded fabric tape measure curled in the base, was purchased in Spokane, after we moved here in 1999. I keep my costume jewelry, the pins and brooches I've collected over the years on a dressmaker's mannequin, so the idea of keeping a few extra pins and needles on the miniature form appealed to me.

But my favorite pin-cushion is shaped like a tiny, ornate, wrought-iron chair.

When I was a child, one of the popular crafts was to take aluminum soda cans and fashion them into little pieces of furniture.

My grandmother, a woman who loved to work with her hands, cut and then curled a Coke can into the shape of a little chair. She sprayed it with black paint, glued a bit of foam to the flat part of the can and covered the foam with red velvet to make a cushion.

The homemade pin-cushion sat on her dressing table for years. It was where she kept long pearl corsage pins, straight pins to keep fabric in place while she sewed a seam, and a few small brass safety pins for emergencies.

Now it's mine.

When my daughters were small, they wanted to put my grandmother's pin-cushion chair in their doll's house, but I said no. I explained that it wasn't a toy.

Occasionally, when I'm out and about, poking around in antique malls and flea markets, I see little pin-cushions. They come in all shapes and sizes.

Some, like the little chair my grandmother made, are obviously homemade. They're hard to resist.

Others were mass-produced. They came in sewing boxes or were purchased at the five-and-dime.

But they all served the same purpose.

When a button pops off a blouse just before I leave for work, it's annoying. When the hem of my skirt needs a few stitches, I roll my eyes.

I'd rather be doing other things than mending my clothes.

But the little black chair, with its red velvet cushion, reminds me that anything we do ought to be done with good-natured grace.

Thanks to my grandmother, it's a lesson that has stuck with me.