I think it had a whimsical field-mouse picnic on it. Something lovely with red, ripe, strawberries, and friendly vermin–probably sisters to Jaque and Gus-Gus. It was silky soft like cold butter, and had delightful twirl-factor. My ginny gown. It was living room tea parties, and reading with my sisters by flashlight, and tripping through the wet grass outside. That six-year-0ld girl inside me still sighs with satisfaction at the thought of it. Sometimes I think I’m still sewing for that girl, because twirl and swing have never ceased to appeal to my (young) heart.
Now this certainly isn’t the Ginny Gown for her, I ‘ve got something a little more special planned for that. But maybe it will temporarily satisfy the twirl quota that I know so well. And she undoubtedly enjoys it. I love how serious she takes this business–like a Spanish Matadora! Twirlage is an art form.
And After. This thing is anything but lifeless now!