I Hang Curtains

My living room curtain adventure began in lockdown no. 1. Sure that I'd have time to spare on sewing as a moderate act of independence, I ordered some fabric samples, held them up to my imagination, then plumped for powder blue velvet. 

When the parcel arrived from the textile shop, I psyched myself up into curtain-making mode. I measured the drop needed, and then again, unpacked the fabric. I found that the length I'd been sent was one metre shorter than the length I'd ordered. You could know even less about curtain making than I do and still appreciate that this presented a problem. I contacted the seller, who was apologetic and sent a two metre length the following week.

With diminished enthusiasm, I embarked on take 2, measuring the windows again then, very, very carefully, cut the first drop. Too short, it turned out. 

If I were still in therapy, my psychotherapist might identify this mistake as self-sabotage. I identified it as enough to stop me in my [curtain] tracks for a couple of years. I bundled the fabric into a bag, and in a move the same therapist might've described as a defence mechanism, or possibly repression, stuffed the bag in a corner of the attic. 

Looking at the bag of velvet from time to time, I noticed my enthusiasm for blue curtains waning but my dislike of waste and unfinished projects nagged at me. I sought advice from my eldest son who is, after all, an expert sewer and measurer. He delivered the message I wasn't prepared to hear: You need to buy more fabric, Mum. I promptly set about going into denial.

This June, under the influence of my longest-serving friend, I attempted to buy my way out of this fix, purchasing curtains when we were on our camping holiday in Norfolk. This is what friends are for: to point out, at the right moment, that it's okay to buy curtains someone else has made. Even better, doing this, reminded my longest-serving friend that she needed curtains too. We broke together our long-standing tradition of not buying curtains while on holiday, each returning from Norfolk laden with velvet and the happiness of a week spent outside in good weather.

Once home, I realised that the curtains were not quite right for my living room, but would look perfect in my bedroom. And so, last weekend, while under the influence of my longest-serving friend again, this time in London, I bought a second pair of curtains for my living room. I hung them up when I got home, and they look just right. They are not blue, and they are not made from velvet. 

The new curtain happiness gave me the prompt I needed to hang the Norfolk set (which have been in a plastic bag since June). Luckily, this gave me the opportunity for a moderate act of independence: putting up a curtain pole, and putting it up straight, unlike that long ago shelf, at the first attempt [See I Put Up a Shelf]. 

As for the blue velvet? My eldest son has offered to make it into a coat for me - a perfect, a congruent resolution.