lock box #2

the second lock box to be triggered, happened when I was 21 years old.  I was pregnant with my daughter, and began to experience some pretty vivid dreams.  at first, I thought they were only nightmares.  but as they continued, more and more details would emerge and come into focus.  after several restless weeks.. uneasily,  I approached a family member about my nightmares.  her reaction, which was completely unexpected, shoved me clear off my foundation.  I realized that these were not merely nightmares.. but flashes of memory.  I was horrified.  how could this be true?  I immediately went into prayer, begging God to show me… make me understand.  be oh so careful what you pray for… as some things, are not easy to see or understand.  it is 22 years later, and I have no more understanding today, than I did at that moment.  some things make absolutely no sense.. no matter how hard you try. 

before I go on, I want to say that these ‘flashes’ were not the first of their kind for me.  I had little ‘gut’ feelings growing up, that I would brush off… reactions to certain things that never made sense to me, until this box was fully triggered.

my flashes of memory, were of  family members sexually abusing me.  first one, then a second.  this happened over a period of years.  (I will not go into the explicit details, as they are more power to my abusers, and have no relevance to the healing process.)   I have no idea if one knew about the other, not that that matters.  except, it does matter somehow, to me.  I am still wrestling with the question of… why?!   and more importantly, how?!  how could you do that to an innocent child? 

but the the truth is… there is no answer that could satisfy me.  there is no answer that could excuse or explain. no answer that would make me understand.  so those questions are only the cries of a little girl, who doesn’t understand how someone that was supposed to love and protect her… hurt her so badly. 

the adult that I have become, is still haunted by that little girl’s cries. 

but, it’s time to finally deal with this pain.  time to wipe those tears.  time to stand up and say ‘enough IS enough’.  time to allow God to clean out that box.. for good. 

my prayer:

dear Father, I am asking you to strengthen me.  I want to live in the present, and let go of the past.  heal me, Lord.. heal me from these open, exit wounds that cover me.  help me to release the anger and pain.. and grant me peace.  Amen.

the secret, put to rest

in the middle of the reunion with my father, I received a phone call that I was needed at home.  my grandmother (paternal) was in hospital, and they were taking her off of life support in the next few hours.  my father insisted on flying me in, to say goodbye.  I had not seen my grandmother in literally, years.  once I became an adult, I learned to steer clear of the negative people in my life, and she was definitely one of them.  you don’t have to tell me twice, that you don’t like me.  long story short, I went home to be with my dysfunctional family, and say goodbye.  I’m not sure if it was the biggest blessing, or harshest curse.  while there, as we waited for her to pass on, the family dynamic was comparable to a horrible episode of ‘roseanne’.  everyone arguing and hurting each other, over things that did not matter.  in the midst of this chaos, I found solace in helping to care for my grandmother.  she was on a respirator, and as they therapist would come in to clear it, I would stand and hold her hand.. talking to her, and attempting to distract her from the horrible ordeal.  in the evenings, my sister and I would sing hymns to her.  this woman, who had been so cold and cruel to me, I was now comforting… and it somehow felt right.  we used to take turns, staying with her.  one night, my father asked me to stay, along with him.  I agreed.  we enjoyed an evening, talking with her.  (when I say talking.. I mean, we talked and he read her lips.)  I listened to him reminisce with her, about his childhood experiences, etc.  it was sweet, and sad all at the same time.  I drifted to sleep listening to a son comfort his mother with story after story.  sometime around 3:00 am, my father woke me up.. said it was important.  I feared the worst.. he assured me she was still with us, but that I needed to join them.. join their conversation. 

…..see, my father knew of the grudge I had against my grandmother.  as we were getting acquainted, I mentioned how I never felt loved by her.  how she seemed to resent me.  he explained to me that she had never accepted that I was her grandchild.  she didn’t believe that I belonged to either of her sons. she blamed me for the rift that was caused between her sons, who had been so very close their entire lives.  for the rift in the family, who had to keep this so called ‘secret’.  she also blamed my mother for breaking both of her son’s hearts… which led to more blame for me….

as I rose to face them, I could see my grandmother had been crying.  she reached out for me to take her hand.  I knew this moment was heavy because I couldn’t catch my breath.  she began to mouth to me… and I looked down.  I couldn’t take it.  my father was saying the words for her, as she was trying desperately to reach me.. squeezing my hand to look at her.  finally my eyes met hers… and she said the words that I had needed to hear my whole life.. “I’m sorry.. and I love you”.  I forgave her, that very moment.  the three of us shared a quiet moment.  peace… at last.

…..I can understand why a mother would be upset about her son’s situations.  what I can’t understand is blaming an innocent child for the decisions and actions of adults.  and though peace was made at the end of her life, I find myself still struggling with those facts…..

the situation with the entire family only grew more ugly as she was getting closer to passing.  I finally had taken all I could, when an aunt began attacking me, for her mother not recognizing her.  (as she got closer, she began to see me, as a young version of my aunt )  so, I decided to say my goodbye, and left for home.  home to the sanctuary of my own little family.  the first few days back were wonderful.  so happy to be in the safe, loving arms of my husband.. and be with my children.  however, after the news of my grandmother’s eventual passing.. I began to fall apart.  panic attacks led me straight to the therapist’s office.. where I continued to visit over the next year and half.  this was the very beginning of my healing.  my poor dr.. I feel sorry for how hard he had to work to penetrate my walls.  and to be honest… he really only scratched the surface.  he made strides, but as I was leaving his office for the last time, (my family was being transferred again) he looked into my eyes and said, “you know perfectly well that you are not finished”.  and he was right.

my family’s move, brought us close to home.  close the father I was just getting to know.  all seemed as if God were laying it all out for me..for us.  but alas, this is my life.. and nothing is as it seems.  within months, we got the horrible news.. my father was dying.  lung cancer.  and there it was.. the very thing I feared… he’s leaving me, again.

I spent as much time with him as I could over the next several months.  he was going down hill so rapidly, the cancer now spread to his brain.  I would visit and talk with him, mainly listen.  I was trying to soak in as much of him, and his stories, as I could.  I studied his face, and listened intently to his voice.  his mind seemed to always drift back to my mother.  he would talk about how beautiful she was, and how much he loved her.  he was still in love with her.  it broke my heart.  both for him, and for me… the ‘could have been’ etching even more scars into me.  late one afternoon, I decided that I had to do something.  there was an overwhelming pull in me.. I had to do it. 

I called my mother, and told her to be ready.  I picked her up.. not telling her a single thing.  as we drove up to the hospice my father was staying in, she looked at me.. fear swept over her.  or maybe it was regret?  I’m not sure.  but for some reason, I believe she knew what she was there for… and agreed to follow me inside.  I had left my father in a hurry, not telling him where I was going, or of my plan.  so as we walked into his room… I was welcomed back with a hello, and a “what in the hell are you up to baby girl?”  …he hadn’t seen mother yet.  as I stepped aside, he finally saw her.  he had the same exact expression on his face, as mother had had in the car. I knew I was doing the right thing.  after a few minutes of chit chat,  I bent down to kiss him.  as I brushed his hair into place, I whispered to him… “this is your chance to tell her.  nothing left unsaid.. no regrets”.  I left them there, alone, to talk.

I have no idea what was said in my absence, but upon my return… I knew God had worked his magic through me.  the look of peace each had, I will carry with me, always. 

it was only a couple of weeks after, that he passed.  I got the call that it wouldn’t be long, so I jumped into my car, and headed towards home.  all the while, praying to God, please let me get there in time. I remember the song that was playing as I drove… Martina Mcbride’s ‘goodbye’.  the sun was so bright in the sky.. such a beautiful day.  yet, my entire world was grey.

I wanted more time………

we made it in time, to say goodbye.  he was peaceful and knew we were there. (mother was with me)  I kissed him goodbye, telling him that I love him.. and I’d see him again.

nothing left unsaid.. no regrets.

 

 

 

 

the family secret

the ‘family secret’ as I have dubbed it.. the fact that my ‘dad’ is my biological uncle.  his brother, my father, gave up raising me.. as per my mother’s request.  to be completely honest… to this day, I do not fully understand the reasons behind this.  all I have are the quick, no detail explanations of a guilt-ridden mother.

the impact this so called ‘secret’ played in my life, was nothing less than life altering.  that’s because secrets have a way of spilling out.  the more people that are aware, the more it spreads.. to where eventually, it’s no longer a ‘secret’ but the façade of one.  this was my reality.

long before I was aware of such a ‘secret’.. I had the general feeling of not fitting in.  not with my dad and stepmom.. nor with my own mother.  each home had their way of functioning, that neither felt ‘right’ to me.. nor welcoming.  both felt like exclusive clubs, that I held only a ‘guest’ membership to.  now, I’m sure if you asked either of my parents if they understand where those feelings came from, they’d be oblivious.  and that is the problem…  they always were oblivious. 

somewhere around the time I was turning seven, the mystery of my troubled thoughts would be revealed.  after listening to the ramblings of a young child, confused by the flip flop life that a divorce provides.. asking why her ‘real’ mom and ‘real’ dad can’t be together… my stepmother tired and broke.  out of anger and frustration, she blurted out the ugly truth… “if you want your REAL mom and REAL father together.. you’re barking up the wrong tree!  your REAL father is your uncle!!”  I’m sure that as soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them.  but the truth is, what it is.  she immediately contacted both my dad, and my mother, to fill them in on the incident.  as you can only imagine, this was not a pleasant scene.  one you’d think they would have shielded me from.. but alas, did not.  I heard every ugly word they said to each other.  like a hive of angry bees buzzing around each other.  grandmother finally came to her senses, and drug me out of the mess.. and proceeded to sit down and try to explain.  bless her heart, she tried… but, I was too young to understand.  things eventually calmed, and if you can believe it or not… everyone went back to life, as if all were ‘normal’.  not another word was mentioned of it. 

so there I was… everyone in the family knowing this so called ‘secret’ and pretending life as normal.  all the while, whispering around like a bunch of gossip girls.  every time my ‘uncle’ would come into town.. the flames would be fanned.  they’d sit and watch as I interacted with him, making me feel as if I were being tested somehow.  I could always sense the tension in the air.  (both before I knew the truth, and after)  what were they all so afraid of?  that he might take off with me?  I laugh at that!  he never even acknowledged me as his. he too, acting as if there was still some sort of secret.  as a child, it was confusing.  as an adult, I find it utterly ridiculous!

my paternal grandmother, whom I was around a lot when I was young, was not a very loving woman.  in fact, I would call her cold.  to hear others tell it, she was a doting grandmother who loved and spoiled me.  funny how people’s perceptions can be so different.  was she ever nice to me, of course.  she wasn’t a monster, and I did love her.  but the truth is, I was more afraid of her than anything else.  she was intimidating… quick tempered, and cold as steel at times.  she always seemed to glare at me, as if she wanted to say something.. but never did.  seeming to be angry with me, for no reason.  this, as I watched her dote on my cousins as if the sun rose and set in them.  there’s that familiar feeling again.. of not fitting in, or being accepted.

life continued like this, for the rest of my childhood.. and into my young adulthood.  it wasn’t until my own family and I were getting ready to be deployed overseas, that the phone call finally came.  he was in town, and wanted to see me.  as I sit here, remembering the accounts of that night, I have to smile.  I will never forget my husband’s reaction, upon meeting my ‘father’ for the first time.  he stared at him.. as if he were seeing a ghost.  he later told me, on the way home, that he just couldn’t wrap his head around it… “how could they all think they could hide it?  you look just like him!!”.  it’s true.. I did look like him.  and I can’t explain to you, what a moment it was for me, to look into his eyes.. and for the first time, see myself.  yes, I had seen him a few times, growing up.. but I had never looked at him the way I was that night.  I was an adult, with two children of my own, looking at my own father.. really, for the very first time.  introducing him to his grandchildren, and watching him tear up.. the emotions sweeping over him, as he realizes what he’s missed out on.  he showed me pictures of my half sister, whom I didn’t even know existed.  it was a surreal moment.. a happy one.  and a very sad one.  so much time wasted. 

I would love to say that the story was a fairytale happy ending.  but alas,  this is my life we’re talking about.  nothing could be that easy.  truth is, my father was married to a woman who was jealous, and would not allow him to stay in contact with me.  so, we lost touch.  yes, I hear you all.. he should have stood up to her.. and you’re right.  he should have.  but he didn’t.  and it wasn’t for several years, that I heard from him again.  this time, he promised, would be different.  he wanted to build a relationship.  he wanted to get to know my family, and his grandchildren, now one more added.  he did put in the effort, and we began to build that relationship.  it was awkward and tense at times, but both desperate to right the wrong.. we trudged on. 

 

 

 

 

 

the first lock box

I have realized that my brain works a bit differently than most.  as I’m faced with pain, I emotionally shut down…my brain will then ‘lock away’ not only the event, but the pain along with it.  my body’s way of surviving… a defense mechanism. 

throughout my adult life, I have discovered these little ‘lock boxes’, as they are triggered open.  what triggers them has differed, and never expected.  all I know is, once opened.. there is no closing it again, completely.  the contents leak out as they please.  I have spent the better part of my life, choosing to ignore the leaking contents.  what has this accomplished?  not a single thing.  it didn’t change the reality of the contents of each box.  and it certainly didn’t make me forget.  all it has really done… robbed me of real joy in my life.

so, here we go…..

the first box to be triggered, were memories of being physically abused, by my dad..  a man who chose to raise me as his own.  which makes the following so much more difficult to understand.  my memories were of being knocked around, slapped, thrown against walls by the hair of my head, beaten with belts and men’s rubber sandals.  beaten until I would wet my pants, just so he could beat me for that.  not sure how young I was when it started, but I do know that through conversations with family members, I had to have been barely two and a half. 

dad had remarried, and to this day.. I cannot comprehend how she, my stepmother, could stand by and allow this to happen.  I had a mother that she could have called to come get me.. to protect me.  maybe she was afraid of him?  maybe she loved me, and didn’t want to lose me?  but if you can answer yes to those questions… why didn’t she leave? and if she loved me, why didn’t she protect me?  just a series of questions.. why and how.. that will never have answers.  believe me, I have tried getting those answers.. to no avail.  I have struggled from time to time, with the anger that triggers.  I love this woman.  she was an additional ‘mom’.. not a stepmom to me.  I wish she could give me answers.  but I am guessing.. she doesn’t have any.  in spite of it all, I forgive her.

as an adult, while in professional therapy, I  confronted my dad.  sadly.. I got nowhere.  He is a broken man who cannot come to terms with the damage he has inflicted.  not to say that he is oblivious to it… just the opposite.  he knows he has caused pain and suffering, and the guilt is eating him from the inside, out.  yet, he will never fully admit to the list of damages.  I believe that is because he simply cannot admit it to himself, what a monster he used to be.  for the record, I love my dad very much.  I have forgiven him, for all the harm he has done to me.  I have not forgotten.. and I am still dealing with the fallout of his actions and behavior.  but forgiveness is for the victim.. not the perpetrator.  maybe it helps, because I know he is sorry…  I see it every time I look at him.  I hear it in his voice, every time I talk to him.  and the funny part is, I want him to forgive himself.. desperately.

just a tiny bit of detail, my dad is a victim of the Vietnam war.. in every ugly way you can imagine.  he came home to a nation who hated him, spat on him, and called him the enemy.  there were no hero’s welcome for those men.  and our government then added insult to injury by refusing to treat their physical and mental anguishes.. and to this day, he is fighting to be recognized for his service of country.  he suffers from all of the effects of agent orange, and the mental anguish of war itself.  does any of this excuse what he did to me, or anyone else?  absolutely not!!  but can I empathize with a damaged and broken man, yes.. I can.  thanks be to God.  Amen.

right there

 

a little something to get ya movin’

an alcoholic’s daughter

I guess it’s time to mention that a huge influence on my childhood, was my alcoholic mother.

for those of us who grew up in a household with an alcoholic, I don’t have to explain much to you.  you know very well the torment that brings.  for those who have no idea… I thank God for you, that you never had to experience it!

as I mentioned, my childhood wasn’t the most pleasant.  I was raised by my dad [uncle] and my stepmom until the age of 7 1/2.  at that time, I moved in with my mother, and my half sister.. and a new stepdad.  all was well, until my stepdad died suddenly of a brain tumor.  this sent my mother, who already had a lifetime of trauma, into a tailspin.  she found comfort in the bottom of a beer can, and has never found her way out. 

nothing was sure or steady.  I can remember waking up in the middle of the night, alone.. just my sister and I.. no idea where mom was.  or being drug to adult parties.. where kids were put down for the night and tried to sleep through loud music and the smell of drugs in the air, and the sounds of drunks lumbering about.  later years, being left to our own devices for meals and homework, and school activities.  mom coming in drunk and stumbling through the house.  lucky if we weren’t woken up to hear all about how the house was a mess, etc.  or maybe she just wanted to lay into one of us, to make herself feel better.  we never knew.  my sister protecting me.. by stepping in front of me, to take a blow from our drunk mother.  yes, you read that correctly, mother was also abusive.  verbal, so much so that it would cut you to the bone.  and the physical.. well, let’s just say that the words ‘chew your way out of a wall’ weren’t so far off in our house.  I swear I should have the back of her hand permanently imprinted on my face. 

oh the damage this life was doing to my poor sister.  as a child, I didn’t understand why she continued to run away, or began to drink and do drugs herself.  as an adult, I sit in amazement that I never fell into that life myself.  my sister, poor dear thing.. she is so damaged.  starting to do drugs and alcohol at such a young age, has eaten away her brain.  she is a nervous, anxious, depressed, and bipolar mess.  I hurt for her.  somehow, she didn’t fare the warzone as I did.  she didn’t have the coping mechanisms I did.. or more clearly, the lock boxes.

today, my mother is still struggling with her disease.  and sadly, she is also struggling with the aftermath of her actions, and lives with her haunting of guilt.  she has apologized and been forgiven.. yet continues to carry her burden of guilt with her every day.  her pain is eating her alive, and it pains me so, to watch her torment.  she is a wonderful woman, with a heart as big as texas.. who has had a lifetime of pain of her own.  she did the best with what she had, and what very little she knew at her age.  have I forgotten? it is clear, I have not.  however, she is truly forgiven.. and I pray for her healing.

until next time… blessings!

 

it all started here

my life, some have said, would make for a great soap opera storyline.

my mother, who was a young, divorced mother of one daughter already,  fell in love with a sailor  home on leave.  sounds like a real love story doesn’t it?  I wish I could say it was.  but the sad truth is, he went back to port and thrown in the brig for being awol. (absent without leave)  how ya like them apples?!  I was conceived while my father committed a crime! LOL  I make light of it, because I have to.  the truth is, they fell madly in love.  but when he couldn’t be there with her, his brother (my dad) stepped up to the plate.. and chose to raise me as his own.  he quickly married my mother, and set out to raise my sister and I.  things didn’t work out, as you can only imagine.. with a man and woman who didn’t love each other.  marriages of convenience or necessity rarely ever work out.  so, after I was born, they soon divorced.

upon their divorce, my mother was called to care for her own mother, who was dying of cancer.  so, custody was given to my dad.  that is where I remained for the next seven years.

if you’re wondering what happened to my father, well.. he was sent a letter, asking him to accept the terms and never speak of it again.  he would not be my father.. he would be my uncle.  the family ‘secret’ began.  so, he did his time, and finished up his naval enlistment.. never once going against the wishes of my mother. 

… to be continued

 

a healing begins

I am tired.  so very tired.  the kind of tired that makes the very word ‘tired’ seem inadequate.  no, I am not referring to a physical state of tiredness.. but a mental, and more to the point, emotional state of exhaustion.  for the past few months, I have been working, with some real sense of urgency, to ‘fix’ me.  I guess that’s not exactly the right way to put it.. for in all honesty, I’m on a search for healing.  releasing myself from the pain I’ve been holding, for my entire life…..

there’s a real sense of uncertainty, in whether or not to share the details with all of you.  part of me believes that the very speaking of it’s truth could somehow help me to connect the dots of my life, and voicing such pain could somehow aid in my healing.  the other side, and the more important one for me.. that sharing could possibly help someone out there to find their own healing.  the draw to help one of you, is much stronger than holding on to any sense of privacy… or any real fear of being judged, or pitied.  for that is a huge fear that we hold onto, isn’t it?  the fear that someone will judge our decisions and mistakes.. or pity us for whatever reason?  well, I believe that I have lived with enough fear in my life, and it is time to push it aside.  time to stand up and be me, full frontal naked, in front of you.. and myself. 

there is no way to share all that is pinned up inside me, in one post.  wouldn’t it be nice to be able to attribute one’s life to a single blog post?  think about it… your life filled with blessings, and no pain, sorrow, or drama.. what a life that would be!  that is a life that is promised us, one day.  but for now, we live here.. with the weight of our sinful world on our shoulders. 

one thing I believe, that we all forget, is that we don’t have to carry that weight alone.  especially if we’ve been through great traumas in our lives.  I am speaking from great experience here, and know how easily we slip into a ‘mask’ and carry on.  yes, that is what I call the face we all put on, to both protect ourselves… and to try to fool the world around us into thinking that everything is ‘normal’ or ‘okay’.  but let’s be honest here, we are the only ‘fools’ in that situation.  we walk around as zombies inside.. while the rest of the world carries on.. wearing their own masks.  if only we could all be open to one another, and have the relationships that God intended us to have.  what an amazing, wonderful, and loving world this would be. 

we forget, there are people who love us, and see us for who we are.  God gives us someone who can understand us, our pain.  someone who will walk beside us, and pick up our baggage and help us to carry it.  and if we’re willing to trust them… willing to put in the work, they will help us to empty that baggage, and allow the mercy and grace of God’s beautiful, perfect love to truly heal us. 

that is the journey I am currently on.  my dear friend, and confidant, has chosen to ‘jump down in the mud’ [as he puts it] and lead me to a life of peace and joy.  one he enjoys, but took a long journey of his own to get there.  have I made this task easy for him.. not on your life!!!  would he do it all over again?  you bet your sweet jar of pickles he would!!  why?  because he loves me.  loves me the way God intends us to love one another.. the way He loves us.  this open dialog of sharing, is dedicated to my patient, unwavering, loving friend.. whom I am eternally grateful to, and love so very much.  God gave me you.  thank you for being open, and allowing Him to use you.

and for all of you… I pray that somehow, my open heart will in some way help you, or maybe steer you into helping someone you love, onto the path of healing.  until next time, blessings!

 

 

 

digital camera case – sewing project

yes, ladies & gents.. I have managed to drag myself into a project!!!  been a long time.. and it felt good to be in front of the sewing machine again.  though my skills are quite rusty!!  so.. please don’t judge the handiwork too harshly. :)

*** I combined two different tutorials, to make this case.  Please see final notes at the bottom.. BEFORE you begin measuring & cutting your fabric!!!!!!! ***

 

here’s what you’ll need:

• 2 fat quarters
• 14″ x 5″ piece of cotton batting
• Ruler
• Rotary blade and scissors
• 4″ piece of thin elastic
• 1 Button

Cut one 14″ x 5″ strip of each fabric & batting.

Lay the main fabric, wrong side down, on top of the batting and set it aside.

Now, find the center of the lining fabric by folding it in half on the 5″ side. That is where you’ll want to sew your elastic.

Fold your piece of elastic in half and place it with the loop on the fabric, and the ends of the elastic sticking off the edge. [You’ll need to adjust how big you want your loop depending on the size of your button]  Hold it in place or pin it and stitch it using 1/4″ seam allowance.

Next, stack the fabric as such: 

Batting on the bottom.. main fabric right side up.. & lining right side down.

Pin around the sides leaving a 2 1/2 inch gap in the middle of the 5″ side,  on the opposite end of where you sewed the elastic. [this is where you’ll pull the fabric through to turn it right side out]

Using a 1/4″ seam allowance, sew all the way around the outer edge.. leaving your 2 1/2″ gap open. [don’t forget to back stitch at the beginning and end!]

NOTE:  don’t forget to clip the ends of the elastic, so that it is even with your fabric!

Next, carefully cut the edge of the batting as close to the seam as possible without cutting your fabric, or the stitching. This will help get rid of some of the bulk when you’re top stitching later. Trimming your corners will also help with the bulk.

Slowly turn right side out. Be sure to grab something, to use as a turning tool.. to help with the corners. [I used a knitting needle]

Iron the edges of your case, being careful not to iron over the elastic. [it will melt!]

Fold the edges of the opening inward & pin in place, edges matching up.

Top stitch all the way across the 5″ side with the opening.. very close to the edge.

Face the case vertically, with the lining facing up, & the elastic loop at the top.

Starting from the bottom, measure 5″ and fold toward the elastic loop, at the five inch mark.

Match up your edges and pin in place.

Starting at the bottom right corner,  top stitch the right side, the top and the left side until you reach the bottom left corner.

DO NOT stitch over the bottom fold!

Next, place your camera inside the case and mark placement of the wrist strap, on the outside of closure flap.
Sew a buttonhole in this flap to pull the wrist strap through.

Now, fold your flap down and iron it in place. [remember, do not iron over the elastic!]

Wherever your loop falls..  that is where you’ll place & sew on your button.

VIOLA!  your  very own fun, personal, & stylish camera cozy is finished!

A couple of notes…

I forgot to sew along the entire side and top of the case.  as you can see, it isn’t crucial.. but probably would have looked better.  Next time, I will! 

Also, the step of trimming the batting down is very important.  my sewing foot on my machine, had a hard time sewing through the layers.. so I had to raise the foot and ended up w/ the crooked [UGLY] lines.

This case is too large for my new camera.  [Canon powershot elph100]   The one pictured in the case above, is my son’s Sony cybershot.. which is also a bit small for this measurement.  However, it does fit our older powershot A560 rather snugly. :)

I will be making another case soon!!  

I will take the measurement of my fabric down to: 4.25” x 15.25” to have a more compact case for my mini digital camera.

Please let me know if you make one of these cuties.. I’d so love to see how yours turns out!!!

xo -Tracie