Mother sewed

       I have some very clear memories of my Mother. They are moments in time. I see them in my mind like photographs. I was the oldest of three girls and paid close attention to everything my Mom did. And when I think about those moments in time of Mom, in my pictures, she is mostly sewing.  

     She sewed all of our clothes until I was in middle school. Church dresses. Summer shifts. Costumes. She made all her own clothes too. Beautiful things modeled after the style of Jackie Kennedy. Colorful bell bottom pantsuits. Tailored dresses. She even made my brother Ron a suit. Mom also loved Music. I have clear memories of changing the albums on the stereo turntable for her, while she sat on the floor with straight pins between her lips pinning patterns on the living room floor.  Then I would watch her, and sing, and dance around. 

     I loved going to the fabric store with her to pick out my patterns. I can still remember the excitement. The tingling in my tummy when we sat at the tables in the fabric stores and looked through the pattern books. McCalls, Butterick, and Simplicity.   

     Mom always wore a pin cushion around her wrist and pins were either being pulled out of it and being put in something else, or being pulled out from her lips and put back into the pin cushion. I remembered being lulled to sleep by the sound of her foot tapping the sewing machine pedal and the lull of the fabric being sewn that followed. I remember waking up to the joy of an almost finished dress. 

      We tried everything on before the finishing touches were applied. Things like buttons, rickrack, and pleats. And then there were the hems. We had a full length mirror in the living room which was Mom's sewing room for most of the year. I remember standing in front of it as I watched Mom pin my hems. I I always wanted them a little bit shorter. And I remember when my hair got longer, she made me matching headbands.

     I also have vivid moment in time, snapshots, of Mom sitting at the table with me when I brought home papers to learn cursive. She would do the first few letters and then I would them copy them to the bottom of the page.  Her handwriting was beautiful. it still is. I remember once finding some letters from my Grandma Ruthie. Mom's mom. I had never,  until then, realized how much Grandmas handwriting looked like Moms. How much like mine. It was a moment. Grandma taught Mom, and Mom taught me. I remember laying out a letter from my Grandmother and from my Mom and comparing them to my own handwriting. It was emotional and beautiful. A stunning moment.  

      People don't sew their own clothes anymore like Mom did ours, at least no know I've ever known. And children don't learn cursive any more either. And no one writes letters. I think that's sad. 

     But I will always have the precious memories of those things. I can still hold tight to them as they are part of my childhood and my story. They formed me. And I will always be thankful for that.