Mother sewed

 My Memories of Mom are many. I was the oldest girl and paid close attention to everything Mom did. She read to us every day and I fell in love with stories because of it. She also loved Music and she and I would play record albums over and over for hours a day. We would sing and I would dance while Mother sewed. 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 Ron a suit. I loved going to the fabric store with her to pick out my patterns. I can still remember the excitement of sitting at the tables in the fabric stores and looking through the pattern books of McCalls, Butterick, and Simplicity.

Most of my childhood Mom was on the floor cutting out patterns, or at the sewing machine putting them together. She wore a pin cushion around her wrist, and always held pins between her lips as she pulled them out or put them in. I remembered being lulled to sleep by the sound of her sewing machine and waking up to the joy of an almost finished dress. We tried everything on before the finishing touches were applied. Buttons, rickrack, pleats. And of course 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 watching Mom pin my hems. I remember I always wanted them a little bit shorter. And I remember when my hair got longer, she made me matching headbands.

And I have vivid memories of Mom sitting at the table with me when I brought home papers to learn cursive. She would do the first few letters and I would them copy them to the bottom of the page. Her handwriting was beautiful. 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. People don't really sew like Mom did anymore, at least no know I've ever known, or do they learn cursive. And no one writes letters anymore either. I think that's sad. But I can hold tight to the memories of those things being a part of my childhood and my story. They formed me. And I will always be thankful for that.