I was going through old photos looking for one of my mom, whose birthday was last week. In the flotsam and jetsam of photos that cover much of my life was a black and white picture of me in a poncho.
Vivid is the memory of that summer day when I modeled the poncho, hat and matching drawstring bag my mom had crafted for me.
I loved the poncho and the bag, but the hat...well, not so much. She took some rick rack and attached it to the back of the hat. I wasn't sure why it was there, but in my mind, it was a bridge too far. Consequently, I relegated it to the back of the closet.
When my mom asked me why I didn't wear the hat, I shrugged and gave her the classic adolescent, "I dunno." At some point, Denise sat my mom down and explained why I didn't wear certain items. Like the orange and brown floral corduroy pantsuit with matching vest.
Then there was the infamous shirt she sewed for my sister with the words "ship ahoy," all facing the same way -- upside down. (Although Denise, to her credit, still wore it).
But for sure, there were a lot more hits than misses, especially when she let us choose the fabrics and patterns. For instance, I had several pairs of hip-hugger pants (the kind with the huge bellbottoms) that I wore until they were ragged. Easter dresses, which were also worn in school photos, were a definite hit.
And when I was little, she made clothes for my baby dolls. Alas, these are the only things I have left from what my mom sewed for me.
As for moi, I'm a sloppy seamstress who mostly sews non-clothing items. I'd never have the cajones to stitch things for my child that he'd wear in public. (Although, apparently, there were witnesses when he was in college to the uber baggy pajama pants I made him.)
So here's to the moms who sewed. It took time and love and patience.
And a healthy helping of rick rack.
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