Meet Mable Charlotte, my beautiful mom. Oh, how I miss her! I miss our conversations, our little outings and I miss the ritual of visiting her on holidays – especially Mother’s Day. I remember her delight in receiving my gifts. And how she would tell me that she wanted to open the gift later, after I had left. I assume she wanted to savor the moment alone. So, I always had to coax her into opening it while I was still there, at her house. After pleading with her for what seemed like an eternity, she would finally concede.
But her concession came at a price. This toll was exacted upon me with the skills she honed from years of practice. So if I insisted that she open her present right then, it would have to be done her own way because the wrapping paper, ribbons and bows must be preserved for posterity. My mom would go to great lengths to keep every inch of the gift wrap in tact. First she would find a way to remove the press-on bow without damaging the paper. Next she would find where the ribbon was bound and untie it. If that failed she would slip it over the edges of the box so it didn’t need to be cut. Then, she would flip the gift box over until she found all the wrapping paper’s seams. And finally, she would lift each piece of tape ever so gently, centimetre by centimetre to preserve the surface of the gift paper. This process could take an half hour depending on how large the gift box was. This imagery is still so vivid in my mind that I’m chuckling as I write this account. Mable was indeed a master!
Unfortunately, she is no longer with us, however, I think she would like it if I shared a little bit of her with you. When it became evident that she needed to move into an assisted living facility, I had to get her house ready to sell. In our lives we accumulate many things; my mom was no different. There were probably thousands of items I needed to go through. It took me weeks to sort everything out.
But after going through all of her personal belongings, none reminded me more of her than this sewing basket. At first, I couldn’t understand why. Now I know it is because of those everyday items housed in that basket. There were so many things in this relatively small container. Bits of fabric, unfinished knit and crochet projects, different yarns, threads, a jar of buttons… hooks and eyes along with various other notions.
There were tools too; scissors, shears, sewing needles, pin cushions and thimbles as well as embroidery hoops, knitting needles and crochet hooks. I now understand the importance of these seemingly inconsequential things. Those utilitarian tools and bits of fabric, the needles and thread that made the stitches were literally one of the myriad ways in which she held our family together – that she showed us how much she loved us. Often I would awake in the middle of the night to find her mending something of my dad’s, my sister’s or of mine. She never wanted us to leave the house looking bad, or worse, poor. Don’t get me wrong, we weren’t really poor. We were working class. My dad had two jobs for many years. My mom was what was referred to in the sixties, as a housewife, although she did work outside of the house briefly. But mainly, she stayed home to care for my sick sister and to keep house and cook for us.
Mable had a lot of different interests. She was an avid reader, loved gardening and sketched copies of line drawings of pretty ladies she found in newspaper advertisements. She was a great cook but would readily admit, that she was not much of a baker. She played bid whist and pinochle and was expert in sewing, knitting, crocheting and embroidery. She made so many things for my sister and me – beanie caps, dresses and granny square vests. She made curtains and dish towels for the house and knitted socks for my dad that were the envy of all of his friends. She taught me all the basics; how to sew, knit, crochet and embroider. But I really only took to sewing with vigor.
She talked a lot, but not about the things that troubled her the most. I think she used the hours she spent at her handiwork to think through her her troubles. My mom loved to laugh. She had a wicked sense of humor and was quite witty. If Mable sounds like super woman to you, looking back I now know that she was – like so many of your mothers were too. We should honor them all by passing on their legacies. I choose to honor my mom by selecting one item at a time from her sewing basket to share with you, so that we may all get to know her better.
