As you may know, I lost my mom to colon cancer 25 years ago this past March. (Mom was 49, and I was 18.) I have warm memories of Mom with her sewing machine. That's me wearing a dress she sewed for me. (I'm the bigger chick.) When Marlene posted the card above, I simply commented that it reminded me of my Mom. She immediately decided to gift me with this card. I am very, very touched. Thank you, Marlene, for showing me the depth of caring that happens through the written word. [By the way, you really can’t appreciate Marlene’s cards through a picture. They are so multi-dimensional. There’s actual thread on this, a gold needle, etc. It's quite a work of art.]
She spent a good portion of my childhood sitting at the beige Singer model 305A. Each clickety clack brought me closer to my newest dress. Mom took me along to pick out the fabric. We perused the kits at JC Penny’s and Woolworth’s, and I was drawn to the most girlish of patterns. When the envelope boasted a pretty picture, I had to have that one.
As soon as were were home, I sat on the family room sofa in observance. I watched Mom push the fabric through the machine, pumping her right foot mechanically. All the while, I heard nothing but a continuous clickety-clack.
Occasionally, Mom stopped. Silence pervaded the house, as she meticulously navigated a piece of thread. Mom placed the end into her mouth and licked it. She picked up a shiny silver needle and managed to push the thread through its hole, always on the first try. Mom sewed in and out, and in and out, for several minutes. The next clickety clack broke the silence.
Finally, Mom finished, and I got to try on my new dress. We were both thrilled that it fit; it always did. I liked the fun feeling of twirling in it like a ballerina. I loved all the details, like tiny yellow ribbon along the waistline. Mom added those special touches, lovingly.
I wanted to wear my new dress all the time, at least until the next clickety.