Thursday, July 9, 2015

My Mama, the artist...


Though it's been almost five years since Mama passed away, a recent phone call from my oldest brother has me thinking about her even more than usual. "Do you think Mom enjoyed making this quilt?", he asked, referring to the quilt he took home with him after her funeral.  The quilt had covered Mama's bed in her little apartment at the assisted living facility where she lived her last months.  It had covered our Mama, as we all gathered around her when she took her last breath.

I pondered his question, thoughts running through my mind rapidly, knowing my answer was important to him, important enough for him to make a long distance call to me for the sole purpose of him asking it.  My response was based on reason.  "Well, she made that particular quilt for herself in her latter years, there was no need for her to make it, so I suppose since she made it simply because she wanted to that she did enjoy making it."  That answer seemed to satisfy him, but it didn't really satisfy me.  

I pictured asking Mama that question. I knew the exact face she would make at me in return.  She had a way of twisting up her face when she looked in the mirror and she didn't care for what she saw, when she ate something at a restaurant that she wasn't impressed with, or when she was asked a question that she either didn't know the answer to or that she thought was irrelevant.  I was pretty sure asking Mama if she enjoyed making that quilt would be considered an irrelevant question by her.  Mama wasn't exactly the introspective type.  She was practical to the core, so for her to do something simply because she enjoyed it would be rare, and for her to admit that was her motive, rarer still.  More than likely her reasoning for making the quilt would include needing it for some reason, in spite of the fact that she had already made enough colorful, cotton quilts that most of us in her large brood have one of them.

Mama's sewing was meticulous, a perfectionist's dream.  Her patterns were perfectly matched up at the seams, her hand sewn hem stitches never showed on the outside of the garment, her inside seam work was always carefully finished so it wouldn't unravel and then it was ironed perfectly flat.  Mama sitting in front of the sewing machine that sat by our dining room window is one of my clearest childhood memories.

I was in fifth grade the Christmas after daddy left us.  It was both a painful and an awkward time in my life. My body was beginning to change.  I was not yet a teenager, but no longer a little girl.  I was slightly chubby,  wore horribly ugly eyeglasses that I hated, and I had a short hairstyle that even now has me wondering what in the world Mama was thinking to have my hair cut like that.  That Christmas my gift from Mama was a homemade soft cotton nightie trimmed in cotton eyelet lace with a matching robe.  When I opened it, Mama told me that every stitch was sewn with love.  For this little girl who's love language was words of affirmation, being raised by a mama who's love language was acts of service, it was the gift above all other gifts.  

Mama would have never labeled her beautiful sewing as creative, as a form of art.  It was something she did out of necessity to clothe seven kids.  Yet, in the fact that she always chose the best quality of fabric she could afford, that the texture of a fabric was something she gave special attention to, and that her sewing was always meticulous even if she was just sewing play clothes or soft flannel nighties, I see evidence of a true creative, of an artist.  I hope, in all of the work Mama did sewing our clothes and making quilts to cover our beds, that she did, indeed, find a bit of enjoyment.  Her children, her grandchildren,  have certainly found enjoyment in the beautiful work she created.

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22 comments:

  1. Yes, she was truly an artist--I love your stories about your mother--my mother was the sweetest woman in the world but SO different than yours--she loved to sew, to cook, to garden--but everything was so haphazard and done halfway. The family still lovingly jokes about messy situations--"It looks like Nanny has been here." ha ha

    When she would come and stay a few days with me, after she left we would find dried pastry dough all over everything in the kitchen--she never cleaned her hands before putting a pie in the oven--so there would be dried dough all over the oven handle--her seams were messy as could be but my husband and I still fight over this one afghan she made--a total disaster in looks--but oh so cozy and warm and almost drug inducing when we get under it--remembering all the messy stitches filled with so much love--

    So different yet the remainder is the same--Love-------

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    1. I love this insight into your dear mama! I'd love to read some more about her.

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  2. What a beautiful tribute to your mom, Elizabeth! My Abuela made all of my clothes when I was young, and I was sad when she finally got too frail to sew. Her skill as a seamstress and cook seemed to flow naturally out of her -- a gift from God.

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  3. We have the same type of mom. Mine is still with me and such a blessing. I love your tribute to your mom's memory.

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  4. Art happens in many ways, including inside our relationships.

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  5. What a wonderful testimony of a wonderful mother. My mother did sew some of my clothes growing up, she didn't really cook but boy could she knit and what a beautiful job she did. Thank you so much for sharing about your mum with us at Good Morning Mondays. Blessings

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  6. What a lovely tribute to your mom. It's wonderful that you have such sweet memories as well as some of her precious creations. Thanks for sharing!

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  7. Your sweet mama. The fact that you and your family get so much joy out of her things says a great deal about her. My grandmother sewed all kinds of little things for us. I treasure each gift. (My love language is acts of service, too. ;))

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    1. Hi friend! I've been thinking of you. Hoping you got your beloved camera back from repairs and that it didn't cost too much!

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  8. Elizabeth, such loving words you've penned about your mama. At times we do things out of necessity and later can see the enjoyment in the 'doing'. It sounds like your mama was a wonderful provider and loved y'all very much. My mom was an artist in many ways but never called herself that. She cooked, sewed, knitted, crocheted, embroidered, painted, you name it. All of us in my family have something that she hand made to remember her by and we've saved things to pass along to the little ones in the future.
    EnJoY your weekend, my friend!

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    1. Thank you, Anne. I hope your weekend is blessed as well.

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  9. I was just folding up some old scraps of quilts this morning that my grandmother made before I was born, and thinking that she was an artist. My uncle, who was a painter, used them as rags to wrap his canvases! I rescued as many as I was able, and keep them folded on a shelf where I can enjoy them.

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  10. Elizabeth, I was talking to someone the other night about the sewing my mother did for us when I was a child. With 5 kids, she had plenty to cover! She made Barbie doll clothes, Easter and Christmas dresses for my sisters and I, even my wedding dress (out of cotton eyelet). Thank God for resourceful moms. This is a fine tribute to your mom...beautiful, friend.

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    1. Mama made my wedding dress, too. I still remember that we spent a whopping $17 on the materials.

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  11. This is precious, Elizabeth! Your love for your sweet mother is so tangible, your writing - simple, artistic, honest, unpretentious, and right to the point - exactly the kind of words she deserves.

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