Tradition

Lots of times my mom serves as a help hotline for yard advice, hypochondriac reassurance, or life counseling...last night I put a call in for sewing machine frustration. She called earlier in the day and could sense that I was overwhelmed and helped to put out that fire only to be phoned again with last night's crisis. When I was growing up, if my mom or dad couldn't fix something we'd take it to my grandfather for a little jury-rigging and the problem was solved. I've lived my life the same way ever since. There are appointed people to solve specific problems in life-- and my mom is head of the home design department.

In order to seem more competent than I really was, I ran the list of the things I thought she would ask before I called. By the time we talked, I was at the end of my rope with trying to fix the machine on my own. Admittedly, I felt pretty confident that I had run the gamut of possibilities- but needed reassurance that the only thing left to do was set a blazing sewing machine bonfire in the front yard. Her eventual conclusion was for me to walk away for the night- my irritation had hit an all time high, and continuing to work would only leave me feeling more defeated. She offered up her own machine as a replacement and encouraged me to try again when my mind was less consumed with setting the machine ablaze.

Almost as immediately as we hung up, the phone started to ring again.

Me: Hello?
Her: Hey...I forgot to tell you that I was proud of you.
Me: Thanks.
Her: I just got to thinking, you know both of my girls like to sew and enjoy doing things for their home...I'm just proud of you, sewing is a lost art-- and I'm so glad that you both enjoy it.
Me: Thanks, mom-- I'm not sure that tonight would make you all that proud...but I feel like I come by it honestly, it's just the way we were raised.
And then she made a smart remark about slaving in front of the hearth, and our childhood complaints about having to wear homemade clothes- and the laughing seemed to drowned out my curtain-sized frustration.

But the truth is...Mandy & I do come by it honestly, and I wouldn't change a thing. While I can't recall a time we were ever paired with a machine and taught the specifics of sewing, the apple had no trouble falling perfectly under that deeply rooted tree. Mom spent many hours making first day of school outfits (only to be rejected when the big day arrived), and we lived in a house where the curtains were handmade & bed linens were tweaked to homemade perfection. But here's the part I love the most...my mom learned the craft from my VERY skilled grandmother. My grandmother's ability was born through necessity as funds were tight, and clothing four children was no easy task-- but the lessons it taught my mom were invaluable as she applied my grandmother's handiwork to her own life. That tradition continues even now with our generation-- and although Mandy and I spend our sewing time in different arenas, the foundation is the same. Whether we're making perfectly measured costumes, or carefully calculated curtains we're continuing a tradition that is deeply woven into our family's history. And while it was nice to hear my mom say that she was proud of my interest in something she so dearly loves-- I'm proud that I was hand-chosen to be part of a family that passes along traditions through craft. I've often thought that there was no better way to honor my mom's legacy than to continue the skills she carefully instilled in us...my hope is that I serve her well.

And while I may lack her patience in carefully planning every project to perfection- I know that she is grateful for a willing heart that is eager to make our family's tradition proud-- even if I have to burn a few machines in the process.