The Harpist has to have her orchestra dress hemmed and ready Wednesday for a group picture. Said dress arrived home Monday night (and of course we were busy and had no time to hang the hem.) Tonight after Reedy Girl’s oboe lesson we headed to do some shopping at the mall.

(They must be getting older, or I am growing in grace, because it was really fun shopping at the mall together. Of course, as The Harpist pointed out, I did not make her try on any clothes — a fate worse than death — so what was not to like?)

But, arriving home at 8:30 on Tuesday night, with said dress still unhemmed… ah well… here I am resting my fingers, rubbing my eyes and stretching my back… it is still not done! Sit. Stitch. Fold. Check. It’s fiddly polyester knit too. Every stitch that is a smidge too big shows. Black dress. Black thread. At night. With bifocals. sigh… My kingdom for a nice broadcloth…

But as I work my way around the hem, I think of all of the skirts, dresses and gowns that were hemmed for me (often at the last moment) by my mom. Some were huge flowing skirts, very full. Some were fabrics that must have made her groan. A couple of times my grandmother, who sewed the tiniest stitches helped with the handwork. They were all gifts of love.

That’s why I’m willing doing this. I’m sure I’ll do it again. I’m just grateful that the semester is ended and that I don’t have a paper to finish ON TOP of the hem. Time flies. Hems don’t wait… which is why I have to get back to the task at hand. Here’s hoping they don’t find me asleep on the dress in the morning… …and yards to go before I sleep and yards to go before I sleep…

Before I forget — thanks, Mom!

From our home to yours…
Deb