The spring sun is rising on a beautiful Easter Sunday. The days are longer, the grass is turning green, the trees are bursting with flowers. My special Easter dress is pressed and carefully hung in my room where I will see it as soon as my sleepy eyes open. As usual, West Texas is experiencing a spring “cool spell”—after teasing us with summer temperatures, Mother Nature has sent night temperatures dipping into the 30’s. I might be cold in my spring attire, but I am not deterred!
This Easter ritual is one of my fondest memories. The middle of three sisters, I loved anything that was uniquely mine, and my Easter dress was the ultimate expression. My mother was always busy with a fulltime job outside the home as well as fulltime bookkeeper (I would argue COO) of my Dad’s business. My dad was a traditional man, and while he esteemed and adored my mother, he expected hot meals on the table each evening, so Mom was also the head chef. AND…she was involved in our church and in civic and social circles. Even with all these demands on her time, annually, she would take each of us girls shopping to pick out a pattern, fabric, and all the “notions” needed for our special Easter dress.
I remember watching my mom do the mental math when asked how many yards of fabric we needed. She would sort of mumble as she read the pattern guide…giving allowance for variances the pattern didn’t consider such as long legs, short-waistedness, etc. She gently guided our selection of buttons and trimmings. We would leave the store with everything needed to create our special dress. While the dress selection was the central focus, we also got to select a new pair of Sunday shoes, and when we were younger, Easter hats, and when we were older, new purses.
I love looking at old pictures or seeing in my mind’s eye some of my favorite dresses. I can feel the cutouts and structured but soft eyelet and the ridges of grosgrain ribbon. Easter wasn’t the only time Mom sewed. When we were little girls, my mother often made our clothes. I remember the year of the “smock.” She made each of us one in similar styles and companion fabric, but each one was unique to each of us. Had the Christmas Card Photo been a thing back then, we would have been all set! Easter was different, though. Each detail of our Easter dress was completely chosen by the wearer!
And, despite the early planning, inevitably, the day before Easter arrived, and the dresses were unfinished. They might be in various stages, including uncut fabric! I am wired to be a “planny” person…always ahead, no cramming for a test, always leaving margin for the unexpected. Not so with my mom. Not sure how much was her wiring versus the reality of juggling all her responsibilities, but I can remember that anxious feeling of uncertainty: would my new dress be ready? Would I have to wear an ordinary dress and adapt my new accessories? My mother never let on if she was stressed about completing her art. And she never disappointed.
I try to imagine what it must have been like for her. Even a labor of love can become burdensome when you don’t fully own your time. While my mother is a night owl, I am sure she did not intend to leave the finishing touches to Easter Eve. She might be able to sneak in a little bit of sewing during the day before Easter, but we she also made sure we died Easter Eggs, had our Easter baskets ready, and prepared the Easter meal we would enjoy after church on Sunday. She might even have to “roll” our hair in pink foam curlers (reserved for special occasions). I think, perhaps, she didn’t sleep much on Easter Eve. In fact, I feel pretty certain there were times when the last button was sewn as the sun was rising.
As the years went by, my mother enlisted help. There were a couple of seamstresses who might take on one or two of our dresses. And, as teenagers, there were times when we preferred a store-bought dress. But nothing could replace that special feeling of having something uniquely your own made by the one person who knew each of us, individually, so well. Even as a child, I could appreciate the time she took not just in making those dresses, but in taking us to select the pattern and the fabric. It was not about the dress; it was about the gesture. It was her way of telling each of us how special we were to her. That she saw us, appreciated our individual characteristics, and loved us just as we were made.
I continued to choose a special Easter outfit for years into my adulthood. Fondly thinking back to those special creations. Having three boys, choosing just the right dapper outfits was fun until it wasn’t (for them). I don’t really remember the last “Easter Dress” I bought, but I don’t think an Easter goes by that I don’t think back on that anticipation and thrill of the finished design. I am so fortunate my mother is still living and I can honor her by recalling these precious memories. Thank you, Mom, for always coming through!
Have a beautiful Easter. Celebrate traditions and make new memories with the ones you love.
Until next time, I am Living Between the Scans.
Between the Scans 