How it Started
Mom at the Lake
During the summers my parents would drive me to Shreveport, Louisiana to spend the summer with my grandparents. I look forward to that time, because I got to see my favorite aunt. Aunt Dorothy was the cool aunt everyone has, she was a surgical nurse whose favorite word was Shit (this was one of my first cuss word) she lived with my Mamaw and Papaw (my father’s parents) along with her friend Ms. Dave who also was a nurse. During the summer I shared my time with them and my Grandmother (mom’s mom) who also was a picture framer and had a large collection of antiques through out her house. Her attic was like a museum full of interesting items from the 20’s through the 50’s. I would get lost in her closet playing Joan Crawford in Sweet Baby Jane.
It was my Aunt Dorothy who taught me how to make my first embroidery stitch, latch hook rug, and tell me great stories. She smoked like a chimney, loved life and thought kids should be playful. My Mamaw all 4’11” of her along with me, aunt Dorothy and Ms. Dave who sit in the front room watching the stories embroidery something. Everyday until 4:00 we would spend it together talking and sewing then my papaw would walk me across the street to Southern Maid doughnuts (because they where made fresh at that time) and with piping hot doughnuts a coke we would eat them on the porch. Memories of those summer until 1980 when my papaw died was Paul Harvey, Baseball, Oral Roberts and soap operas, attic of treasures, fishing on the lake, McDonald’s, Piccadilly and love.
So after a long hiatus I am trying to regain something from the past the calm and pure enjoyment. My hubby bought me a sewing machine so I am learning to use it. But embroidery is my calm with my son just turning 18 and graduating in this summer I need something to occupy my down time (the little I have). So I am starting my adventure the path was started by my mom, traveled on with my aunt, mamaw then it grew over for many decades. I am pulling the grass up to start that walk again and to share with other memories of a time not that long ago when handmade meant love.