Thread Count…..

I place my arms around them… frequently… pull them close to me….  I want them to feel loved…  to understand that we are something that cannot be torn apart…..

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1971…. I have a memory of waking up late at night…. I could hear the steady hum….. Walking from my room to the dining room… My mother sat under a dim light cutting patterns… pulling fabric… operating the pedal. Thread slid from the spool and into the machine…. the rhythmic beat of the needle.  My sister and I are Irish Twins… both born in ’67… and mom made many of our clothes.

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I cannot recall, specifically, the little clothes Mom made… but I have vivid memories of how she carefully stitched them together…. Securing the pieces…. arranging the patterns. She understood the importance of a strong bond…

 

… an anchor far below a stormy sea…. the promises… the consistency…. the “I will be there no matter what.” 

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I want them to understand that we are something that cannot be torn apart… outside circumstances can arise…. external difficulties can stress the stitching….  trusting in the attention directed towards the craft and the cohesive security of the relationships, regardless of the daily wear…The stitching is seldom seen in our world of name brands and logos… but without it the fabric is useless… ineffective… rags….  there is neither doubt nor denying the effects of attention… affection… priority…. a high thread count.

One Response to “Thread Count…..”

  1. Should have known…my mother made most of my clothes, too. I don’t remember many of the garments either, but I do remember climbing up the back of her wooden chair and hanging around her neck. Many years later she told me how it choked her! Funny, the things we remember.

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