I love watching all of the HGTV shows where they turn trash into treasure. I love all of the decorating blogs. Take a piece of nothing special, paint it with chalk paint, and voila, nothing special has been upcycled or repurposed. A decade or two ago it was called recycled. When I was growing up Mama called it making do with what you’ve got.
My mother could do anything. She was a wonderful seamstress. She knew how to upholster furniture, make slipcovers, and curtains. When it came time for proms we didn’t head for the department store like everyone else. We headed to Hancock’s Fabric Store and looked through the pattern books for inspiration. A pattern and some fabric would be purchased for the perfect, one of a kind creation. She made bridesmaid’s dresses for my wedding. She made my sister’s wedding dress.
When I was a teenager I came home from school and saw the kitchen table laying on it’s side. She had a handsaw in her hand and she was in the process of sawing off the legs to create a coffee table. This was not the first time she did surgery on a piece of furniture. She took a four drawer chest and turned it into a two drawer chest. She took a three drawer dresser, cut out the two bottom drawers and created a desk.
The couch in the sunroom started looking a little tacky. With no prior experience and without YouTube, she bought fabric, dragged her sewing machine into the sunroom and began experimenting. A week or so later, a slipcover had been created. She went on to slipcover or upholster many pieces of furniture after that. In the early 1970’s antiquing furniture was the equivalent to the chalk paint craze now. She painted my bedroom furniture avocado green and I thought it was beautiful.
She made all of our clothes. Aside from jeans, everything I wore until I got my first job was handmade by her. My favorite memories of my mother are of her sitting at the sewing machine. Her sewing was perfection. I remember being invited to a slumber party in fifth grade. I came home from school the day of the slumber party and she was putting the finishing touches on a sleeping bag and matching pillow case.
She didn’t consider doing any of these things a hobby. Money was tight when I was growing up and she was frugal. She didn’t have the money to run to the store and buy new things so she made do with the resources at hand. As a child, I was unaware that was the reason she did everything herself. I thought she did it because she loved to make things. I do think she took pride in the finished product but I doubt that she enjoyed doing it just to be doing it. She had four kids to take care of and a husband that wanted meat and potatoes on the table when he came home. So she squeezed these projects in without neglecting the regular routine.
My sewing is not as perfect as hers but I make almost all of my own home décor like drapes, dust ruffles, and pillows. I made all of the nursery bedding and window treatments when I was pregnant with my four children I didn’t make very many clothes for my three boys but I made a lot of costumes. When baby number four was a girl, I made smocked dresses, bonnets, princess gowns, and doll clothes. I have bought very few pieces of new furniture in 31 years of marriage but I have bought a lot of junk furniture and put some lipstick on those pigs.
My mother passed away in 2008. She didn’t have any heirloom china or silver. She left me something greater. She left me with the confidence that I can do anything. She left me with the knowledge that the finest material things are not what makes a person happy. Even if I had money to burn, I think I would still feel that I could make anything for less money and perfect for my taste. She gave me the gift of creativity. She also taught me that creativity is another way of showing love to my family. My kids think I can do anything. Now that they are grown, they ask me to show them how to make treasure out of trash for their own first homes.
It’s funny how the most important people in our lives leave their mark on us. There is no way that my mother would have ever dreamed that she would be remembered for something that seemed so ordinary to her. I guess that is why our special talents are called gifts.
She writes about life, death, grief, and recovery.
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