I still remember when Fat Mother gifted us with a pair of full-sized filet crocheted curtains. Mum hung them, flanking each side of the doorway to the sala.
A gentleman on the one panel was facing a Victorian lady who was on the other panel - the image formed by rows and rows of tiny blocks and diamonds and roses. (Aside: the photo used here is an approximation of how the completed panels would have looked.)
At the time they were given to us, all of the hours and hours and hours of work she had spent on the project were totally lost on me.
I was young.
I was full of decorating opinions.
I wanted something that looked like it came from Pinoy-Style Real Living magazine. Something new and modern that...
…did not include anything hand-crocheted by my grandmother.
The seasons passed. I got older, and the hours ticked away. I'm not sure what happened to those vintage curtains. They could have been tucked away, forlorn, and neglected. Or faded and lost and discarded.
I wish that I had kept them.
For now I realize that home wasn’t about silk curtains. Or the exquisitely-embroidered pina panels from Tesoro's.
It was about patience and determination. Hand-craftsmanship. Long hours of rendering beauty in thread.
It was about creating a gift of love.
Stitched from the heart.
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