The best things in life... are made by hand.
It was siesta time.
Unlike the boys, I always managed to get away with not taking the requisite nap because I was old enough. Plus I knew what today's forecast would be.
100% chance of sewing.
Mum always used this time to go over her stash of fabric to patch a hole on the brothers' shirts or just mend socks. Or she would pick up one of my dresses, hemming the skirt with a neat blanket stitch.
We had developed a routine of sorts. Like a royal subject, I would stay by her side on the floor while she presided over her Singer sewing machine.
As she altered shorts and sewed ripped pockets, she would lecture me on good manners and health habits. She always said the words slowly in separate chunks so I'd be sure to understand.
Ab-so-lute-ly no giggling during the sermon. No answering back, clean hands, clean hair, always up, no scraggly bits.
That particular day, I remember interrupting her and pleading, Mummie, can you make me an H-line dress? Like Vickie's.
The silhouette of the H-line had two clean and straight sides with a slight accent on the waist (the bar of the capital letter H). It was the fashion rage among young teens.
Her hands slid up to her face and she brushed straying hair out of her eyes.
My chatter continued, Jeanne Young wears them all the time. (The latter was a Filipino actress and movie star known for her roles in I Dream of Jeanne and Boom! Bang-A-Bang.)
Hala, stand up and let me measure you, she conceded.
She spent a long time making sure, over and over, that the measurements were right.
Then she stitched. Her shoulders were slightly hunched, as if protecting her heart. And she sewed. And stitched some more - the whirring of the machine's foot pedal being the only sound on that quiet afternoon.
I patiently waited. It was getting late, still light, but the sun had dipped. The brothers had awakened and seeing that merienda was not ready yet, they went outside to play. Night would soon fall, but Mum had continued to do some finishing touches.
Now, just the hem, she softly said.
When it was finally done, she declared, clasping her hands together, beaming an abrupt, brilliant smile. Isukat mo. Try it on.
Christian Dior, who introduced the silhouette, would have been proud. It was the most amazing outfit.
An ensemble for the ages.
I had planned on hiking my hair up to the ceiling to complement its sleek line. The crowning glory to an incredible ensemble.
She dipped her glasses slightly, but only slightly, down her nose, and studied me carefully. A soft gray light showed down her face, revealing a smile like I hadn't seen in a very long time lighting her even brighter.
The days had seemed to pass by in a kind of blur since then. But I still remember that moment.
Kind of.
I have dim splashes of memory of that time like an unfinished watercolor. I remember a soft voice in my ear, her arms around me.
Bagay sa 'yo, 'Chon. (That was how I had pronounced my full first name when I was young and the nickname stuck.) It looks good on you.
A warm glow spread over me as she spoke.
Like being wrapped in a cloak of invisible warmth that was home that was Mum.
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