Circling

Slow stitching on on mini quilt made of two vintage handkerchief gave me some time to think this week. The old cotton was like gauze, really, and so fragile I needed to be mindful of where my needle tip was at all times, and how much I could safely tug on the embroidery thread.

Mostly I thought about my mom, who always carried handkerchiefs in her purse. As a kid I thought of that as one of the ladylike things a woman was expected to do. I never did the same. Like being regarded as a lady, the thought of carrying around a wad of snotty cloth in my bag never appealed much to me. I wanted a Swiss Army knife like the one my dad always carried in his front pocket. I bought myself one with my first paycheck after I left home, and still carry one in my purse.

I was never the daughter my mother wanted, I've always known that. I could never be a religious woman or the mother of a large family; that was her life. What she believed to be the right life for a woman was like her handkerchief. How I lived instead was my Swiss Army knife. And now as I stitch on old hankies and think of her, I simply hope she's at peace. I am.