My mothers Hands

One of my earliest memories was falling asleep to the whirring sounds of my Mothers black Singer, whipping up new creations for my sister and I.
As we were only 18 months apart ( and sibling rivalry was at its peak!), Mum new to keep the peace, our clothing needed to be as close to identical as possible.
Times weren't always easy for my parents, but Mum always managed to make ends meet. She would never waste a thing and was forever finding new ways to re-cycle fabrics into something wonderful for us girls. 
She would analyse every piece of clothing that was no longer useable and remove zips, buttons or lace, anything that could be reused before discarding what was left to be used as rags.
My love for sewing and crafts was established very early in my life.
During the Winter, Mum would sit between us with her knitting, while at the same time be constantly interrupted by my sister and I. Our Barbies needed clothing too!  We were attempting to knit. We would hound her with our little voices"Mum, Ive dropped a stitch!..Help!"..."Mum, I can't join the next color! Help!".
 Our clumsy little fingers were never as co-ordinated as her graceful, delicate , manicured hands.
At 19., when pregnant with my first son, Mum gave that precious sewing machine, the black Singer, that she used all those years ago. I cherish the memories that it brings back to me from my early childhood days.
Mum inspired me to rcycle, reuse and recreate and with this gift, I will never want for anything.
I sew with joy and passion, it is my meditation, often using some of the patterns from the swinging sixties, similar to the ones she used., and wherever possible the fabrics are pre-loved and recycled. 
And when I sew, I see my Mums  beautiful hands guiding me. I miss you ...RIP xxx