Devonne Brown

I bought the perfect shoes to wear to my niece’s wedding. They were black leather with an inch and a half kitten heel. Just above the heel was a gold plate that made me glisten when I walked.  But I didn’t have a dress, so I  made one. I haven’t done any real sewing, not with pins and a pattern anyway, with an official store bought pattern since before the boys were born. How can anybody sew with twin babies rolling around on the floor? When they get older, they want to help. I don’t have that much patience. I picked  my own lessons, battles, and conversations as  much as possible. I was a bad mother.

But the dress I made was great. It was a basic flowy black linen and rayon dress with a scoop neck and three quarter sleeves, mid-calf. A good linen rayon blend is something to behold. It falls and flows like liquid silver. The fabric never clings and moves with gracious mercy over my aging frame. It was hot. Very hot. I did a good job too. Great seams, no loose threads, Mom would have found something wrong with it, but that’s to be expected. I loved it.

I forgot to take it to the wedding. I left it hanging on the back of the door. It was funny while I told the story to my aunt from the car, a hundred miles from home, and two hundred miles from the wedding venue. It was funny for a few minutes when I told my sister, then I realized what I’d done. 

Sharon, with nothing on her mind but her only daughter’s wedding, the event of the universe, the ultimate mother’s dream and nightmare rolled into one, went to work to find me an elegant look for the wedding. Bless her she did. I would hate to have a sister like me.