I stood in front of the mirror on the back of my bedroom closet door and twirled around to watch as the skirt lifted and then fell when I stopped. Brushing my hand against the nap I watched as it changed from dark to light. The skirt was knee length and had straps that crossed across the back fastening at the front somewhat like a pair of overalls.
“I’m beautiful,” I thought to myself. “More than beautiful.” But at seven that was the best word I could think of. I looked like a princess. The farmer boy skirt was the latest of fashion and it was velvet, and soft and ….purple to boot. I felt regal. Mother had used that word to describe the colour purple.
“Why would a girl your age love purple so much? It’s not a colour for a little girl.”
I didn’t know why, all I knew was that purple was just the best colour ever. I was so happy I had convinced my mother to let me choose the fabric.
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My great aunt Edie lived with us for as long as I can remember. She had never married and instead stayed at home and cared for her parents. When my mother’s mother died she took her into the family home and raised her as well.
Edie was a dressmaker by trade and made all our clothing when I was a little girl. She was slight of stature and had, had nimble fingers well adapted to sewing. They were not as nimble as they had once been, as arthritis had made her knuckles swell and made it harder to manipulate the fabric. However she never complained and continued to sew all her life. She cared for us just as a grandmother would have, and I loved her dearly. Her hair was white as snow and I thought she was beautiful. Now when I look back at old pictures, I realize she was rather plain. Her aura must have shone through.
We lived in a three-bedroom cottage in Toronto. My older sister and I shared a bedroom and Aunt Edie occupied the bedroom next two ours. Robin and I were latecomers to my parents, and Edie's being there made it possible for my mother to travel with my father on some of his business trips.
Edie would care for us their absence and was a great help to my mother. Should Mom want to go on trips with Dad or just shopping downtown she never had to look for a babysitter as Edie was there whenever needed.
Robin was three years older than me and her blonde curly hair and blue eyes were a contrast to my darker straight hair and dark brown eyes. Different as peas in a pod, we were told. I guess we were. Robin was much less likely to get into mischief and even if she did I was usually involved in some way.
When I think back to that time in 1957, I remember not only that kind woman who cared for Robin and I but also us two little girls who gave her such a hard time. We were rather a handful for a woman of her advanced age. She would have been eighty-four then.
At night my sister and I would fall asleep to the sound of Edie's Singer toiling away in the room next two ours, either finishing a new garment or repairing an old one.
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As I stood before the mirror I thought of the night before. Bathed and dressed for bed, prayers said, I had climbed under the covers and listened carefully to the bedtime story my mother read. When she left the room I closed my eyes but I was too anxious thinking about my new skirt making it impossible to find sleep. I gingerly climbed out of bed and crossed the room to the door of Aunt Edie’s room. As I stepped across the threshold of her room to watch as she changed that piece of fabric into a lovely dress there was a squeak in the floor and when she heard it, she stopped sewing and turned to face me.
“Tess, is it not past your bedtime? You better get back into bed and let me get back to business or I will not be able to finish your dress,” she said in her soft-spoken tone.
Not questioning whether or not it might be true, I gave her a hug and turned around heading back to my bed. Sure enough the next morning the garment was finished. I could not wait to try it on.
Now here I stood before my mirror admiring myself in the glass wearing my lovely new outfit.
Just then my sister entered the room. She tried to let me think that she did not like my new dress but in my mind I thought she was just jealous.
That’s summer my Aunt Edie passed away. I still think of her with fond memories and have never forgotten my beautiful purple farmer boy skirt.