At the tender age of four I wore designer dresses, though that concept eluded me. Haute couture not in my vocabulary. My frocks were fairy tale creations fashioned from feed sacks and discounted fabric remnants, designed by my mother.
One of a kind, custom, unique. She used a simple sewing machine, and-made appliqués, smocking, ruffles, buttons and lacy trims. Nary a pattern or dress form.
At the completely grown-up age of fourteen I sketched my own designs; flat images drawn on newspaper Mother transformed as though she held a magic wand.
Talk what you please of future spring and sun-warm’d sweet tomorrow, it will never compare to the pride I felt each time I walked into a room wearing one of our 'joint creative efforts.' I was raised in a house of fashion, where hand made and custom designed were synonymous; the envy of my friends, forever.
Sanaa provides a line from Christina Rossetti's poem "A Daughter of Eve" to include in our Prose pieces.