Some days it took as little as wearing an LBD to feel like a superhero. While some may write this off as shallow, I say it is the brilliant understanding of your own power. Finding it wherever you can.
It’s no mistake that my mother found it in her lipstick. I continued her evangelism in a book and on my face. Going to the Sephora here in France yesterday, I asked for assistance, and while she helped me in French, we both knew we were speaking the same language — The mother tongue. And it being one of those days, many applications were required.
In full make-up and my apron (a nod, I suppose, to both my mother and grandmother), I went to the studio to paint. Completing this study in oils, the last thing was to give her clothing. I had already supplied her with the rouge, but just to be sure, I painted a little black dress. And in saving her, I more than saved myself.
Look at her! I thought. She must be some sort of genius. Rattling off words like bias, baste and bobbin. I hadn’t been spelling that long, but I sounded out the new words and wrote them down in the Big Chief notebook that I carried with me everywhere for occassions such as this.
My grandma wasn’t tall, but she stood toe to toe with the man in charge at the Husqvarna sewing machine store on Broadway. I could see his shoulders relax when she began talking about her serger. I didn’t know what it was, but he seemed impressed with her knowledge, and enjoyed the exchange of a worthy seamstress. I was always happy to be with Grandma Elsie, but this was maybe the first time I felt something different. I pulled on her polyester pants to get her attention. She put her hand on mine to let me know she needed to finish her order. A part she needed for the perfect stich. The tiny bell rang again on the door as walked through to go to the car. “What’s the word for when you feel really good about someone, like when they are really good at what they do and you are happy to be with them, like when your heart feels full for them?” I asked her, sliding closer on the leather bench front seat of the car. “You mean proud?” “Yes!” I said, and wrote it down in my notebook.
I hope she saw that it was her name beside it, but I’m not sure she did. She opened the bag of toasted marshmallows that she got at Jerry’s Jack and Jill and handed one to me. I smiled at her, longer than usual for a marshmallow, and I think she knew.
Maybe I’m still doing that. Trying to find the words to tell about all the people in my life who have made a difference. Tell of the extraordinary things they have given to me and to this world. I can’t be sure that they see it, but my heart smiles long, and for some reason, I think they know.
