My grandmother, from my moms side, was a seamstress. Her sewing machine was, is and will always be, her special possession. She did magic with it. In a small town, an hour away from our city, she was the only good seamstress around. She would get people from other towns come to her to get their wedding dress done by her. She was like the Vera Wang of the town. She even did her own wedding dress, her daughters wedding dress and pretty much any woman who was going to get married from that town. My grandma could spend hours upon hours putting together pieces of fabric to create beautiful gowns for brides to be. I was able to experience the process of making of a dress once. I saw it happen before my eyes. A rolled piece of fabric with traces of pencil on it, that were almost invisible to a naked eye, slowly but surely, came together to create a gorgeous wedding dress. A dress that would be worn by a woman on one of the most important days of their lives. She retired from sewing a couple years ago. However, whenever I ask her to fix a piece of clothing for me, I can see in her eyes and in the concentration in her face, that the sewing machine that keeps collecting dust in the corner, will always bring her peace and a little happiness in her life.
