My Mother and the Embroidery Goddess

After months of what seems to be an endlessly long and extra cold Winter here in the east, I yearn for the arrival of March and the first signs of Spring when crocuses and daffodils boldly poke their heads above the thawing ground and bring me cheerful shades of yellow and purple. Finally, I can dream again about warmer weather and outdoor fun.

March has always been extra special to me because of my Mother’s birthday. When the important day arrives each and every year, I lift up my head, look into the sky, and whisper the words, “Happy birthday, Mother, wherever you may be!” I hold her tenderly to my heart even though she left many years ago.

My Mother was born on the Spring equinox, the time of the year when day and night are equally divided. When I was little, I always looked forward to her birthday because longer days and warmer weather would come after it, and our unheated home would not be freezing anymore. At the time, we lived through challenging days of poverty and revolution.

I also learned that on the lunar calendar, Mother shared her birthday with that of the Embroidery Goddess. As her daughter, I knew how much she loved embroidery, even during the Cultural Revolution when our entire society was clothed in plain white, blue, and army green. Mother stitched tiny little flowers on my blouses in baby blue, pink, purple, or red, making me feel special and loved.

Doing embroidery was a luxury for my Mother when she couldn’t even have enough money and time to feed her four daughters and make them hand-sewn clothes. It was a struggle to keep her family afloat. She often had to cook and do her other chores, and only picked up her embroidery hoop to sneak in a few stitches at a time. She considered herself to be resting whenever she sat down with a needle and thread.

Unlike my Mother, I never learned to embroider. Growing up, she wanted me to read books instead of doing household work. Only recently did I suddenly have an urge to learn this craft. I missed seeing my Mother’s needle with colorful threads flying through the top of a pillowcase, my blouse, and my sister’s dress. But, am I too old to learn this fine skill?

My daughter Halley encouraged me to try it and find out. For Christmas, she thoughtfully gave me six plain cotton napkins, a set of needles, some hoops, and a pile of colorful thread. So began my embroidery journey.

When I first started, my sweaty palms and stiff fingers were not very cooperative. The more I worried, the worse the stitches. Just as I thought about quitting, I imagined my Mother sitting by my side working on her embroidery. I could hear her saying, “You can do it, too, my daughter.”

I picked up my threaded needle again, only this time I started to focus on my stitches and let them flow. Soon colorful flowers emerged on my napkins, sprouting roses, daisies, and Black-eyed Susans . . . .

I feel closer to my Mother now more than ever because of embroidery. It has also made me more confident about trying new things. Happy Spring equinox and happy birthday, Mother, my goddess of embroidery!

Reflections From The East Column

By Qin Sun Stubis