My grandmother’s recipe for chicken and biscuits started with killing the chickens. She’d then create a massive feed for the threshers who came to the farm each harvest. Somewhere along the line, she also taught my mother to sew. Back then, if the women didn’t sew, I guess you went nude.

Mom could make any basic dress, skirt or blouse. She could even vary a patten and still cut out the pieces just right, wielding the pinking shears to create in mirror image. As Dad’s business grew, Mom’s need to sew became a desire to sew. She abandoned the basics for store-bought, moving on to things like doll clothes. I can see her there, hand sewing a puffed sleeve so tiny that it fit around her little finger as she constructed it.

She could make a kilt with all those tiny pleats in formation as exact as marching soldiers. She created cowgirl outfits for Sis and me, with embroidered horseheads and swirling lassos and fringe on the skirts and vests (I think the material was polished cotton). She even created the pantsuit I wore for my wedding reception.

In the fullness of time, she became a grandmother herself. She took an old prom dress of mine and, with all the love in the world, created a princess dress for Linda. That is my favorite Halloween memory of all.

Mom never knew Riley and Dylan. I can only imagine the costumes she would have made. The pirates and spacemen and magicians. With that image, my best Halloween memory has been trumped.

Holidays outlast the people who love them. Unless, of course, Mom is up there working away on her old Singer, foot to the pedal and steady hands holding all the lovely material together.