In our city, the sewing contest “Golden Needle” was announced. Terms of the contest were published in the newspaper, announced on the local television channel. In the morning my mother said: “I will also participate in this contest.”
My mother works at a sewing factory. She sews clothes for adults and children. Mom loves her work, and at the factory she is praised. Recently, he was appointed a foreman of a sewing machine.
Mum sews and houses. I love to watch how she does it. It does not have a lot of customers. The people she wears say she has golden hands.
Mom takes measurements, carefully records them in a notebook; helps the customer to choose a style. Then she starts to cut. For this, she has special figured rulers – curves. She uses all sorts of chalk, pieces of soap, because you have to outline the contours in order to cut out the necessary detail for the costume or dress from the fabric. Special sheepskin scissors she deftly cuts the fabric. Then the mother sweeps the details, and when the customer comes, tries on, adjusts to the figure, eliminates only noticeable problems. Having spent the client, my mother sits down at the sewing machine, and the room is filled with the usual chirring. It is interesting to observe how from the disjointed pieces of cloth, the mother creates a beautiful thing. She sews it for me and for Dad. And what clothes on her! And all this is done by her hands.
My father and I were not even surprised when my mother, having returned from the competition, solemnly announced that the jury had recognized her as the winner. “But where is the Golden Needle prize?” I asked. Imagine my disappointment when I saw on a dark cherry velvet in a glazed frame a long needle – it was not gold at all! “It’s just a symbol of skill,” laughed Mom. “But my mother’s hands are really golden,” said Dad and kissed them.