Grandma's chest

To every girl, a grandmother's chest seems overflowing with unthinkable riches. I also thought she was hiding treasures. But, having matured, I realized that the chest of my old woman is poor and keeps the seals of the suffering and loss experienced ...

To every girl, her mother's wardrobe seems like a treasure, and her grandmother's chest is a "squared" treasure.

I remember well how happy it was for me to try on my mother's dresses, but when I saw the "grandmother's chest", my mother's dresses simply ceased to exist.

It was magic...

Although, there was no chest. All the untold riches rested inside a huge grandmother's sofa. Its lid opened with a monstrous sound, reminiscent of the sigh of a tired elephant.

In the belly of this "giant" were hand-embroidered napkins, crepe de chine dresses and cuts, and even black lace.

There were cuts of coarse silk that looked like canvas, and Chinese satin that looked like real satin. Some cuts were bought before the October Revolution of 1917. Stamps on the inside spoke about this.

From satin in the early 90s of the last century, I sewed myself a sundress. It lasted several seasons and withstood dozens of washes. The poor thing was worn almost through in some places, but retained its shine and rich color until the last day.

Lace was the most. These were large handmade lace scarves with beaded borders. Lace thick and coarse, lace as thin as gossamer, narrow and wide, expensive and very cheap ...

As a child, it seemed mysterious to me that all the lace in my grandmother's collection is black. I thought it was mourning for her departed parents and brothers. It seemed to me that these laces bear the imprint of all the sad life stories of our family: about famine, war, evacuation, typhus, repressions...

Grandmother said that in the hungry years, lace and silk could be exchanged for bread, and therefore she, still waiting for the hungry years, took care of them. How else? After all, they saved the lives of her and my mother more than once.

Unfortunately, the white lace simply did not stand up to all the trials of life that my family went through - they turned yellow and became stained. But black retained color.

Once again, I sort through what is left of the treasures of my grandmother's chest and remember Her, a little old woman in black lace.