My mother’s “glad rags”

So here’s a thing that is relevant to what I am about to tell you. My mom was always *tiny*. She never weighed more than some 110 pounds soaking wet, and by the time she died she was well under 90; she was under 5 1/2 feet in height in her stocking feet. She was a dainty morsel of a human being and while she sometimes “inherited” stuff from me (like a winter jacket, when I bought a new one, for instance) – well it swallowed her up but she could wear it. Let’s just say that I have no hope of ever fitting into any of my mom’s clothes, let alone my mother’s “glad rags” (the more formal/festive wear). I have a bigger bust, I definitely have a bigger butt, and I am head-and-shoulders taller than she was.

So, speaking of those “glad rags”, there’s been an evening gown hanging in my closet (I have no idea why mine and not hers but there it hung) for decades. One I can never even think about wearing myself because there is no way I could stuff myself into that slimline package, and one she had not worn for absolutely ages (having had no occasion for it) and would certainly never have even considered trying on again once she got into her cantakerous eighties and considered everything frivolous – and now she’s gone, herself, these last six months or so. It’s this gorgeous slimline evening dress, floor length (for her), of emerald green silk; it’s old-fashioned in its particular elegance, but seeing as I have photos of mom in this thing that date damn near 50 years ago I don’t think that is entirely unexpected – and in fact it makes it vintage, in a way.

And it’s been carefully hung in a closet and protected against dust and decay for many many years. I knew it was there but I don’t even remember the last time I looked at it.

Enter a local person who asked, on social media, if people had any formalwear stuff that could be passed on to young students who otherwise had no access to anything that they could wear to a formal prom, for instance.

And I thought of the dress in the closet.

This morning, I gave away my mother’s “glad rags” in the hope that they bring joy to somebody else out there, that they dress up a young girl in emerald silk with a bibbidy bobbidy boo wave of a magic wand (although, I can tell you, it was harder than I thought – and that tiny elegant sheath dress left more of a hole than it ought to have done in the closet where it had lived for so long.)

I just have to hope that from somewhere up there she is content with this.