We were not very poor, but we definitely were not rich; we just always needed to be thrifty. We made all our purchases with serious care. We only bought what was needed, not what was wanted. Money could not be spent frivolously.

Therefore, it always made sense to go window shopping on the Sabbath. We couldn’t carry money; we couldn’t even carry a purse to carry the money, leaving little temptation to buy; Window shopping is free. Saturdays, after a large Sabbath lunch, the tradition was to walk with Momma from our apartment on Simpson Street to the shopping neighborhood on Southern Boulevard. Joy of Joy, this twelve-year-old had the pleasure of window shopping, a favorite pastime.  My sister, five years my senior, and my brother, four years my senior, had no interest in joining us. Southern Boulevard had a large variety of stores and even two movie houses (The Boulevard and The Spooner). My cherished store, and I think Momma’s too, was Goldstein’s Dress Shop. It was large and half the display featured mannequins dressed in women’s clothing; the other half featured youthful blonde-haired, blue-eyed mannequins clad in girls’ dresses. 

It was love at first sight. While Momma was eyeing the women’s fashions, I fell in love with a maroon velvet dress with a square neckline and dropped gathered waistline. Oh, if only wishes would come true. I wished that dress was mine. Momma must have read my mind, heard my silent prayer. She didn’t have a pencil and paper to draw a picture of the dress, neither was she permitted to write on the Sabbath. Her camera eyes and sewing wisdom allowed her to snap a mental picture of that maroon velvet dress with the square neckline and gathered dropped waistline. We entered the shop. Trying on is not the same as buying. Trying on is free. It also afforded Momma a better view of how the dress was sewn. The salesman had already sized us up as lookers, not buyers. 

A few days later, three-and-one-half yards of maroon velvet, a twelve-inch zipper and a spool of maroon thread were purchased.

A few days later the dress was cut (without a Simplicity or Vogue Pattern). A few days later, Momma basted the pieces together with large white basting stitches. She used small pins to make alterations on the dress as I tried it on (ouch!! I often got stuck). Lastly, she sewed it all together on her Singer Treadle Sewing Machine. Voilà!! The dress I loved was now mine. Thank you, Momma. I never gave you enough admiration, appreciation, and the devotion you deserved.