ON TYING BOWS

I opened a package today that came in the mail a week or more ago.  Not that I wasn’t interested in the contents, but I knew all along that it was the new dress I had ordered.  As long as it was cold outside I felt as though that dress would be taunting me.  So I kept it in the package, like a bribe.  If spring came out, I would unwrap the dress.

Today seemed nice enough, spring-like enough, to take it out.  It was wrinkled from days of being folded up, but I tried it on anyway.  I fiddled with the tie around the waist for a while.  I attempted to tie a proper bow, largely unsuccessfully.  A proper bow is more important than you might think.

Weddings are not about looks, no matter what anyone tries to tell you.  I tried not to worry about looks at our wedding, but I did want a proper bow on my dress.  My grandma was a first-class bow-tying genius, so of course I went to her.  It was a first-class bow.  I’ve never met anyone who could tie bows the way she could: crisp, neat, symmetrical.

I still have a dress – not my wedding dress, but another – with a bow on it, still tied, one of the ones she did for me.  I don’t save things, usually, because they’re only things, but I don’t know if I’ll ever untie it.  If I do, it will never look as good again.  I remember going down to her, the night before the wedding, to the guest bedroom in my parents’ house where she and Papa were staying.  It was a green dress that she had made especially for me to wear to the rehearsal dinner.  It only took her a minute.  It was a perfect bow.  It still is. 

Life is not about looks, but bows on dresses are more important than you might think.  And every time I tie one and it isn’t quite right, I will have a greater appreciation for Grandma’s long, nimble fingers.  This morning, I missed her.