a box of treasures
With my Mother's jewlery gone, there isn't much she could have left us--some pictures, her china and flatware, a silver mink stole...
In a small particle board dresser upstairs in my old bedroom, underneath some beautiful, unused pajamas, I found a box of treasures.
The box originally contained Beauty Rose rose-scented stationery, possibly purchased when my Father was overseas. She wouldn't have had anyone else to write to. It is crumbling, and held closed with a white ribbon that my Mother preserved from some other long-ago gift.
I opened it carefully. Inside I found a scarf--a souvenir from when my Father was stationed in France highlighting the sites of Paris. Two fans--one from Japan, with a painting of Mt. Fuji done in pale blues and grays with red highlights and a small amout of glitter; the other a favor from a cousin's wedding, blue with purple plum blossoms. An Early American Old Spice scented sachet manufactured by a company in Hoboken, NJ. A pair of white gloves that cost $6. And handkerchiefs--many with hand crocheted edges and small hand-embroidered flowers.
Back in the day, ladies carried handkerchiefs. Those messy little pocket packs of Kleenex tissues didn't exist--or were perhaps too expensive or an indication of lower status. It's hard to know exactly.
My mother's handkerchiefs have pink, blue, or white edgings. She co-ordingated the embroidery with the edging. Some already had the embroidery, and she crocheted the edging to match. There are a couple of fine lace edged handkerchiefs, which were either gifts or expensive purchases for special occasions. Some were men's handkerchiefs converted to women's with the simple touch of a crocheted edge. One is silk, with embroidery that says "Souvenir du Normandie"--obviously another gift from my father.
These are simple things, but they were precious to her. I figured that out from the way she wrapped them.
I feel sad that my mother was so poor, and that her most precious posessions, obtained only much later in life, were taken from her. But I am glad that these few things, that have no apparent market value, were stashed away safely and with much care. And that my curious little fingers and eyes found them.
Let my sister take the sewing machine, the heavy, clunky typewriter that's more of a doorstop than a piece of office equipment, and what's left of the souvenirs my father brought home from Japan (some of these are missing too.) These handkerchiefs, and a few pictures from the past, are all I really need to know, and remember, the woman who became my Mother. The woman I never really knew.
In a small particle board dresser upstairs in my old bedroom, underneath some beautiful, unused pajamas, I found a box of treasures.
The box originally contained Beauty Rose rose-scented stationery, possibly purchased when my Father was overseas. She wouldn't have had anyone else to write to. It is crumbling, and held closed with a white ribbon that my Mother preserved from some other long-ago gift.
I opened it carefully. Inside I found a scarf--a souvenir from when my Father was stationed in France highlighting the sites of Paris. Two fans--one from Japan, with a painting of Mt. Fuji done in pale blues and grays with red highlights and a small amout of glitter; the other a favor from a cousin's wedding, blue with purple plum blossoms. An Early American Old Spice scented sachet manufactured by a company in Hoboken, NJ. A pair of white gloves that cost $6. And handkerchiefs--many with hand crocheted edges and small hand-embroidered flowers.
Back in the day, ladies carried handkerchiefs. Those messy little pocket packs of Kleenex tissues didn't exist--or were perhaps too expensive or an indication of lower status. It's hard to know exactly.
My mother's handkerchiefs have pink, blue, or white edgings. She co-ordingated the embroidery with the edging. Some already had the embroidery, and she crocheted the edging to match. There are a couple of fine lace edged handkerchiefs, which were either gifts or expensive purchases for special occasions. Some were men's handkerchiefs converted to women's with the simple touch of a crocheted edge. One is silk, with embroidery that says "Souvenir du Normandie"--obviously another gift from my father.
These are simple things, but they were precious to her. I figured that out from the way she wrapped them.
I feel sad that my mother was so poor, and that her most precious posessions, obtained only much later in life, were taken from her. But I am glad that these few things, that have no apparent market value, were stashed away safely and with much care. And that my curious little fingers and eyes found them.
Let my sister take the sewing machine, the heavy, clunky typewriter that's more of a doorstop than a piece of office equipment, and what's left of the souvenirs my father brought home from Japan (some of these are missing too.) These handkerchiefs, and a few pictures from the past, are all I really need to know, and remember, the woman who became my Mother. The woman I never really knew.
posted by Tish Grier at 8:38 AM
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