an apron, a pincushion, a stool, & a set of dish towels

They are a collection of commonplace things: an apron, a worn leather stool, a set of flour sack dish towels, a pincushion made from mason jar rings. Nothing extraordinary about them.  They’re rather humble objects, even.  But I love them. I love the stories behind them. I love how useful, yet lovely they are. I love that they represent the dear lady they came from.

 I love that they remind me of her. I love that every time I use the velvety purple pincushion made from mason jar rings, I remember how Grammy told me a girl from Illinois made it for her years & years ago & gave it to her as a hostess gift when they came to Oregon to visit her.

 I am sitting beside her in her living room again, every time I see my embroidered dish towels, watching her at work, the hoop stretched tight, needle working up & down, her thin legs stretched out on her stool in front of her. I can still hear her sweet wavery voice lamenting, “I just don’t know what all these young girls think they are going to do when they are old without knowing how to do any handwork.” And I would be so relieved I knew how to knit & the basics of embroidery so I wasn’t “one of those young girls”.  

Her old leather stool is now my sewing machine perch, as it was hers. (And it’s a perfect toddler photo prop!) I can picture her there making clothes for her kids because she had to, for her “grandies” because she wanted to, & for her “great-grandies” because she still could. She was always, always giving. And I never heard a word of complaint.

Her apron surrounds me when I cook, & I think back to the many times we would take a meal to her. I took fried chicken once, & she dug into it with gusto, telling us how it reminded her of her childhood. I loved to listen to her talk. We never left early & hardly got a word in edgewise all night!

There are so many phrases that leap to my lips that I borrowed from her. Some of them are funny: “Looks aren’t everything…but they sure help!”; “Men. Sometimes you could just sell ‘em for a nickel! But we need ‘em.” Some of them are learned from a lifetime of hardship: “You can be happy if you decide to be.” “When it’s raining in Oregon, I just shut the blinds, turn on all the lights, & play some music.” “You don’t have to scoop rain.” Some of them make me cry: “I’m always so happy to come home to my little house. I just hope whoever gets it after I’m gone appreciates it as much as I do.” She told me that shortly before she died. I think she knew Dar & I would probably move there. I wish she would’ve been able to meet Fiona. She said as much, too, “Darwy, “ (she added a “y” on the end of all her “grandies” names.) “I wish I’d be here to meet your little one, but I’m afraid it’s just not to be.” I wish she would’ve been here to meet Fee, too.

I’m so glad I got to meet her, if only for a few brief years. She was a lady, & a virtuous woman. If I am like her someday, I will have lived a good life.

Until that day, I have an apron, a worn leather stool, a set of flour sack dish towels, a pincushion made from mason jar rings, & the memory of a dear Grammy to set a standard to live by.