He Should Have Ordered the Soup

With a mixture of disbelief and rage she packed her suitcase.  More disbelief really, because she was still in shock.  Her bureau drawers pulled open by varying degrees, she took out the items of clothing  she deemed to be essential.  When her hand brushed the soft silk of her new blouse-celadon green with a lettuce edged hem-she hesitated. She’d bought the blouse for their anniversary. Even so, she decided to bring it.

Sure, she was no Virginia Mayo, but still, she wasn’t a bad looking tomato.  She could turn heads. Some guy had even whistled at her yesterday.  Why then, would Joe do this to her?  Rage overtook  disbelief, burning her cheeks. 

Though she felt like she might be losing her mind, she must not forget to take her handbag along.  Joe had given her grocery money yesterday, and as was her usual habit, she had tucked it safely inside the small coin purse she kept in the front zipper pocket of the bag.  What a relief to know she did not need to worry about having enough bread for her bus ticket.

No possible explanation from Joe would be enough to save his bacon now.  She knew his secret.  Closing  her eyes, she watched herself replay the events of that morning.  Pulling clothes from the washing machine.  Discovering the sodden slip of paper that had accidentally been laundered along with his dress shirts. Trying to decipher what was written on the soggy note.  It was unreadable, except for a couple of smudged numbers, and those initials.  B.L.T.  Betty?  Barbara?

She was not stupid, and she was certainly not in a forgiving mood. What she was though, was hungry.  She fancied she might grab a sandwich at the bus depot.  After she bought her ticket, to where ever it was she decided to go.  Eat it on the way, while she plotted out her future.

Peanut butter and jelly sounded good.

***********************

The Red Writing Hood Prompt this week was The BLT

Plump tomatoes, salty bacon, crisp lettuce, soft bread, this week we want you to be inspired by the BLT. Write a piece of either fiction or creative non-fiction based on this photo.

The word limit is 400

He Should Have Ordered the Soup

New at Snapshot Sailors

I was lucky to find this vintage sailor shirt last week-the perfect prop for showcasing my barkcloth bags.  It was reasonably priced, and in perfect condition, too! 

I’m also excited to introduce these cute little zipper pouches.   I’ve taken actual vintage photographs, copied them onto printable fabric, and then sewn them onto vintage barkcloth. 

 

I add some vintage buttons…

 

And a fun anchor zipper pull.  The perfect finishing touches.

I love sewing these zipper pouches!  It’s hard to go wrong with sailors and barkcloth-they are definitely a winning combination!

New at Snapshot Sailors

True Love

Happy Valentine’s Day, my dear readers!

My friend Crystal from Zinnia Ridge Vintage sent me these wonderful vintage sailor inspired Valentines.

I love the sweet sentiment from days gone by…

 Please don’t leave me holding the Bag!  BE MY VALENTINE!

♥♥♥

 

♥♥♥

I’d “RUDDER” Have You “FORE” My VALENTINE

♥♥♥

♥♥♥

How come  sailors and Valentine’s Day make the perfect match?

This little gem I found a few months ago sums it up best…

June 26, 1914

Frank,

Did you know that we are 2 years married today.

Ha Ha

Florence

♥♥♥

Hugs, and Hershey kisses,

Valerie

True Love

The Bracelet

Last year, my friend Courtney from The Musings of Miss 1941  found this bracelet in a second hand store.  It was the inspiration for this story-and is an early Valentine for all of you.

                                 ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Late that summer, she often sat for hours by the sitting room window, lost in thought.  Seemingly unaware of what her fingers were doing, she would trace the smooth curves of the two hearts  on the top of the bracelet that banded her wrist.  The bracelet he’d made for her.  “Souvenir Okinawa” inscribed on one side of the hearts, and “1945 Helen” on the other.  Inside, against her skin,  “From John.”

John.  A casualty of war.  But not in the conventional sense. 

She’d read somewhere, that behind the tally of those killed and wounded lay another number, the tally of those whose lives were  shattered by brutalities experienced in such far away places as Normandy, Sicily, and Okinawa. 

Okinawa. Typhoon of Steel.   Where the battle, with its kamikaze attacks and fierce fighting, had lasted  82 days, from early April until mid June, 1945.  The cost, in the end, for the bloodiest  U.S. conflict in the Pacific?   62,000  American boys killed or wounded, and another 48% percent casualties of combat stress reaction-the highest ever rate for the entire war.  Additionally, 14,000 soldiers would go on to suffer nervous breakdowns.

John, hit by shrapnel on day 71, had been sent back to the States.  His war was over, or so he’d been told.

A week after he arrived home, he had visited her, bringing the bracelet.  For his sake, she pretended not to notice the scar that ran from his chin to the curve of his neck, or the tremble in his hands as he tried  carefully to put the bracelet on her wrist.  She sensed he was afraid to touch her for fear of hurting her, the bitterness and hardness of who he had become in the war making it next to impossible for him to believe there was any gentleness left in him.  Clumsily, he scratched her, and a welt rose up.  Recoiling in horror, and choking back his own tears, he murmured an apology and fled.  He had inflicted pain yet again, and he simply could not bear it.

A month had passed since that day, and nothing more from John.

During the war, the distance between them was one of geography.  Letters, cookies-even a knitted scarf (he’d used it for his pillow) had helped to span the miles.   Now, a new distance had come between them.   A distance she did not know how to bridge. The blue star she had  displayed in her window during the 2 years he had been away had now turned into a gold star, at least in her heart. He seemed to be as lost to her as if he were dead.

In the fall, not knowing what else to do with her sorrow, she carved two hearts in the craggy bark of the old Maple tree that stood in her front yard.   “Menominee MI ,1945”  “ John  From Helen”  “Please Come Back To Me”

That December, a violent winter storm swept  through Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and knocked the Maple over.  Helen wept, as her fallen tree, reduced to nothing more than firewood, was cut into pieces and stacked along side the garage.

Up in her bedroom, Helen took off her bracelet, and  put it away in her jewelry box. 

                                 ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

In the summer of 1946, nearly a year after John came home from the war, Helen was once again rooted by the sitting room window.  This time, there was no trace of absent mindedness in her gaze, but instead a look of eager anticipation she found herself unable to suppress, try as she might.

She was watching for John.  He had telephoned and asked to see her.

Helen  never was very good at acting.  She could not carry off the look of indifference she sternly counseled herself  to present when she came face to face with him.  Casting that mask aside, her expression became one of complete joy, and impulsively, as he came through her front door, she threw her arms around his neck.  Her reward?   His barely audible, “I’m back.”

He told her then, that for a time after he returned home, he had considered himself to be a lost cause-the war seeming to have extinguished any spark of hope he had ever held for the future.    But at his parents suggestion, he started writing in an attempt to silence the demons that tortured him. They were right, too.   The several hours a day spent sitting at his typewriter, converting the nightmares inside his mind into concrete sentences on pieces of paper, had brought about the healing he had sought.

Because of his new found love for writing, he’d made the decision to attend  Michigan State Normal College and pursue a degree in English.  Would she write to him while he was away, just as she had during the war?

Helen excused herself, and left the room.

Up in her bedroom, Helen flipped open the clasp on her jewelry box, retrieved her bracelet, and returned downstairs.

This time as John put it on her wrist, his hands did not shake.

The Bracelet

Pet Smarts

Kona, our Border Collie and Australian Shepherd mix, is one clever cookie.  Not too surprising, since both breeds are known for their intelligence.  But still, she amazes us.  Last fall we walked her over to the high school to play Frisbee, and an errant toss-probably by me-sent her beloved rubber saucer over the fence into the baseball field.  She could see her Frisbee, inside the fence, about 4 feet from where she stood, but she knew she could not retrieve it.

To access the baseball field, you have to go through a maze of other fields and fences, which we did.  And Kona, once inside the baseball field, ran straight over to her Frisbee.  We were  stunned! How did she remember where to find it, or even remember she had lost it?   She did not  hesitate or even search.  She just knew exactly where her Frisbee was.

So yes, we  knew she was bright.  But last night Kona proved that she is a genius.  Stuart has been helping me build my web page. It is unchartered water for us both.   We were simultaneously watching a Photoshop tutorial, and trying to put into practice what the tutorial was demonstrating.  Success was one step away, but frustratingly, we could not figure out what “tool” the narrator was selecting to achieve what he was demonstrating.

Kona, playing the part of the uninterested onlooker, lay next to where we were working, probably hoping we would give up and take her for a walk.  Suddenly, she jumped up and put a paw on the keyboard.  Like magic, the correct tool appeared!  “Kona!” we exclaimed.  “How did you do that?”

Yes, Kona is one clever cookie.  If only we could  teach her to talk.

Now it’s your turn to brag.  Tell me what makes your own pet exceptional!

Pet Smarts

Easy to Love

When it comes to old movies, South Pacific is definitely one of my favorites.  I’ve watched it so many times now, that I’ve lost count. Lush with gorgeous tropical scenery, this Rodgers and Hammerstein classic has a musical score that is packed with memorable songs. 

I hope you enjoy this little number.  There is nothin’ like a bunch of singing sailors, and you know what else? One of these guys even knows how to sew!

Easy to Love

What We Need More Of

For Want of a Nail

For want of a nail the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the message was lost.
For want of a message the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.

Before last Saturday, if I’d rewritten this little piece of wisdom, I’d have entitled it,

For Want of a Battery

For want of a battery, the cordless phone was lost.

For want of a battery, the digital camera was lost.

And my watch?  Well it was just lost.

All changed on Saturday.

We decided to venture over the Cascade mountains-a beautiful drive when the weather is cooperating-which it was, and visit my parents, who live in a more retail rich town than ours.  We had not seen them since August, and we missed them.  We also planned to go to a big box office supply store while we were there, hoping to find the batteries we needed.  Shopping in our town had turned up nothing but blank stares, or well meaning clerks who disappeared mysteriously down “aisle 12” never to be seen again.  Even internet searches proved to be fruitless.

The problem seemed to be that in the years since we acquired our phone and camera, time had marched on and left our makes and models  in the dust.  The exact batteries we needed were no longer made, as new products and new types of batteries came on the scene. We didn’t want to have to buy a new phone and camera.  That just seemed wasteful, when the old were still perfectly good.

And then my parents said three little words.

The Battery Store.

Located conveniently at the end of their street, there was indeed a store devoted entirely to batteries.  You name it, battery wise, and they had it. 

In a matter of minutes, our helpful, and cheerful clerk found the batteries we needed, and also put a new battery in my long lost watch-the battery now dead.  (I’d found my watch earlier in the day, in the bottom of the seldom used bag I brought along.)  Our wonderful clerk even set my watch to the correct time too-she said she couldn’t send me out of the store wearing a watch that had the wrong time on it.  She was courteous, competent, and very knowledgeable about batteries.  And she really and truly seemed to enjoy her job.

The idea of selling batteries, and nothing but batteries, day in and day out, might seem about as interesting as watching the proverbial paint dry.  It could make a person choose to be less than everything our clerk was, and if that is how our clerk felt, she was a darn good actress.

There is so much of our modern life now that depends on batteries. There is no question we need them, and businesses-and clerks-to sell them to us.

But even more importantly, what we really need, are more people like her.

What We Need More Of