Looking Back

In my last post I mentioned how much I love paging through my collection of vintage yearbooks. I have several-from both college and high school. This year, one yearbook in particular is especially interesting-a copy of “The Edelian” from Edward Drummond Libbey High School in Toledo Ohio.

My own daughter just started high school, and I can’t help but ponder the differences between high school now, and then-1943-the year of the Edelian.

Bob Brown was the original owner of my yearbook. His name is printed in block letters on the front cover. That year, like the year before, and the year that was to come-the world would be at war. In addition to the usual concerns of high school students-good grades, dances, football games-students that year worried and wondered about classmates and teachers who had left school to join the armed forces. Their after school activities included not only homework, clubs, and athletic practice, but also pursuits that helped the war effort. (The girls below sew stars onto a flag-blue for those in the service, and gold for those who have given their lives to their country. This picture gets to me every time I look at it.)

I would also guess that in private thoughts the shadow of the war hung over almost every man and boy at Libbey High. When to join up--what it would be like to go off to fight. (Some of those boys look so young! Well, I guess they WERE young!)

This is where the story of Bob Brown has a twist. The previous summer he had broken his arm when he crashed on his bicycle. I wonder, did Bob Brown consider this to be a lucky break, or a heart break?

The Real Deal

I have this jacket. It’s supposed to look like an army field jacket-olive drab, with a serial number on the left side. As I said-it’s supposed to look real-but it’s not. It’s just some designer’s idea of a field jacket. I bought it at a thrift store because it was cheap and I thought it was kind of cool too.

Today while I was at the post office a grizzled older Vietnam era clerk was at the desk and he spotted my jacket. “Hey” he says, “How’d you get a serial number on your field jacket?” “Oh this isn’t a real field jacket-it’s just a designer look alike.” I told him. He looked puzzled-“Well I’ll be darned. A designer field jacket. I’ve got three of the real thing hanging up at home.” I hastily tried to explain that I’d gotten this one cheap, and liked it because it looked neat, etc., etc. Made a verbal fool of myself. He was very kind and smiled nicely. I uttered a barely audible “Have a good day.” and left.

I got to thinking about my jacket, and other similar things-like the leather flying jackets you can buy so that you look like a WWII bomber pilot. And I though-what a big fat joke. The problem is-the joke is at the expense of those who wore field jackets, and bomber jackets during times of conflict. During WWII a paratrooper candidate who earned his jump wings also earned the right to blouse his pant legs into the tops of his boots. It wasn’t something a guy with any integrity would do if he didn’t deserve to. So it is with a field jacket. There is no meaning behind the one I have (and how could there be-because it’s not even real.) I imagine when the postal clerk looks at his field jackets there are many memories-authentic memories-good ones and bad ones-associated with his. He may even wear his jackets, but not to look cool I bet. So what he thinks of a “designer” jacket such as mine I can only imagine. (I’m guessing not good thoughts.) But typical with so many who served their country and came home-they keep their thoughts to themselves.

I’m not ever wearing this jacket again. It seems comical and ludicrous now. I’m not sure what I'll do with it. I don’t believe in wasting something perfectly good, but to give it away would be to perpetuate the cycle. I’ll come up with a good alternative use for it. (Now that would be cool.) And I’ll start shopping for a different jacket-one that I truly can be proud to wear.

Living in the Moment

Two nights ago it was the perfect fall evening-warm, but with a hint of autumn in the air. Blue sky-the kind of blue that you only see in autumn when turning leaves have it as their backdrop. Putting homework and dishes aside, we decided to take the dogs for a quick walk, and headed in the direction of the neighborhood park. Once we got there I was immediately struck by the scene before me-a row of trees-maples perhaps-that had already turned. A slight carpet of golden leaves lay on the ground, enough to color the grass with their beauty, and in front of two of the trees were a couple of benches painted the same brilliant blue as the sky. “Rats, I wish I’d brought the camera!” I lamented. “Oh well, I’ll just have to come back tomorrow.” And off we hurried on our walk, and then home to finish our evening.

The next day, however, the Ellensburg wind came up something fierce. By the time I made it back to the park, most of the leaves were off the trees, and to top it off there was a lively soccer game going on and the beautiful blue benches were covered with jackets and water bottles and exhausted players.

The photo op was gone, but more importantly, so too was the moment.

This is the lesson. I should have lingered that first night, and just enjoyed being there in that place and time. Sure a photo would have been nice-but as it stands I have neither a picture nor a very good memory of what I saw. Just a blur really

I think there is something to be said for “living without a camera”. Appreciating the precious moments as they are given to us and not letting them pass by because we think we’ll get another chance at some point.

Incidentally, my Mom and Dad are visiting England, Scotland and Ireland right now. This time they decided to leave their camera at home and just concentrate on seeing the sights without worrying about getting perfect pictures of everything. They plan to buy a lot of postcards. Wise decision.

Speaking of postcards, does anyone know where I can get a good one depicting some maple trees,and some blue benches perhaps…….

I See!

As I was sewing a couple weeks ago, I had taken my glasses off as I prepared to do some top stitching on a bag. When I am doing any type of finishing stitching on a project I like to really be able to see up close-I literally have my brown peepers just inches from my work-and in order to do this I have to take my glasses off. And, as usual when I’m working on something-my studio turns into utter chaos. As I was looking for a clear, safe spot to put my glasses, ( I learned the hard way that a safe place is critical-I sat on a pair of glasses once-they were never quite the same after that) my husband walked in and said, “You really need one of those chains that you wear around your neck to hold your glasses.” Brilliant suggestion! And as usual, I started to look for a vintage one. I found this cute eyeglass chain on Etsy from a shop called mupearls. Not vintage-but beautifully handmade from vintage amber and golden glass beads. I love the way they sparkle-and wearing my new eyeglass chain makes me feel rather glamorous when I work! Now if I could just operate my sewing machine’s foot pedal in my 40’s Cuban heels!

13 Pictures

As I was making chili yesterday, I thought about those picture frames you can get that hold all of a child’s school photographs from kindergarten through grade 12. I remembered thinking when Amy was really little, that 13 years was a long time, and a lot of pictures.

Last June Amy finished middle school-and had I bought one of those picture frames, 9 slots would now be filled. Along with those 9 years come a lot of memories. Amy’s very first day of school, when her brand new teacher forgot to count the children after recess and Amy was left outside for quite a while. She didn't mind-she had fun playing long after everyone else had gone in. She was “found” by a helpful 5th grader who took her back to her classroom and a very embarrassed teacher!

I remember a list of spelling words that came home one year…sailor, anchor, knot, ship, bosom…Bosom?! That made me do a double take! I had visions of lusty barmaids entertaining men who’d been at sea too long. Then I realized Amy’s teacher meant boson!

There was the dear teacher who announced to the class, “Had Lincoln not been assassinated, he would still be alive today!” (2002)

One year at the student talent show and bar-b-que, attended by families, friends and respectable members of the community, the local country music radio station provided the d.j. services. They played music before the show started-while people were getting their lunches and the kids were getting ready to perform. Above the chatter of the crowd I could hear the strains of “Ten Rounds With Jose Cuervo.” I could just hear the lunch servers ask, “Would you like milk or tequila with your burger?”

And I smiled remembering the junior high school age kids. They had once fought over who got to sit on my lap when I would help out in Amy's classrooms--now awkwardly holding hands with boyfriends and girlfriends.

Yes, lots of memories…

Yesterday, Amy started high school. Hard to believe that she is only 4 slots away from going off to college! As I made the chili, I must admit I had tears in my eyes. But then again, those were some pretty strong onions I was chopping.

That’s Life

There is an expression about a certain road being paved with good intentions. If that’s the case, I’ve resurfaced it several times by now. You see, I’ve been intending to to do a new blog post for the last three weeks.

I could blame it on Kona. New puppies are a lot of of work. A LOT of work! In between things like keeping Kona’s curious teeth out of trouble, (Table leg? Rawhide bone?) and cleaning up the occasional puddle, ( it’s hard to remember where the door is, or to even go to the door for that matter) she kept me on my toes.

And about those bananas that were on the kitchen table-well maybe they could have lasted another couple of days, but just to be safe I decided that I really should make banana bread NOW, and why not chop up some dried cherries and cashews to throw in while I was at it.

Then there was my garden. Ellensburg is a desert after all. That means very hot temperatures, and no rain. So we are talking about taking the time to drag the garden hose all around the yard, every day, so that all of my precious flowers and veggies wouldn’t perish.

Sometimes my best intentions went out the window because of family and friends. I helped get Amy and Stuart ready the night before their memorable father and daughter trip to Washington DC by helping get laundry done and cookies made for the airplane ride. And there was that morning walk, meant to be a quick one, so that I could get back home and take care of some loose ends. Instead, I ran into a friend who had just lost her husband last spring, and I hugged her for the longest time, right in the middle of the road, while she cried on my shoulder…

So I didn’t get a new blog post done for almost three weeks. But I’m not complaining. Because in between my best intentions, I was busy living my life. And that’s the stuff blogs are made of.

Only Fitting

Once upon a time I was a student at a smallish university in an equally smallish town and my intended major was Home Economics with a specialty in fashion design. Though this school was well known for some of its programs, fashion design was not really one of them…and no one pretended it was. When anyone asked what I planned to major in, and I told them, they would throw out the tired old line “Oh, you’re getting your M.R.S. degree!” Not exactly high praise.

What then, made my time at this particular institute of higher learning so meaningful?

Even though we learned obvious skills such as sewing and pattern making, preparing us for the larger picture of life was the more important objective. There was little talk of making it big in places like New York City or landing jobs with some major designer, because in reality that wasn’t what most of us would do. The goal was making sure that we felt good about ourselves so that we would be happy and proud of ourselves no matter where we ended up. I remember one assignment we were given to design and then make a skirt. I used a vintage drapery panel and some fringe. The resulting skirt was probably dreadful, but because of the praise I received as I modeled it for my grade, I “felt” like a designer. Another time I wore a pea soup green men’s golf sweater to class and paired it with a fuchsia scarf. Who else, but one of my gems of a professor would see the positive side and tell me that pea soup green was a difficult color to wear, but how ingenious of me to make it work by wearing the fuchsia scarf next to my face. Even mistakes were handled diplomatically. Once, when I incorrectly made up a pattern, I wasn’t told I was wrong, but instead I received the comment, “I’ve never seen anyone approach that design in quite that way before!”

I didn’t graduate from this school. I dropped out, for a variety of reasons. I eventually went back to school several years later at a much bigger and better known university. There the stakes were higher, image was everything, and if a career in the “majors” wasn’t going to happen, then there really wasn’t much point, was there? Pea soup green sweaters were a definite no no.

So why this trip down memory lane? Because once again I live in that same small town--and just a few blocks from that same ( but not quite so smallish anymore) university. And it was while living in this town, this time, that I dreamed up my little handmade barkcloth bag business, For the Love of Pete-which embodies all those important lessons I learned here as a student. That doing what I love and being proud of what I do, no matter how humble, are pretty big achievements after all. I think my old professors would approve .

Photo by Philip Gendreau