It’s been a very good week.
Your comments and stories on the giveaways were a treat. And I quote,
“How I maintained my sanity on those evenings alone with my children when my country doctor husband was out? Set a nice table for the children and me with placemats, cloth napkins, silver and candles. Silver, after all, likes to be used and I was lucky enough to inherit settings for both daily and dinner party use. Turn on some terrific music and never, never, never eat standing up or out of a container.” (Katherine)
“I was 15 at the time. My father had just lost his company, we had also lost our family home. We were living in a very shabby little council house in the U.K. My mother asked my 13 year old brother and I to vote. Either we could have a traditional Christmas dinner and all the trimmings, or gifts. We chose the meal. But on Christmas morning on my plate was a little gift. A lovely sage green eyeshadow! That’s my best gift ever.” (liz)
“The most interesting name to me seems to be “Beyond Love.” It sounds like what Porphyria’s lover might have had engraved on her tombstone. A bit sinister, actually–perhaps redolent of funeral flowers with the slightest undertone of decay.” (Staircase Witch)
“It is entirely possible that I am cheating, but I have had three favorite skirts in my time (in my family, we Remember Clothes):
1. I was very small. It was Easter and I was walking up the church sidewalk holding a basket not yet filled with eggs. The skirt of my dress was full and bright blue and covered in lace, and I had a full petticoat to fill it out. Oh, and bells. My mother had sewn bells to the petticoat so that I might jingle as I walked.
2. It was the first day of third grade. The skirt was green and black plaid, pleated and hitting just above my knees. I had a green and black striped turtleneck to match, and a cardigan with thicker green and black stripes. And green tights. And one good pair of mary janes. I was full of hope and oatmeal; the skirt flew out as I twirled. I did not yet know what the third grade would hold.
3. A high-waisted grey pencil skirt, circa 2010. For doing Important Professional Things in Boston and New York. Two pockets, no frills.” (Amanda)
“I once owned a grey fedora. No, really. It was the height of the “second British Invasion” and Duran Duran was no doubt trilling from your radio, too. My height and bone structure could carry such a thing off well and I wore the hat near constantly for 9 or so months. When it was done, it was done and I have no memory of what happened to it after. Perhaps someday I’ll find it in my parents’ attic (my people never throw anything away) and I can give it to my son should he ever have a Cary Grant phase.” (Marsha)
“There was a photo of me in a 5 x 7 frame that sat on a sideboard all of my life in my grandparents home taken when I was aprox. 3 yrs. old (I am now 41). I am in a red pea coat and have a red patent cross body strap satchel purse. My grandparents purchased for me on their 15 hour drive to the coast where they would come to visit my family. Allegedly, I would not take off said bag. To the market, park, beach it went. There are stories of me in my baby jammies tucked in bed with my bag across my body. My parents would have to come in and remove once I was asleep so as not to be a choking hazard. This went on until kindergarten where I was bribed with a back pack.” (Dana Sipes)
“The story of my bag is the story of a bag I inherited from my best friend’s family, which is like my own family. It belonged to my best friend’s grandmother, who had been extremely rich (I’m talking having the doorknobs of her house made in silver, and traveling to the north pole in the early 1900s) and had purchased it in Florence, Italy, during a trip, in the 1950s (She owned a Villa in Lago Maggiore and lived in Italy for many years).
For some reason, Florence is a city my best friend’s family always identified me with (which I consider quite an honor!) and they always told me they could picture me there and that I had to visit it. So, one day, when I was helping my best friend’s mother sort out some furniture and books, she saw this bag and gave it to me as a present, telling me she thought it was destined to be mine. I have traveled half the world with it ever since, and 2 years after that happened, I got married in Florence.
The bag is made out of brown suede, small, exquisite.” (Marcela)
There were other funny and moving stories. Many others. If you haven’t read them yet, it’s a good activity for a moment of Saturday quiet.
And what I really have to say about all this, I said in part over here, where I refer to the Practical Wedding Greek Chorus. Odysseus had nothing on us when it comes to the telling of tales. Where, I wonder, is the epic poem celebrating the clothes Greek soldiers wore, the bags they carried, and the tables at which they sat?
Have a wonderful weekend.