An Unexpected Gift
My mom was a generous gift giver. She specialized in matched shirts and ties for the guys, boots and sweaters for us girls, multiple gifts for everyone. And the grandchildren—American Girl dolls with all the trimmings, elaborate Lego sets, the most expensive gifts on their wish lists.
“Lists” is the operative word. She was a generous gift giver who loved nothing more than lists, with specific details of brands, colors and stores. You knew what you would get from Mom. Something really nice from your list.
One Christmas, probably 18 years ago, a good-sized package awaited me under the tree. Usually talented at guessing my presents, I couldn’t fathom what the box tagged “Love, Mom” contained. Nothing I had asked for was big.
It was the first gift I unwrapped. Wrestling it from the packaging, I discerned the words “Dickens Village” and knew it was a building from the series. Not just any building, but the limited edition house of Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations. Complete with Miss Havisham, Pip, and Estella figurines. And a copy of the novel.
The most magical gifts come from the heart–no list can identify them. I was a high school English teacher of literature. I loved to read. I collected books and Dickens Village houses. Mom had spotted the set in the basement of Marshall Fields and looked no further. Her instincts knew I would love it.
She was right. It is my most treasured gift, greater than any of my expectations.
Editor’s Note
This piece was originally published on the Storied Stuff website where you can find many stories about treasured objects from other people’s past.
Purple Lady
They were weird but fascinating. Disembodied female heads from the 1930’s/40’s with holes in their noggins for flowers. I bought one at an antique shop for my art deco bathroom. Then, I started collecting them—stylish white ladies with upswept ceramic hair, dangly faux pearl earrings and necklaces, elaborate hats, stiff “hair” eyelashes, red lips and manicured nails. One looked suspiciously like Jackie O.
Small head vases ran $60-85 from a knowledgeable dealer. Larger, unusual ones in great condition–possessing both earrings, say—sold for hundreds. My most expensive value was $125. Until one summer at Sandwich Antiques Fair….
My friend Janine summoned me: “Hey Suz, come look at this,” holding up a lovely lady with an elegant white and purple cape draped over her hair and white turtleneck, and two pearl earrings.
Her only flaw was a chip at the vase opening. She was unique, seemed like the real deal–not a reproduction. “I need another head vase like I need a hole in MY head,” I replied. We moved on. But at closing time when we walked by the booth, Purple Lady waited patiently. I got her for a mere $22.
“Antiques Roadshow” inspired, I did my research. I discovered “Rose,” a bonified head vase expert, and her extensive website. Though Purple Lady was not catalogued, I found others who could’ve been her sisters. I contacted “Rose,” sent pictures, and ultimately found the encircled “R” manufacturer’s marking. Authentic.
Weeks later, “Rose” sent the big reveal. My $22 investment was worth $450! She offered to purchase her.
The thrill of discovery. A great story. Priceless.
Editor’s Note
This piece was originally published on the Storied Stuff website where you can find many stories about treasured objects from other people’s past.
The Picture
Movies have always felt very real and personal to me.
As a young teen, I went to Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid with my dad. I sobbed at the end when the two outlaws died. Concerned by my strong emotion, dad told me sternly, “Sue you need to learn that movies are not real life, or you’re going to have a tough road ahead.”
Fast forward to 1986, when Bruce and I were on our honeymoon in St. Maarten. We had spent the afternoon in a secluded cove, snorkeling and sunning.
The scenery triggered something in my memory. A movie scene flickered to life. I could see the lovers Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr stretched out on the beach, kissing hungrily as waves washed over them.
I grabbed Bruce and told him I needed him to do something for me that required careful orchestration. Bruce allowed me to position him on the white sand, water lapping at his feet. I draped myself over him and explained, “We’re recreating a famous movie scene. No time to describe it. We need to make out.”
“Right here on the public beach?” Bruce asked.
“Yes, right here. Right now. Go!” I had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Click.
While not an exact replica of the movie shot, it’s close enough that most viewers immediately say, “OMG, that’s the famous From Here to Eternity scene!”
My best friend Suzy saw The Picture and demanded to have a copy. Movie magic made real. And an image for all eternity.
Editor’s Note
This piece was originally published on the Storied Stuff website where you can find many stories about treasured objects from other people’s past.
A Tribute to My Poem-Writing Grandma Ruby
Ruby O’Daffer Atteberry
As many of you may know, my Grandma Ruby was well known for her poems.
She had a special poetic style–enhanced when she read her poems– that was unique as she captured issues and people of the day.
So that you can better understand what I am going to share, here are some excerpts from a couple of my favorite Grandma Ruby poems, “Seat belts”(1985) and “Modern”(1978)
Seat Belts
“The seat belts must be buckled now they say
And if you don’t, a fine you will have to pay.
This has brought about much discontent.
And many letters to officials have been sent.
I am not a sage or a wise man and so I can not say
What is the right thing to do this day…
To buckle up for some is just the thing to do.
They think it is safer that way too.
But for others, when the buckles are shut
Their temperature goes no way but up.
That feel of buckling the belt is real
And they can not help the way they feel.
To be tied to a fast moving machine
Is something toward which I can not lean…
Modern
This modern living I cannot see
What seems right to others seems wrong to me.
This modern style of talk and dress
I do not understand I confess…
Motivated to Write a “Ruby Poem”
A year ago, while driving back to Chicago from Champaign, Illinois, I found myself fixated on all the windmills that harnessed the wind to create electricity.
They peppered the landscape across central Illinois. There was a grace and beauty to them, even though they were gigantic and metallic–completely unnatural in the midst of Illinois farm and prairie landscapes.
For some reason, I began thinking about Grandma Ruby and envisioning how she would react to their presence. A poem took shape in my head, crafted in the special “Grandma Ruby” style that my family had come to know and love (and sometimes lapse into, in a good-humoured way).
I grabbed a small notepad that I kept in the car, and began scribbling some random lines that I thought might reflect her sentiments.. Later, I went back and put it together as a tribute to her. Here is the result…
This Modern World
What are those giants
I think I see
Towering in the sky
On top of me?
With arms flung wide,
They spin and spin.
With graceful movements,
Harnessing the wind.
So it’s a good thing
I can see
Finding new ways to
Create electricity.
But as I look
Across the land
In my gaze
They do stand.
Rows and rows of
Silver steel
So conflicted is
How I feel.
Instead of corn stalks,
Trees, a flower,
Metallic monsters
Make me cower.
To dot the earth
with these modern things
Goes against the past
That the older folk clings.
Progress is one thing
I do believe
But the natural beauty
We must leave.
*I love you Grandma. Happy (Grand)Mother’s Day 2015.
Sue O’Daffer Thornquist