Peter And His Rabbit
This lithograph came from a local thrift store. The work is quirky, and it appealed to me. It is signed, Ellen Deutsch, but not dated. It is quite large for a lithograph print: 16” x 18”. The golden tans, oranges and browns of the background and boy are dramatically offset by the dark rust bunny, and bright white teeth and eyes. The framing picks up the rust color wonderfully in the matting, and the piece seems very 1970s to me. The child, a boy with noticeable teeth, clutches a much-loved stuffed bunny. It seems a portrait of a specific little boy, with a specific loved toy, however the artist simply called him “Muchacho” (Spanish for boy). She also noted this print is an “artist proof”.
The process of making a hand printed lithograph is complicated, and “artist proofs” are usually run while the artist is creating the piece to determine composition, color choices and to confirm the work has no flaws. Many artist proofs are considered the best version of an artwork as they are done first and are often the highest quality. There can be numerous “artist proofs” as the artist continues to work on the piece. The implication of an “artist proof” is that a printed and numbered series would eventually be run off, possibly for sale.
While I find him charming, I suspect there are plenty of folks who would not want him gracing their walls. To be honest, my 2-year-old granddaughter, who stays in the room where he resides, announced that she didn’t like him. I explained to her he was a bit goofy, but very harmless, and that was the end of it. She never mentioned it again, but we will see next time she comes. Wanting to understand a bit more about the piece, I began researching the artist, Ellen Deutsch.
Ellen was a well-known artist working in the Chicago area from 1976 until her death in 2019. She was born in New York in 1940, and took art classes throughout her life, but her mother insisted Art was not a career, so she studied science. She received degrees in Biochemistry, and worked for years in Pediatric genetic research, including 10 years at U of I Medical Center in Chicago. Between 1968 to 1972, she completed a master’s degree from NC State University in Biochemistry. At the same time, she was raising 3 small children, Dave (1963), Beth (1964) and Gail (1965) and was active in a University printmaking group, learning etching and linoleum printing techniques.
There is a book about Ellen Deutsch entitled “From Dark to Light With Humor” (J. Stevens, 2013) so I was able to look at her work. It seems my friend Peter most likely was created during her time in North Carolina while studying printmaking. The remainder of her oeuvre addresses women’s issues, depression, holocaust, and trauma, and have very little in common with Peter’s sweet but slightly goofy personality. I do wonder if “Peter” may actually be a work based on her eldest child, a son, who would have been between 5 and 9 while she was studying printmaking in North Carolina.
So, realistically, I should call him David, but I suspect I was attracted to him as he reminds me of one of my brothers. Peter also had unfortunate dental issues as a young boy, so the bucktooth grin speaks to me of him. Virtually nothing else about the little boy resembles my brother, but there is something appropriate for “Peter” to be carting about his “rabbit”, regardless if it is actually David.
Speaking With Dolls
My blog does not have a formal “goal”; I write as I am inspired by a variety of items, topics and memories. The hope is my ramblings will strike a chord among likeminded folks of the value of heirlooms and handmade treasures. And prompt the recording of their stories. However, the joy of the blog has been the connections I continue to make.
I enjoy the re-connection the blog inspired with a cousin in New Zealand, and seeing the fabulous heirlooms they have treasured from my Strong ancestors. In addition, another cousin, my father’s older brother’s child, has reached out to me. She is older than my siblings, the first grandchild born when my father’s brother was 20. I had not known her well growing up as I’m likely 15 years younger. It was a wonderful surprise to hear from her, and I look forward to getting to know her, as well as discover more family lore from papers she has in her possession. Sharing family heirlooms and papers makes the stories of “our” lives begin to take on different perspectives. While the ancestry may be the same, the responses to experiences can be very different. All of which helps us understand our human experience is unique, but is also shaped by the many generations before us.
This was brought home to me through a poignant note received recently from another cousin, my mother’s sister’s daughter. This cousin read my blog about mom’s knitting, prompting her introspective note. We are similar in age, and as young girls, we would spend a week each summer at each other’s home. I was always envious of her as her mother, my aunt, was a warm, funny and talkative woman; very different from my mother, Barbara Fallon Humphrey (1928-2021). While my mother imparted in me a strong sense of independence and practicality, she was not effusive emotionally. She never spoke of her father, was not physically affectionate, and insisted the idea of saying “I love you” was trite (Santa Claus too if you want to feel sorry for me. Hmmm, might explain the origins of my collection?). Of course, as I aged I began to wonder why I didn’t “have” a maternal grandfather, and it was this aunt who told me much of the story. I will not go into the sad tale, other than to say when it was determined he had a wife and 3 children living in Boston, my Catholic grandmother made him leave in the midst of the Great Depression. Sadly, my mother then became a “parentified” child as she cared for her younger sister while their mother worked. My mother grew into a very stoic and practical woman, but it seems my aunt evolved differently. My cousin’s note speaks to this:
“I …remember marveling how the same difficult and somewhat scandalous childhood yielded such different outcomes. My mother was strict but effusive in her proclamations of love; she told me often, sometimes sang it to me and hugged me every opportunity. She was however always unsure of her ability to elicit [love]. She suffered from very low self-esteem, doubted everyone’s love…and suffered a life-long fear of abandonment. She too was in awe of your mother who was “the smart, thin, pretty one”…
“I thought of these family stories somewhat recently as I looked at my new house and realized…I couldn’t pick a color for my own front door. As I stood there alarmed at how at almost 60 I didn’t know what color I liked without other people affirming my choices, I thought how the person who would understand this would be my mother. It made me think that growing up in the suburbs of Philadelphia I had inherited a story from 1930s Chicago as assuredly as I had inherited my mother’s brown eyes. Like all inheritances we need to decide what we hold onto and what we cast away, and how to take our family stories and spin them off in directions that will benefit us and our children.”
Another thing my cousin noted was recalling my mother gifting us both handmade dolls during the 1970s. She noted that “those beautiful homemade dolls…seemed to have a different origin than the woman who always seemed vaguely annoyed by my presence in her house”. Astonishingly I can completely relate to that.
Yes, I saved all those dolls. And recognize, as my cousin so wonderfully put it, that while we both descend from the same maternal grandmother, the way our mothers were affected by the trauma of their childhood had a remarkably different impact on their parenting, and thus on us. Those charming handmade dolls are a testament to me that my mother loved me and could only express that love through her handicrafts. They are quiet treasures, tokens of the ways our lives are impacted by events well beyond our own experiences. Which is, of course, the idea of heirlooms. Some are precious materials of gold, silver or gems. Others are handmade and of no value whatsoever, except to those who know what they are saying.
An Angel Among Men
My husband often grumbles I pick up “female” art (see blog post “Biased Against Boys, 11/2/2023”), so it is appropriate my collection of male art takes over our home during December. I have gathered many Santa Claus statues, made in a remarkable number of mediums -wood, paint, paper, needlework, cloth, papier-mâché, gourds, and clay -but all handmade. These treasures were found mostly at local thrift shops, but a few came from estate sales or were made by me. I recently learned St. Nicholas, as Santa is formally known, is also the patron saint of brewers. As my hubby enjoys beer brewing, these fellows feel all the more appropriate. My husband now has his patron saint watching over our home all of December.
In addition, a bevy of snowmen grace our bookshelves. I have never parted with a snowman project made by my children, mostly from their school days. My collection is a bit tattered, and unfortunately not expanding (no more school art projects and all that). I am hoping a new generation of family members will gift their Nana some handmade additions to my male snow club (though we are nondiscriminatory and would be happy to add a female snowperson). Thankfully these snowmen are non-perishable, though there is one ceramic fellow who insists on losing his arm rather frequently. Some years I simply display him sans limb, but some years I glue the misplaced appendage back in place. My oldest son would bet you money this snowman was made by his younger brother, and while I actually don’t know, I also don’t want to find out. The joke in our family is my eldest son claims to have not an artistic gene in his body (I’m not so sure) and takes great offense that his younger brother’s art is treasured while his is not. This is not true, but I love the laughter that ensues. So Sans Limb Snowman will remain unattributed, but fortunately limbed (for now).
There is one lovely Angel residing in our home. It was made using a vintage quilt and real feathers, and is signed “Henny Curtis, 1994”. I picked her up at a flea market and she resides atop our tree each year. Other than this angel and a few treasures, most of these pieces are not signed. I often wonder why families part with such works of art, and it is sad to lose the stories behind their creation. But, clearly, my love language is to make gifts, so I appreciate the time and skill that went into these creations. I happily give them a home, and enjoy their uniqueness. But not to worry, there is a woman in charge: Angel Henny, sitting up on our tree, keeps an eye on those somewhat tipsy fellows lounging about the house.
Currently two-armed but one eyed snowman
Knitting Our Love Together
These sweaters are a testament to the incredible art my mother (Barbara Fallon Humphrey 1/4/1928 to 1/24/2021) could knit. They were made for my daughter, who was her first granddaughter. While my mother had 7 children, four of them daughters, I am the only daughter who in turn had a daughter. This means that my mother’s line of mtDNA is continued on through my daughter with a direct line back to the Mitochondrial Eve.
To explain this theory (per my not very medically savvy perspective) the genetic material you carry in your nuclear DNA is a merger between your mother’s and father’s DNA. This is referred to as mtDNA, and is essentially derived from your mother - your father’s DNA powered the sperm to get you started. This means that mtDNA is inherited solely from the maternal line; only the mother's side survives in our DNA from generation to generation. Research has traced our mtDNA back to a single woman about 200,000 years ago. A mother who gives birth only to sons will see her mtDNA lineage lost.
My mother, in turn, carried forward her mother’s mtDNA as her sister, my aunt, had a daughter who only had sons. My paternal grandmother only had sons, so her line has ended, as her mother (my paternal great grandmother) was an only daughter as was my grandmother. I like to think about the poetry of this weaving of cells and creation as I look at my mother’s amazing knitted art.
Mom told me that as a young girl in Chicago, she rode her bike to the Marshall Field’s Department Store on State Street to learn to knit. (I love the fact that the old Fields had a knitting department.) The women there taught her to make mittens – mind you she was likely 12. Two friends I was telling this to were aghast - not because as a 12-year-old she traveled alone to Fields, but because they’ve knit for years and still haven’t tried to make a pair of mittens! From there, mom found a passion and created unbelievable works of art in yarn. That said, my mother’s ability to communicate her love with words was not a strength of hers, and she and I had a fractious relationship when I was younger.
In 1992 I visited my parents with my husband and baby son. During the visit I struggled with how disengaged my parents were. As a new mother, I couldn’t understand why they did not join on walks, trips to the beach or bedtime rituals. This upset me, but when I returned home, I realized my mom expressed her love through the things she made for my son – a sweater and Easter bunny toy as I recall. I sent her a package – likely with photos and Frango Mints from Marshall Field’s -with a note where I expressed this. She wrote back:
5-13-92
Dear Erica,
All the goodies arrived today, and I must say your letter made me proud of you! Your comments about me were very mature; I don’t believe I was that far along in my twenties. You are right that I’m not emotionally expressive. It has to do with the culture I grew up in, and it must have suited my nature since I have found it hard to change. I have always sensed that you and [a sister] particularly needed more affection than I was able to give, but I’m sure all of you [siblings] would have benefited.
I love you very much, and you’re lucky to have [your husband] and your beautiful baby boy. It struck a real chord when you described me as doing things for the one’s I loved; my mother was identical in her expressions. Your nature is such you can do both!
As I’ve aged, I have come to understand the threads that connect my mother and grandmother to me. While I have worked hard to express with words my love to my family, it is not always easy to overcome the genetic predispositions we inherit. Some is nurture certainly, but there is definitely a common thread running through my line, desiring to make things of beauty and gift those things. Often that gift is the best way we can express our love. Now people recognize “love languages” more so than they did as I grew up, but a love language, it seems, can also be inherited.
My relationship with Mom healed as I got older, and I know she relied on me for support as she aged. I still have many of the sweaters she made for me and my children, and these two are hanging in my sewing room. Much like sweaters, our memories from our ancestors can unravel – each generation loses a bit of the stories and details of prior generations. To keep these stories alive, we often keep family heirlooms. But there, too, the stories connecting them to us disappear over time. While we appreciate that these things came from distant relatives, the memories begin to grow holes. Unless it is written down. So, write down the stories behind your cherished belongings – do not rely on told stories as they fade or become confused. Do not lose the lineage of your family heirlooms to time. These treasures are our link to history, and a touchstone to the weaving of our genetic inheritance.
Lucky Cricket
I have been thinking of my mom of late (Barbara Fallon Humphrey 1928-2021) and likely because of a prior blog where I discussed my predilection for trashy novels. Mom would be appalled as she was a huge reader, but only read “important” books. It took me a good portion of my adult life to realize I really didn’t have to ONLY read serious books – and reading trashy novels is my version of binge watching a tv series, or eating a whole bag of potato chips. Not necessarily harmful and a good distraction when life gets a tad too intense.
I recalled two sterling silver bookmarks were among the family heirlooms, and I went to hunt them down. I don’t think I ever knew their history, but somehow ended up with them. After some elbow grease, it turns out one has my father’s maternal Grandmother’s initials (MLB = Margaret LeBoutillier 1874-1903) with a charming cricket in raised design. (Is anyone else annoyed that the cricket is facing one way and the initials the other?!) I suspect this was in The Box my parents had of family papers and memorabilia but migrated – as crickets are wont to do – to my bedside table. Thankfully he is a very quiet cricket, as compared to those that set up house in our basement.
The other was a bit more surprising. It has my mom’s initials BFH so post 1955, after her marriage to my father. Oddly though, the marking on the back says “S. Kirk and Son” which is an old sterling designer from the 1800s. I am guessing mom found it antiquing as she was often poking about at thrift, consignment and antique stores. Anyone guessing where my training came from?! I have memories of scouring The Rose Door and Darien Thrift Shop with her as a child, and on a recent trip back to Darien it turns out the thrift store is still in the same old house on the main street.
I suspect Mom treated herself to the bookmark and had it engraved. It is also possible my mom appropriated an unengraved silver piece from the family heirlooms and had it marked for herself. I remember she found a Tiffany’s gold stickpin with large cabochon sapphire in the box of heirlooms, and had a jeweler in Pittsburg fashion a ring out of it. Sadly, the value of the Tiffany’s piece is long gone, and while the ring was worn by my mom, I suspect the jeweler kept the gold marked stickpin as it was likely valuable. Mom really had no sense of sentimentality – and while I can be irked by her behavior, it really is a product of her childhood practicality.
My mother’s childhood was not an easy one. She was raised with her younger sister during the Great Depression in Chicago by a single mother. My grandmother Freda Hermes Fallon (1898-1961) had no high school education, and was abandoned by her bigamist husband (there’s a sad tale) to raise her 2 children alone. She got a job through the machinations of a brother who was a judge, and she taught sewing in a Chicago school. During the 1930s, they lived with her older sister, Aunt Frances and her family. Mom had wonderful stories of Aunt Frances, and was close to her older cousins, but she had to work from a young age, and put herself through college in Chicago. Her marriage to my father in 1955 changed her means significantly, though Mom was never able to change her frugal habits.
While my paternal great grandmother’s life story was tragic, my mother’s was one with a happy ending. She and my father were married over 50 years, traveled the world, raised 7 children, and volunteered in many ways to improve other’s lives. So really, the cricket book mark should have been Mom’s as she was one lucky lady. And I suspect Mom too would have insisted the initials and the cricket go in the same direction!
Calder’s Rewarding Circus
I suspect you all have a memory from childhood that has remained with you, impacting your life in unexpected ways. For me, seeing the Calder Circus exhibition at the Whitney Museum in New York in 1972 is one such memory. Alexander Calder(1898-1972) created his whimsical performing circus in 1926, composed of 55 interactive sculptures. A film done in 1961, “Calder’s Little Circus” shows him performing the circus and is a treat to watch (be forewarned his language is hard to understand). He offered his work to the Whitney in 1970, and the museum hosted a once only show of the entire circus. Now the works are too fragile to be displayed, and have not been on view since then.
Calder was an American born artist who lived both in France and Connecticut. He was educated as a mechanical engineer, and during his young adulthood, he lived in Paris. There he became fascinated with a circus, modeling his interactive circus art on many of the performers he befriended. He would use this circus for many years as entertainment – “performance art” well before the idea even existed. He also famously created the mobile, and all mobiles you see today are descendants of his creation. He was a prolific artist, and created a huge amount of sculptures, domestic tools, jewelry, wire art, mobiles, and paintings. (The foundation for his work www.Calder.org has many wonderful examples.)
I purchased a poster at that 1972 show of his lion inside its boxcar, and that work hung in my bedroom during my childhood.
We had just purchased our current home in 1999, a large farm house originally built by Quaker Oats, when I found this original Circus lithograph by Calder and purchased it. This piece became the focal point of our family room. Over the years I have added artwork and furniture to compliment the lithograph’s 1970s vibe and colors, and many thrift store and flea market items have found a home by the Calder.
Starting in 1999, I worked with a group of women to create a “Famous Artists” volunteer program for our elementary school. We were colloquially referred to as the “Art Moms”. Many of the women were keen on including Impressionist artists which were very popular at the time. At a certain point I put my foot down and insisted we needed to include Calder, among a few other artists (Vermeer, Mondrian, Rembrandt!). I located another print of the lion poster from the Whitney show, and this work still hangs and is used in the local schools to introduce the students to Calder’s artwork.
While I really cannot know what impact those lessons had on over twenty years of students, I recently was at a book club meeting where the topic of Art Moms came up. A younger member was discussing a quick trip to Paris with her adolescent son. The weather had been awful so they spent time in some of the many museums in Paris. She mentioned how astonished she was that her son knew a great deal about many works of art. When she asked, he said he had learned all about them in his elementary classes with the “Art Moms”. Dang was I touched, and while she had no idea I had been instrumental in that education, I felt my efforts were well rewarded!
Ties That Bind Us
My father had passed away in 2010, and I could not bring myself to throw out his ties. My father wore suits and ties for work, and had a lovely collection. Dad had no sense of color due to colorblindness, and I was amused when I learned how he managed this handicap. My mother, unable to deal with his style disasters, organized his closet such that the ties and suits rotated to coordinate. A sophisticated version of “Granimals”!
I wanted to use the ties to make a gift for my mother, and settled on this kimono pattern. My parents had a great love for Asian art, and had taken many trips to the Far East, including a 1981 trip to China. Using my Dad’s ties, with only a slight amount of additional silks, I created this wall hanging.
I recently found a treasure trove of ties at the thrift shop. I often pick up ties as my husband wears them to work, and I suspect he has the most spectacular tie collection in town. While I look for those he can wear, I sometimes snag ties simply for the amazing silk fabrics! Today I ended up with 9, and boy are these stunning. I will sell some online, but others hubby will enjoy wearing. He’s a bit concerned the “boxers” (Italian Bugatti, far left) might be a tad risqué for his office, but he’s willing to see how they are received.
I confess I’m itching to make a quilt with these! Sewing with the silk from ties is not easy, but the lush fabric and patterns are enticing. Before you can use them, you need to wash, disassemble, and then iron them with interface or starch, which is a bit of a process. In addition, the silk used in tie construction is on the bias (a sewing term I’ll let you look up) and adds another challenge. If you find a tie from the 1970s or 80s you love, you’ll be in luck as those puppies can be WIDE, sometimes 6” wide, which can result in a lot of usable fabric. I have made a number of silk quilts besides the one for my mother.
When my grandfather “Pop-pop” Osborne died in 1997, I requested his ties. Pop-pop was actually my father’s stepdad, though he was always my grandfather, and was a lovely man. My paternal grandmother had died in 1987, and we continued to visit with Pop-pop and his two daughters whenever we were in Sarasota. Using Pop-pop’s ties, I made three quilts as gifts for these two aunts and my father. The photos are not great, but one was using red and yellow ties, one dark blues and the final one (not shown) all striped ties. The backgrounds are silk as well. I believe my Dad’s was gifted to a close “cousin” who resided next to my parents for years in Sarasota.
Making an art quilt wall hanging with ties is a labor of love - the process is complex, yes, but the work represents a loved one’s history and tastes. It is a special way to honor someone, and a joy to create.
The Roots Of My Tree
My dive into the ancestry rabbit hole started in 1987 when I inherited this cross-stitch piece. It was in a box of family heirlooms my parents were cleaning out, and I was doing cross-stitch at the time. Cross-stich “samplers” were done by young girls as a way to learn sewing. Some of the stitching is traditional “cross-stitch” while others are more complex. This piece was done on hand-loomed linen fabric with naturally colored thread. While some of these works could be extremely fancy, with detailed pictures, this one is more simple. It depicts the alphabet (no “J”!), numbers, strawberry vines and “Eliza Hutchinson Hir Sampler 1789” done in stitching. I had it professionally framed in archival material and it is displayed in our home.
The question, at the time, was who was Eliza Hutchinson? Clearly she was alive in 1789, but our knowledge of the family tree did not include a Hutchinson family. So, I began to dig through the boxes of family papers. My research included a trip with a friend to the Newberry Library in Chicago, as well as an Antiques Roadshow filming (they indicated it was worth around $2000 in 1996).
As I began to trace my ancestry, I drafted a somewhat unusual tree – I started with my father, and worked backwards, with only parents noted (with dates when known). The result looks more like the roots of a tree, showing the line of my ancestry through my dad going back into the 1600s. It is a remarkably useful chart, and I refer to it often when doing family research.
The first problem I needed to tackle was if the cross-stitch came down from the Strong family (my paternal grandmother) or the Humphrey side (my paternal grandfather). The two collections had merged over the years, and so it was unclear. The papers I have from the Humphrey family indicate they were living in Michigan in the early 1800s, and the Antique Roadshow folks felt the piece was from New England, likely New York or New Jersey. Thus, the Strong side.
Researching genealogy in the early days of the internet was not as easy as it is today. No “23 and Me” or data bases readily available. However, the Church of Latter-Day Saints was – and still is – a huge source of genealogy information. Between contacting distant relatives, and requesting data from the Church, I was able to locate a Hutchinson family on our tree! Anne B. Hutchinson (1786-1830) married John C. Schenck. She is my 6th great grandmother.
You likely noticed her name is Anne and not Eliza. Research uncovered that Anne had an older sister Eliza, who died in 1813 at the age of 33 without children. Eliza was 9 when she made the cross-stitch. Anne was 27 when Eliza died and she saved her sister’s sampler. Anne then passed it down to her son William Schenck (1817-1903). He in turn gave it to his daughter Adeline Schenck (1844-1935). And on down to my great grandfather Benjamin Strong (1872-1926), my grandmother Katherine Strong (1904-1987) and then to my father (1927-2010). I find it interesting that this path went from Anne to son-daughter-son-daughter-son and then to me (1963)! I will give this to my son (1991) to pass on to our granddaughter (2021) – she will be the 9th generation to care for the work of Eliza Hutchinson, a woman whose roots live on in my family tree.
Elephants on My Mind
I purchased this large photograph in 1984 from a high school friend. We were both in New York at the time – he was studying photography and I had a summer internship at Chemical Bank. He brought his portfolio to a lunch date at the bank’s fancy lunch room, and I immediately loved this one. This is a hand printed photograph, measuring 20” square. For those of you who are not familiar with photography “in the olden days”, this was a much different process than the “pull out your phone and take a pic” option we all resort to nowadays.
The first step was to utilize an SLR (single lens reflex) camera with a roll of black and white film. The quality of the lens was very important, thus good photography required expensive equipment – some of the lenses could be thousands of dollars. Next, settings needed to be adjusted on the camera to consider the amount of light, the length of time for the exposure, and the focus. Once this was done, the film was developed in the dark room – lots of chemicals, absolutely NO outside light and a bit of hope that you captured the image you wanted. Once the film was shot and developed, you could not make changes to the images, as we often do now.
The next step is the printing process. A dark room is just that – completely dark. Any exposure to light will damage the film or printing, so all this work will be done under a red light. Not clear why that doesn’t affect the process, but I’m not well enough versed on the issue to explain. To print a negative, the artist must make decisions regarding the time the film is exposed to the paper, the length of time it soaks in the various baths needed to affix it, and the size of the finished work. In this case, producing a photograph that is 20” square requires equipment large enough to handle the paper.
My friend told me the photo was taken at the Bronx Zoo at the elephant enclosure. As a child, our summers included visits to Playland in Rye, NY and the Bronx Zoo. While I understand the old “cage” style of zoos was not pleasant for the animals, I loved those trips (not so much Playland as the rides made me ridiculously motion sick). The elephants were always my favorite, and this photograph brought those memories back. It also started me on my collecting “circus theme” journey, including a wonderful Calder lithograph of the circus. We will visit Calder another day!
It should be noted that my friend is a professional photographer in Maine, James R. Solomon Photography: https://www.salomonphoto.com/
Serendipity Strikes
I picked up these two pieces of art at a thrift store in Illinois recently, and was intrigued by them. These works are not reproduced prints, but instead water colored (or washed) over a penned drawing. The style seemed old and the design struck me as either southern or Caribbean, though an internet search for “Walker and 1960” did not reveal anything. (I was not able to read the first name on the works). I loved them anyway, and put them up in my home, framed as they were in 1980s peach!
Three months later, on another thrift store outing, I came across a picture that was very similar in style but done at a later date. As it did not appeal to me I didn’t buy it, but on the back of the frame there was a write up about the artist. Bingo! Now I was able to research the artist and boy what a lovely journey I’ve taken, all while sitting at my home in chilly Illinois!
Jill Walker is much beloved in the Caribbean, both for her art and for the art community she created. Much of her work depicts buildings and scenes of life in Barbados that have been lost. After her death in 2021, her family continued her work at the Best of Barbados (https://best-of-barbados.com/) and maintain an archive of her art (viewable at https://jillwalkerart.com/).
I began an email correspondence with her daughter, and she was excited to see such well-preserved works of her mother’s. In the archives, she discovered versions of the same artwork. She explained her mother would draw a scene, then make a few prints of the inked design (unclear how these prints were reproduced in 1960). Then Walker would watercolor the scene, which meant each one was unique. There are differences between our two versions, and it is fun to review them to spot these changes. Her daughter was unable to determine which set is the original “drawing” and which was the inked and water colored printed one. The ones in the archives had hung in the family’s Barbados home for years and are rather damaged. Those I have were framed in the 1980s in Florida and are in very good condition.
Fascinating how two pieces of art made in Barbados in the 1960s, framed in Florida in likely the 1980s ended up in Illinois in the 2020s. I feel like I could make up that story but I will leave it to everyone’s imagination!
Patently Confounded
This quirky silver telescoping “thing” has been a mystery to a few generations of my family. It belonged to my paternal grandmother’s family, and was passed down in a box of heirlooms to my parents. They had no idea what it was, and while they got rid of a number of items in the box, I suspect this one survived the purge simply because it was small and quirky. There has been much speculation about its purpose.
The only markings on the piece state “patent approved” which are remarkably unhelpful. The silver is beautifully worked, and the “wand” telescopes to extend in length. While polishing it the other day, I discovered the end piece actually twists off, revealing a small hook on the bottom. Mind you, the entire mechanism is done in silver, including the twisting screw parts and bottom loop. But the why of the loop only adds to the mystery. The other thing of note is the “prongs” are wrapped in leather and are the only part of the piece done in smooth silver, not highly worked with design.
So, any ideas? My parents thought it was for holding opera glasses but I don’t get that vibe. The glasses would have been more valuable and no such item survived. (See my blog about the 14k reading glasses from the same family!) Knowing it came from my very blue-blooded great grandfather Benjamin Strong, I wonder if it was designed for some type of voting. Possibly to use during a large meeting? “Aye” and “Nay” cards slipped onto the end and waved in the air at the appropriate moment? Another thought would be for using it to signal interest during an auction, extending the wand to catch the eye of the auctioneer? But why the leather? And the odd internal hook? And yes, I used Google image search and it too was stumped.
Why anyone would need a sterling silver telescoping wand is beyond me. But, then again, the entire thing is beyond me. I know from my NZ cousin that his family still has a sterling flatware set specifically for eating fruit, a Tiffany’s Deco sterling smoking set and a solid sterling jewelry box (among many other items) all from the same great grandfather’s family. So I am guessing having a fancy telescoping wand to vote or bid at auction may not have seemed unusual in his well off days in New York City in the 1920s. Anyone who can solve the mystery will receive absolutely nothing but my undying gratitude!
Sooooo...you know that saying "mother's always right"...well I think she was! I received a number of interesting suggestions but I actually think "Victorian opera glass holder" is correct. Found one that shows the holder end also with leather, which fits onto the nose bridge of the glasses. I've put a screenshot photo up to show how it worked. You can search "Victorian sterling silver opera glasses with removable handle" to see the original 1st dips listing.
I recall my mother used a lovely little pair of opera glasses that were in a leather box, and now suspect those may have been the ones for the wand to connect to. No idea where those went off to unfortunately.
Kinky Cords
I have been thinking about my 1970s childhood recently, which may explain why I was attracted to this wonderful collage picture. I bought it on eBay for around $75, and it is signed Emelyn Herman. Notice the old phone with a kinky cord. Mind you, these were a vast improvement from the wall mounted ones we had for years in our kitchen. This style actually had buttons instead of a rotary dial! We called them “touch tones” and I remember each number made a unique sound, such that when you dialed the number it made a consistent, melodious tune. The other upgrade from the wall phone of my childhood, was this style was portable! I mean, slightly portable by modern standards, but the jack into the wall had a long cord and the phone itself had a kinky cord connecting the handset to the base. None of the phones in my childhood home would have reached my bedroom, so I often lay on the dining room floor with the kitchen door closed as I chatted with friends.
For those of you with phones in your pockets, I promise dealing with these cords was the bane of our teenage lives – you had to STRETCH the darn thing into another room so you could close the door and gab away in privacy. The problem was the cord did not return to its nice coiled self all that often - the loops would get stretched and twisted, creating quite a lumpy mess that was a pain to unkink. And heaven forbid the phone was too far away when it rang - you’d have to run to get it before the person hung up. Hard to believe, I know, but the person could let the phone ring indefinitely as we did not have answering machines until much later. You wouldn’t know how long the caller would wait to hang up so it was a mad dash to get to the phone every time it rang. No caller id either - so no awareness ahead of time as to whether you wanted to answer. Thankfully telemarketers did not exist in my childhood.
As I think of it, I realize my children are likely the last generation to have “home phones”. As the phone evolved, these were portable hand sets, with bases including answering machines. The main problem was the portable handset could become separated from the base, and then dear god, trying to figure out where it was as it rang was quite the process!
Back to Emelyn Herman’s artwork. The composition is wonderful. Notice the visual lines drawing your eye towards the girl’s face – set against the white pillow. Her bent knee and quirked arm create two triangles, which are offset by all the rectangles – the mattress, white window curtain, blue wall. We will gloss over the odd tummy section (as a 60+ woman I can relate to odd tummy sections) – not clear if it’s due to a deterioration of some element of the composition, or a small pup curled up on her middle. The “wall art” behind her – the all-American football player, and romantic traveling couple – are curious additions. Note the placement of the clouds and word “Escape” directly above the girl’s head.
The old wood bed is very similar to the one I had during my teen years. It was another family heirloom, quite old and the finials were carved into pineapples. I did not have a handmade quilt, but the girl’s quilt is one I would have loved! The patchwork is composed of torn pieces of various papers. The artist has made sure to utilize all the colors from the artwork, making a visually appealing quilt that unifies the entire piece.
Well done Emelyn Herman whoever you were!
Stop The Press: It’s A Print!
Much of the art you find thrifting is reproduction, usually inexpensive prints of works from museums or art work over 70 years (when it is considered in the public domain). Sometimes, however, you can find fantastic pieces of original art. This artwork is from the 1750s (I kid you not) and is essentially the “museum reproduction” of its day. I was practically vibrating when I came across it, and snatched it up for a few dollars.
What people refer to as a “print” today can mean many things. Most of the works you find at thrift stores are printed by machine, and if you look at one closely with a magnifying glass, you can see the “Ben Day dots”. As defined by MOMA, these are: “An inexpensive mechanical printing method developed in the late 19th century … [using] small colored dots (typically cyan, magenta, yellow, and black) that are variously spaced and combined to create shading and colors in images.” This process is what your home printer does when you print a colored image, and how most art reproductions are created. And note that a “giclée print” is basically a fancy ink jet reproduction.
Then there is the actual process called “print making”. While the art created is also called a “print”, these are works created by an artist using a number of different “print making” techniques. The oldest styles are Woodcut, Engraving (also known as intaglio) and Etching. More contemporary styles are Aquatint, Monotype, Lithography and Screen-printing.
This work was done by Gilles-Antoine Demarteau (1722-1776) and it is an engraving print. He was a well-known engraver working in Paris in the mid 1700s. The majority of his work depicts famous artworks by Francois Boucher (1703-1770), and this “Woman and Child Before a Fireplace” is one. In fact, the original artwork by Boucher is now only known through these etchings, as is common in art history when art is lost or damaged. Prior to photography, the only way artists could “see” artwork from afar was to have a printed version, much like we would pick up at an art exhibit. But at the time, creating a “printed version” took the skills of a different artist.
This print is over 250 years old and predates the American Revolution! And I found it at a thrift shop for only a few dollars, already framed in archival material. The topic is, of course, one I love from my Dutch art history – a woman and child in a domestic setting. How lucky am I?! It has pride of place in our living room.
Naked Body Parts Indeed!
I found this painting at a church rummage sale a few years back. I spotted her across the room, and snagged her for $50. It’s not clear to me how the work was painted, though the wonderful frame was clearly created for it. It is not dated or signed, but i would guess it was done in the 1950s. The paint is thick , creating a raised outline of her body. While the figure is unclothed, the artist created an impression of her body without obvious detail. Our eyes recognize it is of a naked woman, but the beauty of it is in its simplicity. Every time I see her I recall a time when I took children on a field trip to the Art Institute in Chicago.
In 2000 I, with a team of women, created an elementary school volunteer art program we called Famous Artists. The premise was to introduce students to well know artwork with a hands-on art project in the artist’s style. One of the highlights was a 5th grade class field trip to the Art Institute, where many of the works we introduced over the years were hanging (Lichtenstein, Monet, Mondrian, Moore, O’Keefe, Picasso, Renoir, Seurat, Van Gogh, Warhol, Wood).
Even when my children were not in the 5th grade, I would participate as I enjoyed the trips. It was interesting to see the varied reactions from the students – some could care less and others were very engaged. Some docents were inspiring, others boring as all heck. One year my group got stuck with a docent in training, and the woman refused to deviate from her assigned “little children” talk. The 5th graders were bored, and as soon as possible I extricated us from her tour.
At that point there was time left to explore and I asked what the students wanted to do. A group was interested in going to see the Thorne Miniatures (amazing detailed houses). Another group, all boys actually, asked if I would tour them around the museum to see works we had not seen on our childish tour. In a prior year, I had been with a group of students where the girls in the group were remarkably squeamish (and vocal) about seeing art with naked imagery (something that is hard to avoid in a large museum). And so, I asked this group of boys how they felt about “naked body parts”. Hmmm, they replied, naked body parts? Yes, I said, I would be happy to walk around with them and discuss art, but I was not keen on hearing silly comments about art with naked bodies. Well, they decided, that was absolutely fine, and off we went on probably my most memorable tour with students! We had a ball, they were remarkably curious (not about body parts) and we got to see the art they had studied.
And so, this piece always makes me chuckle – naked body parts indeed!
Treasures By Marcella
One of the wonderful things about art is that pieces can inspire emotions and memories, regardless of the artist’s original intent. Sometimes a story or memory unspools in my mind, and I am inspired to research both the work and my memories. The works of Marcella Lewin are a prime example.
I first came across a “Marcella Lewin” collage a few years ago and loved its charm(for those of you who know me, you won’t be surprised that it was of a pink house!) Turning to the internet, I discovered her originals sell for well over $500, beyond my thrifting price bracket. I was curious about her, however, and read she is a “listed” Chicago artist. As I have absolutely no idea what “list” this refers to, I dug deeper.
Marcella was born in 1918 in Muscatine, Iowa. In 1946 and 1947 she exhibited artwork in the Art Institute of Chicago, though it is unclear if she was a student there. Both pieces were titled “North Side Scene” and were priced $85 and $100 (this is equivalent to $1350 in today’s dollars so not as inexpensive as it first seems).
I also came across a charming photo of her at an art fair in Chicago c.1960 in the Chicago Historical Society archives. She married Otto Senz and she died in 2004 in Chicago. No answer regarding the “listed artist” notation.
Forward a few years to a recent thrift store outing where I found this artwork of a Victorian style house done in greens and yellows. I snatched it off the wall, paid $35 and left with a pounding heart. I realized what a rare treasure it was! An original Marcella Lewin, framed and in great condition. The details of the house are amazing, and it is both painted and collaged. There seems to be wallpaper and paper doilies involved! The colors are straight out of the 1970s.
The best part of the story is that a friend was so intrigued by my find she wanted to visit the same shop. The next day we ventured off, and while there, I came across ANOTHER piece by Marcella Lewin – this amazing hand drawn carousel and street scene. Framed as is it cost me $10. I could hardly believe my luck! Check out the amazing details!
Carousels have always been special to me, and I recently did some internet searching to recall childhood details. When I was about 6 we moved to upstate New York near the city of Binghamton. To quote the City of Binghamton’s website about this wonderful story:
“Between 1919 and 1934, George F. Johnson (1857-1948)…donated six beautiful carousels to [Binghamton]…He felt carousels contributed to a happy life and would help youngsters grow into strong and useful citizens. Because of his own poor childhood, “George F.” believed carousels should be enjoyed by everyone and insisted that the municipalities never charge money for a magic ride.
Now, into their tenth decade, these magnificent machines still spin from Memorial Day to Labor Day at no charge …In a day when nothing is free, we boast the world’s greatest entertainment bargain!”
No wonder I have many childhood memories of riding wonderful old carousels as I suspect my parents took us to these free rides many times over the two years we lived there. Unclear if it assisted me in my strength and usefulness, however.
So back to my two Marcella Lewin treasures.
During my childhood in the 1960s, it was legal for banks to refuse loans and credit to unmarried women, or require a husband’s permission for married applicants. In addition, a married woman, into the 1970s, could not own property independently of her husband, including bank accounts, unless they had signed a special contract.
One thing that was important to my mom was that she had her own money. Starting in the early 1960s, my father actually PAID her a salary for her work raising 7 children. When the time came for our family to move from Binghamton, NY to Darien, CT my mother argued that the house should be in her name as she did all the work to find, move and decorate the house. Dad agreed – again very unusual for 1970 - and our Darien home was held in my mother’s name only. From then on Mom owned the real estate, and made all the decisions regarding where they lived. She was very proud to have her own assets, and felt strongly that women needed independence.
When I see the charming yellow house by Marcella Lewin, I think of my mom who insisted her worth be recognized. Certainly, my father enabled this, both with his successful career, but also with his understanding of my mother’s need for financial independence. The Carousel artwork also harkens back to that pivotal time in my mom’s life, when her 7 children rode antique wooden rides in town parks in the 1960s. Those rides have remained with me, inspiring my love of circus and carousels, and bring positive memories with them.
I hope others will find a treasured Marcella Lewin artwork and share the memories they inspire. Her work deserves to be recognized!
Mussolini Was Missing
Yes, we’re discussing THAT Mussolini, though I confess this is a “family heirloom” story. And honestly probably my least favorite heirloom, but the kids think it’s cool, so there you go.
My parents gave me the large box of our family papers, photos, books, etc at least 35 years ago. My mother made sure to point out there was a memento in the container signed by Mussolini for my great grandfather Benjamin Strong (1871-1926). The document is a menu from a financial meeting held in Rome in May, 1926, with a beautiful etching on the cover. Research indicates it is of the Mausoleum of Hadrian done by Giovanni Battista Piranesi (1720-1778), though it is unclear how the image was reproduced for the menu.
A few years later, Mom asked me about the autograph, and I could not find the darn thing. Damnedest thing – I knew I hadn’t thrown it away, but it was missing. This prompted a major “organize the files and papers” effort, but it never turned up. The Mussolini signature remained missing ever since.
A few months back my daughter expressed interest in all the family memorabilia – she didn’t have to ask me twice! I was giving her a quick rundown of the files, photos and books. As I pulled a book off the shelf (Benjamin Strong Central Banker, L. Chandler, 1956 – not a riveting book) out fluttered a paper. Lo and behold Mussolini had hit the floor!
It took me a bit to determine what had happened. The book contained a paragraph about Strong’s meeting with Mussolini in Italy in 1926 and thus I must have left the autographed document in the book when I read it over 30 years ago!
So here you go – Mussolini and the blurb from the book for reference. The only saving grace for my not favorite heirloom is my great grandfather certainly recognized the danger Mussolini posed.
Transforming the House
Sometimes when I pick up a treasure, I’m not exactly sure what I will do with it. This handmade pottery house was an estate sale find from a week ago ($2 -I kid you not). I have no idea what the house was designed for, though I suspect it was a student’s project from many years ago. It has an open roof in back, which is useful to carry it as it weighs 9 pounds! But no clear idea as to why. Note the fabulous details: the sagging roof line; impression of brick work; window boxes with plants and the front doorknob! The colors and details appealed to me, so I brought it home. I kept moving it around our house -until it finally landed here. And suddenly it made sense!
Husband will comment as various treasures migrate around the house, and recently noted that this photograph has remained in the same spot for many years. It is an original one by Roland Reed (1864-1934) from 1910. I picked it up at an estate sale in the 1990s for my husband, as he read a great deal about Native American history, and appreciates their culture. The dealer threw it in for free with the other things I bought that day.
Roland Reed was among a number of “pictoralists” who wanted to depict the Indian’s way of life before they were forced into reservations, instead of recording what the reality of their lives were like at the turn of the last century. He worked with a large format 11x17 camera and produced 180 glass plate negatives (there’s a gallery dedicated to his work in Steamboat Springs, CO). The photograph is titled “Meditation” and notes the tribe is Piegan, a Plains Indian tribe. Current value of an original seems to be $2,000.
The charming clay house now resides beneath Meditation. The colors of the two are similar, and the photo and house seem to belong together. There are many connotations to this juxtaposition, some positive and some not so much. The house represents “home”, and for the American Indians that “home” was taken away. Yet, we all desire a “home” whether in physical structure, or mental construct, and this land, once inhabited by Native Americans, has become our home.
Recently I took a trip east to visit two of my childhood homes; the house from my early years in Chappaqua, NY and the one in Darien, CT from adolescence. Walking through the Chappaqua house was remarkable, as the feeling was one of awareness – I KNEW the place even though I could not have described it well before-hand. The memories were from my very young childhood (about 4 to 6) and I greatly enjoyed revisiting them. This home has been lovingly maintained, and the sense that the current owners respect the home and its history was a joy. The second home I visited on that trip was a very different story. This was the house I lived in through my adolescence, and the current owners had transformed the house such that it was almost unrecognizable. The shell was the same, but literally windows were gone, structures were added, walls moved around, and all redesigned and glamorized. I respect that people can make their mark on their properties as they desire, but, as a person looking back into memories, it is jarring to walk through.
I sense the Piegans in the photograph might feel much the same way. I cannot speak for them, and the tragedy of their history is not one I can address here. However, I treasure both the photograph for its glimpse into the past, and the clay house for its determination to weather all the storms life has thrown at it.
A Horse of Course!
My daughter has loved horses since she was a child. She recently began using her talent for photography to take portraits of friends with their horses. She posted some photos on Instagram recently, and texted me how much she loved doing horse and rider photoshoots. Her text sent me to searching for a photograph I took in 1980 in Connecticut.
My experience growing up in Darien, CT was one of contrasts. It’s a community of wealth and privilege, but we were not raised as such. Don’t get me wrong, we were very lucky regarding the basics of life but, if I needed a piece of paper, I had to pay a penny for each sheet. And pencils cost 5 cents! I wore all my brothers’ hand-me-down clothes and Mom sewed many of our day-to-day clothing. (You should see the outfits I wore in my elementary class pictures. I may have to hunt the pictures down as evidence…) I learned to sew when I was eight-years-old and made gifts for friends as well as clothing. If I wanted anything beyond the basics, I did house projects to earn money to purchase them. This included sealing the long asphalt driveway as a 12-year-old!
In my neighborhood, I had a friend who had horses in her backyard. She and I would ride her pony bareback across various neighbor’s yards. These were early American (c.1700) properties, so god bless them for not caring that the pony was trotting through their lawns. I loved riding this pony but, as much as I begged, I was not going to be taking riding lessons any day soon. Instead, I collected Breyer horses and played with them endlessly. My horse-loving daughter is still salty that my mom threw away all those 1970s Breyers.
My parents’ parsimony was motivated, in part, by their decision to send many of their children to private boarding school instead of the local schools. I read all the Enid Blyton books about British children in boarding schools, so this seemed normal to me. My parents wanted me to attend an all girls’ Catholic boarding school for high school as had my sisters. I was not interested in this idea, but I had undiagnosed dyslexia, and did not do well on standardized tests needed to qualify for co-ed boarding schools. Instead, I spent my first two years in the local high school.
Needless to say, being in high school in a very privileged community in the late 1970s involved some not-so-great exposures. I recall being at a hockey game in town when the elder brother of one of the girls offered us all free cocaine. I didn’t join the girls and it turns out I made a good choice as the boy was a dealer and liked to tempt younger students (we were 14) to buy drugs from him.
Eventually, I made friends with a group that went to a local private school and they wanted me to go to their school. One morning, I called the office and the woman answering the phone asked what subjects I taught. When I explained that I was interested in attending as a student, she made an appointment for me to speak with the Headmaster. Years later, I learned that the Headmaster called my parents after the appointment (they knew nothing about me applying to the school) and said it was the first time he’d ever been interviewed by a prospective student! I did end up at the school, St. Luke’s in New Canaan, CT for two years, and I thrived there.
I took up photography at the school, working in a dark room on a manual camera with black and white film. I don’t recall the assignment, but I was at the Ox Ridge Riding Club in Darien. Mind you, I was trespassing, as I had done many times when the club would host posh horse shows. At the time of this picture, Fall of 1980, the club was quiet and this horse was simply out grazing in a pasture.
Recently, I felt the need to clean out old emotional cobwebs, so I emptied a box of mementos. Going through this box was a journey through a million memories. Though I threw away many items, I saved my old journals, some endearing letters, and this photograph of a horse… of course!
Dangerous Curves Ahead
My daughter recently asked me to explain why things catch my eye when I’m out thrifting. That is a hard question to answer. The simple answer is “it appeals to me” but the longer answer involves a lot of art.
My parents took me to see art exhibits in New York City when I was young. I remember a few shows quite well – Picasso, Calder’s Circus, Monet’s Waterlilies. In college I enjoyed art history classes, and began traveling to see many of the pieces I studied. As a mother, I took my children to art exhibits and outings to Chicago’s Art Institute. Around 2001 I helped create a “Famous Artists” program for our elementary school, which I gather is still being used.
What this all means is that exposure to art helps train your eye to recognize design, balance and color. It does not need to be a formal experience, but over time you will learn what appeals to you. I for one fell in love with Calder’s Circus as well as Dutch Masters’ art – especially the introspective paintings of women in homes. These works have influenced the pieces I gravitate to when I’m thrifting. As my husband noted, I have a bias towards women in art. I also have a whole room devoted to my Calder’s Circus painting.
This statue puzzled me. When I first picked it up in a thrift shop, I thought it was of East Indian or Asian origin. But the colors were beautiful, and the gold a wonderful warm tone. (I suspect it may be actual gold leaf though I have not tested it). The curves of the statue’s body are well done, and she seems so serene.
The curves made me chuckle. When we were first married, husband and I would drive between Pittsburgh and Cleveland to see my parents. Part of that drive is through the Allegheny Mountains. These are rather difficult during bad weather, and there were often signs posted along the way announcing “dangerous curves ahead”. Husband found this amusing as I was a rather curvy girl, and at some point a silly version of this made its way into our dressing room.
So back to our mystery thrift shop girl. The only markings on her are a carved name on the bottom “LOLET” and a teeny tiny sticker with numbers. A Google search for the name Lolet accomplished nothing, other than recognizing it is likely a German name, and thus the piece is likely European. Eventually I found a nearly identical statue carved in the 1930s by Josef Wilhem Soukop (Austrian, 1907-1995). It is described as being Art Deco and hand carved.
Even more of a mystery is that the pieces of his I could find were not painted and, if signed, were signed “WS”. I am left to puzzle whether Lolet is an original carving by W. Soukop that he or someone then painted (Lolet)? Or if the entire statue was made by Lolet, copying one of Soukop’s? If anyone has any insights, I’d love to hear them! In the meantime, her dangerous deco curves continue to appeal to me.
The Giving Lilac (Tree)
This photograph of my children was taken in 2001, so it is not old nor an “heirloom” in the traditional sense. However, the memories it inspires are treasures none the less. The photographer was a young woman (Kari Lanie McCluskey), working in black and white film using a hand tinted technique. No idea how that’s done to be honest, but I wanted to showcase my mother’s knitting and so I paid more to have the work hand colored.
The cream sweater my oldest son is wearing is one my mother knit for me back in 1980. The yarn was purchased on a trip to Greece that year. Most memorable to me was that my birthday arrived while we were visiting Mikonos – where the labyrinth story originated. No one seemed to recall it was my birthday – with traveling and time changes I think dates got away from my parents. That afternoon I left a large tip for the old woman who was monitoring the rest facility at the site (a situation I found a bit odd, but was common throughout Greece at that time). She was immensely happy which I felt was a lovely gift to myself. As I exited and rejoined my parents, it was clear from their faces that they realized their forgetfulness, and a celebration of my 18th ensued, though I don’t recall the details. The old woman and her gift from me will remain a treasured memory recalled whenever I see this Greek fisherman’s sweater – now ridiculously too small for me.
My mom also made the complex snowflake sweater my daughter is wearing. I believe there was a hat to go with – though my young daughter was seriously not into hats. The sweater was a bit too itchy for her as well. Unfortunately, she had (and still does) a textural sensitivity. To be fair, wool sweaters can annoy the most non-texturally sensitive person, and it was unfortunate my mother loved to knit in fine wool yarn.
When mom sent me the sweater for my daughter, I realized I needed a third sweater for my middle child, and I requested a blue one. Not to worry, she had plenty of yarn, and I recall she whipped up this one for my son in record time. I still have all three sweaters stored in her old cedar chest.
The photographer I hired in 2001 was loth to come to our property for the photo shoot – assuming, I think, that we had a typical subdivision property. However, our property is unusual, and full of wonderful old trees and structures. The tree the 3 children are around in the photograph is actually a very old lilac bush.
As my daughter was still a little girl at the time, she could not keep up with her active brothers as they climbed the huge old willow or towering pines on our property. So, she would “climb” this lilac and was very proud of herself. Sadly, the lilac was a bit under the weather (probably over 100 years old). One day, well after the photo session, while she and a girlfriend climbed, it simply leaned itself right out of the ground. The girls were not hurt, found the whole experience entertaining, but the poor lilac had given its last moments of joy. The photograph, however, always brings me joy when I see it.