thrift store gift

each christmas, the girl and i exchange one gift that's been gently used or repurposed. this year, i gave her a spice rack from our community services store, the local place where we have always donated used clothes, books, and household items. i got it at a half price sale, so it was only a dollar. i was thrilled to find it and knew it would look good in the kitchen she had been renovating. 

fulfilling my christmas wish for colorful scarves with metallic elements, the girl bought me this long teal scarf, not a color i'd normally wear, but one that now looks fantastic with my recently-turned white hair. it has metallic threads - and even sequins! as i wrapped it around my shoulders, the girl told me it was my thrift gift, that she had bought it at goodwill. even better!! 

to get used to the color, i wore the scarf first to work, a few hours only - and yes, i loved it! so i wore it two days later to an important meeting filled with people i did not know. midway through the meeting, my fingers found a stiff strip across one end of the scarf, just above the beautifully tied fringe. what was this thing? i lowered the section to my lap and surreptitiously tried to peel off the sticker. it would not budge. i turned the section into my lap and tried to hide it for the rest of the meeting.

that night at home, i inspected the sticker and realized its purpose; i had seen tabs like this on my own father's clothes. on it was a first initial and a last name. this scarf belonged to a woman who lived in a communal situation, someone who shared storage and laundry facilities with others. she wore this to dinner at her independent living community. she put it on for movie nights in the common room of an assisted living facility. she wore it when she wanted to look pretty for visitors to the nursing home. and the tag was prominently placed to make it easier to return the scarf to her should it get misplaced or taken away for cleaning. 

i have tried to remove this tag, and cannot. it must be glued - pulling will only rip the delicate threads of the weave. so i wear the scarf with the tag strategically placed inside, against my shirt and hope that it stays that way. and each time i wear it, i take with me the memory of a w. schoolcraft, another white-haired woman, one who had impeccable taste in scarves. 

christmas past

it's a few weeks yet 'til christmas, but we are putting up the tree tonight. this is unplanned, but the tree is in the yard, up against the house, and why not now? the not-so-little girl is anxious to decorate, so in comes the tree, we find the stand and the box of ornaments and she begins. she remembers from year to year how she and i like this tree to look: the old red flocked birds are indeed "flocked", all gathered together on one the side of the tree. her great-great grandmother's sequined ball is high up near the top, so you can look up and see all the sparkles reflect the tree lights. delicate ornaments still go near the top of the tree, a reminder of long-ago christmases when we had babies and dogs. 

we listen to christmas music as she decorates and i make us supper. suddenly, she's in the kitchen at my side, with one of the old plastic filagree balls in her hand. there's something inside, she whispers. listen. and i hear the quiet rattle. we investigate, and find something tiny and cylindrical inside. she shakes and tips and tries to bring the object to a large hole in the ornament, but its shape won't allow it to be pulled through. finally we resort to tweezers and gently tug. and out it comes. 

it's paper, and it's old and thin. slowly, carefully, the not-so-little girl unfurls the scrap and reads its contents: december 24, 1985. and it is signed, in a childlike scrawl, by her mother.

how can this be? it's been right there, unnoticed, for thirty-two christmases! we can't wait to share our find with the girl herself! but she does not remember placing such a note and is as astonished as we are. more quick math and we come to the realization that, when she hid this note, she was ten, and exactly the age that the not-so-little-girl is now.

on her own, the youngest of us decides to return the note to its original hiding place and add a second one, this one dated december 8, 2017, and signed in her own childlike hand. she hopes some christmas as she decorates, her own daughter may notice the tiny rolled notes hidden deep inside her great-grandmother's gold filagree ornament, and be just as surprised and delighted by their discovery as we all were this christmas.

transcription

the holidays are coming, beginning with thanksgiving in just a few days, and i have been cleaning, prepping, and making lists. when i poll the family about preferences and expectations, the not-so-little-girl reminds me that we alway have cookies for dessert. i guess i have inadvertently made yet another tradition, so tonight and i drag out my old cookbook to make the dough so she can decorate cookies when she comes on wednesday.

the book falls open to the recipe, such a mess is the page it's on. forty-five years of splattered dough, greasy smudges, and messy fingerprints distract me from the familiar words as i follow them to make the dough. after i set it in the refrigerator to chill, after i clean and put away the mixing bowls and spatulas, i sit with choral music and tea to type the ingredients and directions into google docs, my recipe box in the cloud, where all my old favorites these days reside, annotated and ready to share when the time is right. i think to cut and paste it here, where i have not been in a very long time.

Old-Fashioned Sugar Cookies

From McCall’s Cookie Collection © The McCall Corporation 1965

...these are the sugar cookies we made every Christmas when the girl was a child,

and later at Thanksgiving when the not-so-little girl was young…

4 cups sifted all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon (or more!) nutmeg
1 cup soft butter
1 ½ cups sugar
1 egg
½ cup sour cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Sift flour with baking powder, baking soda, salt, and nutmeg; set aside.
In a large bowl of electric mixer, at medium speed, beat butter, sugar, and egg until light and fluffy.
At low speed, beat in sour cream and vanilla until smooth.
Gradually add flour mixture, beating until well combined.
With rubber scraper, form dough into a ball. Wrap in waxed paper or foil; refrigerate several hours, or overnight.
Divide dough into 4 parts. Refrigerate until ready to roll out.
Preheat oven to 375°F. Lightly grease cookie sheet.
On a well-floured surface, roll dough, one part at a time, ¼” thick.
With floured, 2 ½” round or scalloped cookie cutter, cut out cookies. Using spatula, place, 2” apart, on prepared cookie sheets. Reroll trimmings and cut.
Bake 10 to 12 minutes or until golden. Remove to wire rack; cool.
Makes about 6 dozen (the round 2 ½” ones).

My notes: Pshaw! We never made plain old round ones! We made trees and Santas and reindeers and gingerbread men and stars - and leaves and turkeys at Thanksgiving!! These are very good, especially the ones that get rolled out first - rerolls are not as light. Don’t roll too thick. They taste best frosted and are yummy with eggnog.

Our frosting: 2 cups sifted confectioners’ sugar and 2 ½ to 3 tablespoons of milk. Beat with wooden spoon, add more milk if too thick. Color with food coloring, of course. Keep a little white for snowmen, and Santa's beard. 

i head to bed now, content in the knowledge that the recipe is preserved for the girl, for her daughter, for posterity. and for tradition. 

downsizing

in the midst of the summer gardening and room painting and kitchen redo (no, it's still not done), i am trying to clean out useless things. stuff i've held onto for most of my life that means very little or nothing to other people. things i don't want the girl to have to deal with when it comes time to clean this place out for the last time. here is a perfect example of what i mean. it's the end of a roll of vinyl wallpaper i bought in 1981. 

we were moving out of state, leaving family and friends, and starting new jobs. the girl was turning five, and beginning school in a few months. with all the details of the packing and moving, uppermost in my mind was making the transition as easy and fun as i could for her. we rented a house sight unseen because it was in a small rural neighborhood and had a big yard and four bedrooms. we chose for her the room with the most light and the most nooks and secret spots for playing. and i made it a priority to have it completely redone and beautiful before we moved in.

and this is the bedroom wallpaper that she and i chose, sitting one evening on the porch swing of the house we would soon be leaving, the only home she'd known. we both gasped when we turned this page, and knew we had found the perfect wall covering. in an effort to capture the experience, i saved this piece when we left the rental for our new home in our new state. and i've had it ever since, tucked in the back of the bottom drawer of her bedroom dresser. 

of course, my tastes have changed significantly since then, and i am now admittedly horrified to think that i imposed such graphic chaos on so young a psyche. but at that pivotal, transitional time of our lives, it was just what we both needed. 

rainy day in january

sitting inside at the window, looking out at the bleak and rainy landscape, having bread and the last of the girls' strawberry jam. it tastes like summer.

treasured

this old green cardboard strip glued with dried leaves is a bookmark the girl made for me when she was very, very small. i treasure this creation and have always used it to mark my place in whatever fictional work i'm reading.

and two weeks ago, i lost the book i've been reading - along with the bookmark. i looked everywhere for the book, retracing my steps, checking in stores and businesses, pulling up cushions and reaching under seats. tonight in desperation, i came close to sending a mass message out to all my friends to watch for it, please. but just now, just as i was readying for bed (and another book-less night) i thought where it might possibly be - and happily, there it was!

it seems a tad silly to be so elated to have found it! after all, the book is only worth $14.95 and i've already downloaded the audio version. but that bookmark - that's absolutely priceless!

happy half-a birthday

celebrations are few and far between after valentine's day and before easter. oh sure, there's saint patrick's day but, other than the wearin' o' the green, it's not such a big deal around here.

so in an effort to liven up midwinter, when the girl was little we started celebrating her half birthday. i'd make half a cake, give her half a birthday card, sing half the birthday song... just enough frivolity to make an otherwise drab ordinary march day into something special and fun.

even though she's now grown, we still honor the half birthday. and to make it even more special, her hubby also has a half birthday within days of hers. i guess we could have celebrated both "special" days yesterday with a whole cake - but it was so much more fun to have two halves.

prioritizing christmas

and to think that i thought that i was too busy, that i wouldn't have time, that i was too tired and stressed - and that i almost missed decorating gingerbread men for santa with the little girl. thanks to the girl for making me see the light of christmas - and for making it happen.

just think...i almost missed gingerbread men with belly buttons.

middlemarch

a second day of playtime with the baby girl - walks and blocks and shadow play, goldfish in cups, and naps on quilts. even a lovely bowl of soup with the girl, who has just this weekend moved her family back closer to home. at the end of the day, i notice that the ides of march were again nothing to beware of this year.

scrabble in winter

a high point of the cold dark winter has been playing online scrabble with the girl. neither of us is particularly skilled at the game but we continue to play, night after night, she forming a word one night, i making one the next. she takes the triple word score spot, i place a k in a double letter score square. we make two and three letter words we've never heard of. she plays off my x, i play off her q. sometimes we chat as we play, sometimes not. certainly it's not the same as sitting together over a gameboard. but it's a quiet connection across the distance to someone i love at a very quiet, still, contemplative time of the year.