Meanings and Memories | Aunt Mayme's Attic

Category: Meanings and Memories
- Mother’s Day 2017
  
  Posted at 1:47 pm by Beth P
  
  May 13th
  We mothers can be a funny sort. We have children, or adopt them, raise them into adults, and hope and pray that they are fed, happy and sheltered. We don’t ask for much, just for those Basic 3 as I call them, and go on about our business, in our own worlds, knowing all is well.
  
  We have no expectations of our children, no requirements, and just let them grow into the beautiful beings that they are. Then once in a while something shifts; something that brings us out of our humdrum routine to make us thankful for all that they do for us.
  
  Today, Saturday, was such a day. While working on a computer project, and becoming frustrated, the phone rang. Thinking it was Husband’s friend with yet another Turkey Report (I really don’t like this time of year because it gives me another role: Secretary to the Big Hunter, LOL, and I don’t like hunting), I answered. It was a dear friend who was feeling under the weather and she wanted to chat; connect to me. While chatting with her, trying to keep her spirits up, I kept thinking about my computer project. Hopefully the annoyance of my project wasn’t coming through the phone.
  
  Then the door bell rang. And of course, the dog went nuts, as she so often does when it rings. Becoming more annoyed that Husband couldn’t contain the dog, and worrying who was going to answer the door (it’s one of my two “unspoken responsibilities”; the door and the phone), I decided, Let him get it, went back into the office, and shut the office door to focus on my friend’s conversation. Ahhh! Respite!
  
  Conversation ended, I shyly opened the office door; dog was quiet. But I didn’t venture out. Instead, I tried to refocus and went back to my computer project. From the other room came Husband’s shout, “Go into the kitchen”. “What?” I shout back. “Go into the kitchen”, the demand comes again. I was trying hard to contain myself as the annoyance level kicked up another notch. “Deep breath”, “Count to 10”, “You’ll be able to focus when you come out of the kitchen to find out whatever it is Husband wants you to see”, “Do what you’re told without getting angry or snapping back” (I’m sure some of you have had the same internal conversations) So I go into the kitchen.
  
  Just when I was going to tell Husband how wonderful he was, I realized it’s Mother’s Day, and he wouldn’t send me flowers; he doesn’t on our anniversary either. We’re just “that way”. So I opened the note. “Happy Mother’s Day, Love, Son”. I broke down. I couldn’t believe it. All I could think about was giving him such a warm hug. Husband came in and saw me crying. Poor guy, he couldn’t figure out why. Then he realized how big this was for me. It’s those “desert times” in our lives that become so much more beautiful when something such as this happens.
  
  For those of you who get Mother’s Day flowers every year, I commend you. Your children love you dearly. For those of you who get them once in a while or if this is your first time in let’s say 20 years, you know exactly what I’m feeling right now.
  
  Happy Mother’s Day to all of you!
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  Posted in Meanings and Memories, Musings
- Anyone Ever See Dotted Swiss?
  
  Posted at 6:24 pm by Beth P
  
  May 4th
  So many years ago, when I was starting out in my sewing lessons in middle school, there was a fellow classmate whom I admired from a distance. You know how young girls could be–seeing someone and wish we could be like them. Maybe have their hair, their clothes, their eyes, or something that we just don’t have. So it was with Carolyn.
  
  Carolyn was a quiet soul; rarely bothered the teacher, seemed to catch on quickly, and at the same time, very, very quiet in class. She was beautiful with her long dark hair and her black eyes. I would smile at her while working, and she would gently smile back.
  
  Then came the day we were to make dresses. Oh my! A dress. Something I hadn’t tackled yet. I chose a navy blue open weave (I seem to remember the term, “hopsacking”?), so “open”, the dress had to be lined. A scoop neck because I happened to like them, and short sleeves. Three brass buttons went down the center front, and that was it.
  
  But Carolyn, dear Carolyn! She chose a dress with a waist tie, long sleeves with elastic at the wrist, and ruffles on the collar. And in yellow dotted Swiss! Fine flocked dots in white danced all over the thin organza fabric, and her dress had to be lined too. A lot of work for a semester, and a lot of learning because of all the techniques; lining, elastic, ties, ruffles, collar, and the lining. She even installed a hidden zipper (we called them Unique zippers back then) in all of that! But Carolyn pulled through, and we both got to wear our dresses in the fashion show held at the end of the year. She looked beautiful; long black hair tumbling down her back, and a very proud smile on her face.
  
  So when I came across a pink dotted Swiss hanky in my stash, my first thought went to Carolyn and that day when she wore that beautiful dress. Even now as I look at the soap sachets I made from the hanky, I still think of her.
  
  Maybe dotted Swiss has a memory for you too?
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  Posted in Meanings and Memories, Musings
- The Journey of a Hippie Chic Laptop Tote
  
  Posted at 9:03 am by Beth P
  
  Aug 31st
  There was a movie (and two books) a while ago called The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. A delightful tale of four women and a pair of jeans. Each woman had a story to tell about her adventures with the jeans, and each came away with a greater experience. Well, so it was with my Hippie Chic Laptop Tote. It took quite a journey, both in distance and in a lesson of just how small the world is and how we are connected.
  
  Tote Number 1
  
  Closeup of Detail
  
  Back of Tote
  
  I wrote about making the tote a while back. The post is here: https://auntmaymesattic.net/2014/12/23/the-making-of-a-hippie-chick-laptop-tote-from-a-reclaimed-vintage-pillow-sham/
  
  And recently someone bought it. You can’t imagine how thrilled, and sad, it was at the same time. What was interesting was where and who it was going to.
  
  When I was preparing the package to send, I noticed that the address on the receipt showed not only my home state but also the county where my childhood home is. So I sent the customer an email, stating I was from the area, but a little south. (How I love to connect, even for a moment, with folks from where I’m from. It’s a common thing we all do.) Then she replied she was from that same area too. When I went to prepare the shipping label, I started to get that “woo woo” feeling that one gets when they are about to embark on a journey that can only be described as”cosmic”, “divine”, “serendipitous” and convincingly “un-coincidental”; as if some divine “hand” was involved in the making. I noticed the address; twelve miles from where I grew up; in an area where I used to frequent as a child.
  
  I sent another email and we chatted; her describing places she’d been to, and my describing my adventures in the older part of the city. I even described what her area looked like long before the developers came. (I’m much older than she, and her area was still considered “the country” when I was young).
  
  She received the tote and sent an email stating that it was a little too narrow for her laptop. Then asked if I could make another one, and send it to her? Unsure if I had another vintage pillow sham, and leather handles, I went digging. And, as coincidence (and this story) would have it, I found them both. So with another set of love touches, I made another one, sent the customer an email saying it was finished, and sent it off. And she promptly returned the original.
  
  Front of Tote Two
  
  Back of Tote
  
  Cute little dragonfly pull on this one too
  
  During several back-and-forth emails, I found out that my customer was not only a teacher, of a similar subject that I taught as a teacher, but also taught in the same school district and, (here it comes….) at the same school! Think of all the connections!
  
  So just what is this connective “force” that makes our world closer to others? Some call it Grace, some call it Serendipity, and some call it a Gift. Have you experienced some set of serendipitous sequence of events that has convinced you of the fact that there is “something more” than what you see around you in the everyday? After this experience, I’m going to look at things differently.
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  Posted in Meanings and Memories, Musings
- Life Comes Back in Memories
  
  Posted at 10:10 am by Beth P
  
  Aug 25th
  Working with vintage textiles is such an adventure for me. Many times I come across a piece of vintage embroidery and I remember the year which it was created because it was similar to a piece I stitched way back when. It brings back for me the time spent calming down from a very stressful world, only to be in the moment of creating stitches and designs.
  
  Then too, I am drawn to patterns and colors in fabrics. Bright pink with delicate little flowers reminds me of the 1970’s calicos (here we call the print “calico”). Vintage mauves and dark blues remind me of Gunne Sax dresses. Indian prints remind me of the backless dresses I made. And then I come across something that brings me back even further.
  
  A lovely hanky in pink and black. This brings me back to two people, a woman known as Auntie Joyce and another woman known as Aunt Fabiola. Auntie Joyce lived in an old 1940’s bungalow north of Los Angeles. She had pink Fiesta dinnerware that sat in a cabinet with glass doors. I remember staring at that for hours; looking at the curved edges of the plates, the shadows of the rings outlining the edge, and observing the neoclassic handles on the cups. She wasn’t a true aunt, but a lifelong friend of my mother’s and told me to call her Auntie Joyce when I was insistent on being polite and calling her Mrs. S—–.
  
  But moreso in this memory, I remember Aunt Fabiola. We visited Aunt Fabiola just once; I’m not sure if she was a true aunt or another friend of my mother’s and why we visited her the one time, I’ll never know. Aunt Fabiola lived in a ranch home, somewhere near Los Angeles. What I remember most about this one visit was Aunt Fabiola’s back yard. A cinder block slab in back of the house, in full sun. A metal table and four chairs sat in the middle of this slab.
  
  Now I’m sure this wouldn’t be of any significance, but Aunt Fabiola had an obsession with pink and black. And the metal table had black legs with a pink marbled top, which had a large decal in the form of a swan in the center; in black silhouette. Then her chairs, the metal round back 1950’s style we are starting to see a revival of, were also in pink and had the same black swan decal on the back.
  
  Inside the house the bathroom was (you guessed it!) pink and black. Pink ceramic tile on the walls, with a black tile border at the top. And the trash can (why this is so vivid to me, I don’t know), was pink with the same black swan silhouette on the front.
  
  So it was with great pleasure that I made four hanky sachets out of the pink and black vintage hanky (which I’m certain is from the late 1940’s or early 1950’s). Every time I look at them, I think of Aunt Fabiola.
  
  Aunt Fabiola’s Hanky Sachets
  
  Aunt Fabiola’s Hanky Sachet
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  Posted in Gift Ideas, Meanings and Memories, Musings
- Goodbye Sweet Hippie Chic Laptop Tote
  
  Posted at 1:11 am by Beth P
  
  Aug 12th
  One of the things I love the most about my online shop, Aunt Mayme’s Attic, is the opportunity to stretch my creativity. Sometimes I get hurried, realizing that my shop is a little empty, and I get busy to make a bunch of things. I tell myself that I “need to get XXX amount of items done by XXX” in order to feel fulfilled. Oh, the insanity!
  
  But once in a great, great while, a small voice kicks in and says “Make something creative”, and I am given this opportunity to do something totally creative without a lot of rush involved. The planning, the ideas, the steps—the “All that it is”. I’m sure you creatives can feel this. It’s a sense of fulfillment that can’t be compared to anything else.
  
  So it was with my Hippie Chic Laptop Tote Bag.
  
  When I purchased the vintage pillow sham that the tote is made from, I knew right away what it would be, how it would look and all that went with it. I just needed the time to slow my mind down and do it. That small voice kept encouraging me, giving me the space I needed to create, and come up with something that I felt was my “Aunt Mayme’s Attic Flagship Piece”.
  
  So a while back, I had that chance. Possibly some of you have read the tutorial I created when I was making this. It was more of an online journal through a creative journey that I was experiencing. In case if you didn’t, you can read the journey here: Pink Laptop Tote And I knew the amount of love and time that went into it would hopefully call for a fair price. The materials were quite expensive (suede leather handles aren’t cheap!) and I kept my labor quite low. Too low, I must admit, because it took a little over four hours to make, with the design, planning, obtaining materials, embellishments and sewing it all.
  
  Well, I posted it with a price, half worrying if someone would think my work was good enough to purchase, and the other half thinking it was priced too high. What price is creativity? Although it took a while, I wasn’t in a hurry to sell it and felt that the “right person” would come along at the right time and when they did, I’d be willing to let it go. Just a few days ago, that person came along.
  
  It’s a little bittersweet to think this will be no longer near me. It held such meaning for me, such creativity and every single piece of it bears my heart and soul. There is no other! I do have another sham and could try to replicate it, but something is always lost when that is done. Have you ever tried to copy something that was so perfect the first time, and yet when you did, you knew it was a little “less than”? I know I have. It’s something in our hearts that say “Hold onto this a little longer, as it will go away”.
  
  But all is not to cry about! There is a “silver lining” behind this “cloud”. I am shipping it to the buyer who not only lives in the state of my homeland, the county of my homeland, the town of my homeland, but also is about 12 miles from where I grew up!
  
  Now, could this have been any more perfect? So this encourages me to slow down more, expand my creativity and just be at peace with what I do. And let The Universe do the rest.
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  Posted in Meanings and Memories
- This Past Week in Retrospect
  
  Posted at 10:32 am by Beth P
  
  Jul 9th
  I’m intensely horrified and deeply saddened with the events over this last week. As an American, I’m ashamed as to how my country is no longer the strong country it was. What was, in my childhood, a proud place to live has now become a battleground over racism and violence.
  
  Growing up in California, of European parents who never felt that the color of one’s skin was something to be judged; that the value of the person was more important to one’s integrity, I never experienced the anger, angst and judgmental thinking that has now plagued us, and the world. I was never brought up to hate, never brought up to think of one person over the other, and felt that the rest of the world saw it that way too.
  
  I am reminded of when my former husband sunk our car in a rainwater-full drainage ditch in the South in the mid-1970’s. After the initial shock, and trying to get my young son situated in the front seat so the car would steady itself, I looked around and saw not one white person coming to our aid. After some critical and funny moments, two African American men came forth and helped us out. One was well dressed, in a suit and the man with him was similar.
  
  Something in their hearts told them we were okay; whether it was the California license plate on the car, my husband’s pony tail, or the fact I had a young child with me, I will never know. But those two men sought out others who would pull out our car, gather together to work on getting it fixed, and most importantly, those two men took us around to buy us dinner and get us a place to stay for the night.
  
  Sitting in the back seat of their car, I had a great history lesson; one I was never taught at home. And I was in tears. I couldn’t imagine the inequality over such kind people, I couldn’t imagine the dreadful treatment they received, and the fact that they were fearful. When I asked them what made them feel they were safe with us, they couldn’t say, but that there was “something about us” that made them see our integrity.
  
  What I later came to realize was that they were like us; outcasts in a world of hate and trying to live. This came to light when I remembered the events of a few days previous and the three of us walked into a restaurant. After driving all day, hot and hungry, with no air conditioning in the car, we sat down at a table. And after about an hour, no one came over to wait on us. We did notice glances and whispers from the all-white patrons, but I ignored them, feeling they didn’t concern us.
  
  Finally my husband called someone over, who un-obligingly came and looked down on us. He knew the situation. “Please”, he asked the white female server, “if you won’t serve my wife and I, could you please give my son a drink of water”. At that moment, three rather large white men stood up from a table. It was then we left. I can still remember my son crying that he was thirsty; that he wanted a drink–he couldn’t understand the hate that went on in that restaurant. An innocent child who had a great need.
  
  Then came the time when I was teaching at an inner-city college. My classroom, or so I thought, was a place for all to come, shed off their cares and learn something new. One particular African American student was having trouble, and was stressed out over something. I could see the tension rise in her. It was then she stood up, and threw her computer monitor at the wall, creating a large hole, and left.
  
  The following day she exploded. What she said in class was exactly how she felt; how she’d been sold on a promise, only to have it watered down by indifference and inequality. Her boyfriend had told her the night before that she would never amount to anything in a white person’s world and that she might as well drop out of school. But school was her haven and her chance to get ahead, out of the ghetto where she lived and into a world of where things worked for her. Her explosion was a culmination of not wanting to believe it and instead believing in herself, knowing the odds.
  
  The first thing I wanted to do was console her, tell her it would be okay, but that it would be a struggle. I wanted her to feel that even though she was an outcast in a world of hate and trying to live, that there were alternatives, much like what my husband, my son and I experienced in that restaurant. I wanted to tell her that there is prejudice, all over, whether you are African, Native American, or even white. But I never could say these things to her; she dropped out. I felt bad I wasn’t able to help; to let her know that there are “gifts in the garbage” that one has to find.
  
  Our world is crumbling. Our country is falling apart when it should be joining together. The current political climate is creating division and derision, hate and a lack of moral integrity. Might isn’t always right. What we need instead is an opportunity to come together; to overcome the hurt, anger, fear and pain. We need to come together as a country and heal our wounds. And not use a political arena to do so. The terror attacks of 9/11 brought us together then; all races. Do we have the courage and strength to do the same now?
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  Posted in Meanings and Memories, Musings | Tagged racism, violence
- One of the Things I Truly Love About my “Job”
  
  Posted at 9:50 am by Beth P
  
  Jul 7th
  Throughout my travels and connections with people, I come across some real gems. “Gems” meaning people who are kind and enthusiastic about what I do. The relationships I’ve established with them are wonderful and rewarding in such a way that I never experienced before, and I’m so very grateful for them.
  
  Just the other day, one of these gems contacted me. Her husband had recently passed away, and she was downsizing. “I have a bunch of vintage fabrics I’m getting rid of and I’d like to give them to you”, was the voice on the other end of the phone (can’t say “line” here because more often than not, we no longer have “lines”). So she came by.
  
  What I was given was over 15 pounds of fabric. How do I know it was over 15 pounds? I divided half of it up and sent it off to my sister in Oregon. A very expensive shipment, I’d say!
  
  So what did I do? I got busy and washed them all out and put them on the line.
  
  Do you see anything you recognize? Anything you like? What alerted me first was the little girl and boy fabric. Definitely pre-1960’s, and I’m sure you can figure out why.
  
  So take a walk down Memory Lane and give yourself an opportunity to remind yourself of a past long ago.
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  Posted in Meanings and Memories | Tagged AuntMaymesAttic, fabric
- Today, Memorial Day, will have a new member
  
  Posted at 8:52 pm by Beth P
  
  May 30th
  Today is a sad day. Not only for it being Memorial Day, when we remember our dead. But also a friend died today. He was a good friend of Husband’s and he and Husband shared that relationship for longer than we have been married; over 20 years.
  
  We all come to the end of our lives in many ways, and L came to his today. After a recent surgery, and a trip back home, he apparently went downhill. After being on life support and non-responsive, his wife had to make the awful decision what to do. Although I can’t comprehend her pain, I feel for her. They were married for almost as long as Husband and I; in fact, we were invited to their wedding.
  
  It will be hard not to hear his voice speaking to Husband on Facetime, or hearing it on the phone. It will also be hard not to see them both next Christmas, as we would do. And I can only imagine what Husband feels, knowing he is just one year younger.
  
  Yes, Memorial Day gained another veteran of Vietnam, gained another soul, and gained another heart to break.
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  Posted in Meanings and Memories
- Hush Little Baby
  
  Posted at 8:53 am by Beth P
  
  May 22nd
  “Hush, little baby, don’t say a word.
  
  Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird
  
  And if that mockingbird won’t sing,
  Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring
  
  And if that diamond ring turns brass,
  Mama’s gonna buy you a looking glass
  
  And if that looking glass gets broke,
  Mama’s gonna buy you a billy goat
  
  And if that billy goat won’t pull,
  Mama’s gonna buy you a cart and bull
  
  And if that cart and bull turn over,
  Mama’s gonna buy you a dog named Rover
  
  And if that dog named Rover won’t bark
  Mama’s gonna buy you a horse and cart
  
  And if that horse and cart fall down,
  You’ll still be the sweetest little baby in town.”
  
  How many of you remember this song? I remember Joan Baez singing it on one of her albums, which the name escapes me now. I believe it may have been 1968 or at least sometime before 1970. I remember singing it to my child when he was fussy. And when I get incredibly stressed, I go back to that time when I was holding him in my arms, singing and the joy I felt of having such a precious little bundle.
  
  So it was with divine precedence that I received an embroidered linen with this very song title. It took me back; long ago to that time. Stressed over dealing with a husband who had PTSD, young, married and a mom. Struggling to make ends meet; I too was caught up in wanting someone to sing me a lullaby.
  
  So I’m willing to send this little cutie off into the Universe, for the next person to share with their bundle. Pillow in Gender Neutral Colors
  
  Pil17 in my Etsy Shop
  
  Keeping you in stitches,
  
  Beth
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  Posted in Gift Ideas, Meanings and Memories | Tagged AuntMaymesAttic, Baby Pillow, Gender Neutral Baby Pillow, Hush Little Baby
- Winken, Blinken and Nod One Day….
  
  Posted at 4:23 pm by Beth P
  
  Dec 9th
  Set out in a cardboard box.
  
  Went through the mail all along the way,
  
  To someone I hope who loves them alot.
  
  I was sad to see them go,
  
  Off on their little trek.
  
  But the delight in the receiver’s face aglow
  
  Would be enough for me to say, “What the heck?”
  
  Yes, I sold it. The Winken, Blinken and Nod pillow. And my hometown hosts one of two bronze statues of the characters in this famous poem. But, I couldn’t keep it any longer. I wanted it to sit in a place where people would admire it, and love it for at least as much of the short time as I did. I can imagine it in a child’s room, near a sunny window, window curtain blowing in the breeze. Soft blue paint on the walls, a white crib and furniture.
  
  The poem was my son’s favorite while he was growing up. And, when he was about 40, he came here for a visit. I took him to see the statue so he could stroll down Memory Lane. And for the rest of his visit, he referred to it as “Winken, Blinken and Linken”, the same words he used as a child.
  
  Bugsie, the dear person who sent me the embroidered piece, I’m forever indebted to. Such a beautiful piece, and I’m happy I was able to touch it, feel it, and enjoy every stitch by the artist who hand embroidered it. Thank you, Bugsie, for that opportunity. And now it must be sent out into The Universe for someone else to love.
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  Posted in Meanings and Memories, Musings
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