Strawberries 'n Cream

Back in the '50s when I was a little girl (HEY.......it wasn't that long ago), a man use to come around late spring selling fresh strawberries.  Even though we lived in the city on a busy street, he drove a horse and wagon.  I think he use to go up and down the alleys or side streets most of the time.  While there was a busy street in front of our house, there was an alley on one side.  It really didn't seem that unusual back then.  It was always exciting to hear him coming down the alley yelling "strawberries, strawberries for sale."  I think I got more excited about the strawberry man than the ice cream truck.  His strawberries were delicious!  My grandmother would go out to his wagon and purchase a quart or two and make strawberry shortcake.  Her shortcake was the best - she would make a dough, pat it out and bake it in a tin pie pan.  I wish I could make it as good as she did - I can taste it now.............

I just finished listing a set of dinnerware that my mother purchased from the grocery store.  She really out did herself on this set.  She had purchased a service for 24 plus serving pieces.  It is Sheffield's pattern called Strawberries 'n Cream and was offered in the 1970s.

Made in Japan, some of the pieces have a strawberry decal and some are plain.  Both have a butterscotch trim.  I have both styles in the dinner plates and bread & butter plates.
You can find these dishes at CAROLINABLUELADY Vintage Collectibles.

It has taken some time to wash all these dishes, research and list.  All the while I kept thinking about the strawberry man and my grandmother's strawberry shortcake.  And here it is almost winter!

My Sister's First Haircut

My brother just e-mailed me a copy of a note I had written to my mother back in 1960.  He called it Donna's Confession.  It's one of those stories that we laugh about today, but it sure wasn't funny Thursday night, July 14, 1960.

The summer of 1960 - sort of a lazy summer.  I was twelve.  My sister was five.  She had long, thick dark brown hair.  It was very pretty and had never been cut except for the bangs.  My mother loved brushing her hair and making it curl.  I kept offering to cut it, but mother wouldn't hear of it.  She was not going to cut my sister's hair.   

We lived with my grandmother and my mother worked second shift at a factory.  After dinner, my grandmother would go back into her sewing room and sew.  There wasn't much to do except watch the boys play baseball across the street, not that I didn't like doing that.  I'm not sure why but on this particular Thursday night in July,  I decided I was going to just trim my sister's hair.  Just a little.  We were upstairs in our room.  I got the scissors.  I sat my sister in a chair in front of the mirror on the dresser and brushed her hair out.  It was so long and just needed to be evened out a little.  Told her to hold still and began to cut.

I never had any problem cutting my own hair.  Her hair was so thick and I just couldn't seem to cut it straight.  Kept trying to even it out, but this was not going according to plan.  My sister just sat there - have no idea what was going through her mind.  Pretty soon I had cut her hair up to her shoulders.  Not good.  I stopped.  It was too late, the damage was done.  I couldn't put it back.  Mother was going to kill me.  And, oh, if Grandma sees this I'm in worse trouble than my mother killing me.

I wrapped my sister's head with a hairnet so it just looked like her hair was up.  Put her in bed.  Once she was in bed, she didn't move.  I wrote a note to my mother and here is what I wrote:

Dear Mommy

I did a terrible thing to Ann you can possible guess.

I got my wish, but I wish I didn't do it.  Ann likes it, but she is afraid she will get in trouble or I will.  I know I will but she didn't do nothing except move.  I cut her hair!  I was only going to even it up, but she moved and then I had to cut more off.  I'm sorry, very sorry but don't tell Grandma what I did.  I thought I better tell you what I did instead of you finding out about it yourself.  You'd be madder if I tried to hide it.  I save her hair.  

Donna

Thursday July 14 - 1960 

After writing the note (did you notice how I tried to weasel out of it being my fault and that my sister liked her haircut?), I also got in bed and as far down in the covers as I could get.  She was going to be so mad.  When my mother got home that night, I was still awake.  She came upstairs and into our room.  She saw the note and picked it up.  She read it.  And oh, was she mad.  She yelled and cried.  I didn't say a word.  I think she was afraid to spank me, she was so mad.  She would say that this was the worst thing I ever did. 

At the time, I knew that I had done something that hurt my mother and I really was very sorry. 

     

The Blender of My Childhood

I just unpacked the boxes that contained the blender and mixer we used when I was a child in the 1950s.  The Waring blender was in the dining room closet along with 2 Sunbeam Mixers exactly where my Grandmother had stored them.  I guess my mother and grandmother both had a mixer.  I'm sure the one with a little more wear was my Grandmother's.  I'm keeping the blender - it is just so cool.  Note that the jar does not have a handle.  The jar was made by Pyrex for Waring and is so marked on the bottom.

Look how clean the bottom of the base is.  I don't remember ever using this for anything other than making malts or milkshakes.  The thing was that they never tasted like the ones you got from the soda fountain at the corner drug store.  But, it was still a big treat when we got to make them - usually on Saturday evening as a family.  My brother and I usually had the honors of making them.

You really had to hold the lid down tight when turned on as it did not fit tight like they do today.  It was so much fun to make the malts, but I sure didn't like cleaning the jar with those blades at the bottom.  I am just so happy to have this wonderful childhood memory sitting on my kitchen counter.

Maybe this summer when the kids and grandkids visit, we can make malts.  We will definitely be making malts when my brother and sister visit.   

Progression of Life

Life!  It doesn't slow down for anyone.  The progression is the same - we are a child, a young adult, middle-age, retired, old-age and then we .............  We can't control the progression.  The progression may be short or it may be long.  Oh, we can sometimes do things to control the speed of the progression; but the progression is still inevitable.
 
As a young child, do you remember when an old relative passed away?  You know, the great-great uncle that you couldn't remember ever seeing before.  He's just an old man - sort of spooky, too.  He just doesn't look real lying in that pretty shiny wooden box with the satin pillow and cover;  hands folded gently across his waist.  The smell of roses consumes you.  You really don't feel good and just don't want to be there, but your mother holds your hand close to her side as she talks to other unknown relatives.  Her voice is quiet and soft.  You feel safe with her by your side.

As an older child, a young child of one of your mother's friend's dies.  You go with your mother to the funeral.  You don't know too many of the people there, but you understand their sadness.  You also feel the sadness seeing a child lying in that pretty shiny wooden box with the satin pillow and cover;  with hands gently folded across his waist.  The fragrance of roses is familiar.  It's sort of scary seeing a child like yourself and you stand close to your mother - and you feel safe.

You grow up and start a life of your own.  Through all the ups and downs, your mother is always there to lend encouragement, advice and yes, sometimes a little financial help.  She never tries to run your life; she is just your support when you need her.  You feel safer just knowing that she is close by - you are still her child.  She is still your mother.

The progression of life continues and then it hits you.  Your mother is at the old-age phase.  She's acting different.  Oh, she has always been a little eccentric, but this is different.  She talks about things that aren't real.  She forgets to pay bills.  She is not taking care of herself.  She thinks people are going to take her stuff.  She thinks other people are you.........  We children start talking about what we need to do.  There are no good choices for our mother.  In order for her to be safe, we are going to have to take her happiness from her.  The happiness that she had worked so hard for.  The happiness that she so deserved.  But, she can't live by herself surrounded by all her pretties and possessions.  The hallucinations have taken over. 

She walks downtown and sits on a bench outside the Subway waiting for her son to pick her up.  There were no plans for her son to pick her up.  Her son gets a phone call from the nice sheriff.  Her son goes into town to pick her up and take her back home.  She knew he was suppose to pick her up.

Decisions were made.  She was not happy.  While she stayed with me, there were good days and there were bad days.  Sometimes we could talk and remember the good times.  A lot of the times we argued over stupid stuff - she didn't want to take her medicine, she didn't want me throwing her trash away.  She wanted to save everything.  She would lock me out of the bedroom.  I tried not to get angry, but there were times that I was so angry inside.  I tried not to be because I knew she couldn't help it.  I just wanted her to be like she use to be.  I wanted her to be my mother.  I wanted my mother back!

Before I would go to work, I would turn on the TV to CNN.  I never understood why she wanted to watch that all day.  She could get so upset over politics.  I would bring her breakfast and lunch to her.  Then, made sure she took her medicine.  She stayed in the bedroom with the door closed during the day.  She didn't like my dog and my son was also there.  She just felt safer in the bedroom.  I would lean down and give her a hug and kiss before leaving for work.  She would always tell me I looked pretty.  One morning she said, "If I can do anything for you, just let me know.  I don't have much, but I will help you." 

I think it took me awhile to realize why I would get so angry with her.  I was angry because I was losing my mother and it was happening right before my eyes.  I couldn't control it.  I was losing the person that made me feel safe and loved me no matter what.  She wasn't fighting the dementia so she could keep being my mother.  I wanted her to fight the dementia - wasn't I giving her a pill to help slow that progression down? 
Mothers always consider their children still their children no matter how old they are.  I had not thought of myself as a child for years.  Actually, I'm not sure I ever thought of myself as a child.  But, like we never stop being a mother, we also never stop being a child.  The anger was really coming from the child in me.  The child was losing her mother, the loving, protective (and, sometimes eccentric) mother that made her feel safe and loved no matter what.

She really couldn't help that the dementia had taken over.  There was no fight left to fight.  It was just the progression of life - inevitable.

My Mother's Secret Garden

When I was a child, my mother told me that one of her favorite books was "The Secret Garden" by Francis Hodgsons Burnett.  Even though she told me this on several different occassions, I never read the book.  She never told me what the story was about.  I don't even remember seeing the book in our home and we had lots of books. 
Going through her books, we came across several different editions of "The Secret Garden." 
Illustrated by Tasha Tudor, this 1985 edition can be found at CAROLINABLUELADY Book Treasures
This story was originally written in 1910, first as a series written for a magazine and then the book with the entire story published in 1911.  

The Secret Garden by

Francis Hodgsons Burnett

After researching the book and reading reviews, I think I now know why this was such a special book to her.  My mother felt very alone growing up and told us kids many times that she didn't feel that her mother really loved her as a child.   She didn't feel that she fit in and always had a hard time trusting anyone. It was really very hard for me to understand. My relationship with my grandmother was very different from the relationship my mother described between her and my grandmother. When my mother was around 16, she went to live with her maternal grandparents on the family farm. 

It was the place where my grandmother was born and also, where my mother was born.  My mother loved following her grandpa around the farm while he did his chores and loved talking with him.  He always made her feel that what she had to say was important.  She lived there through high school.  The farm was always a special and beautiful place for her - it was where she felt she belonged and she could be free to dream her dreams.  Great-grandpa's farm was my mother's secret garden.  This is a picture of my mother on her graduation day from high school taken at the farm.  The year was 1939 (I think).  It might have been 1940.

 

I have added one of the copies of my mother's "The Secret Garden" to my library.  It is a very special story and a children's classic.  Everyone needs a "secret garden."  And, just maybe, it is easier being a grandmother than a mother.
Please check out my bookstore, CAROLINABLUELADY Book Treasures where you will find The Secret Garden and other favorite books.   

 

Toothpick Heaven!

Our grandmother collected two different items - first being St. Clair toothpick holders.  She had Indian Head toothpicks in every color that St. Clair produced and a lot of the Holly pattern toothpicks.  When we were at her house, at some point we would be standing in front of her china cupboard and looking in awe at all her toothpick holders.  Even the older grandkids loved looking at all the toothpick holders.  The second item she collected was the carnival glass in the Harvest pattern from the Indiana Glass Company in Dunkirk, In.  Yes, this is considered the "new" carnival glass and I have to admit, growing up, this was not my favorite glass.  But what did make it special was seeing the sparkle in her eyes and how happy she was when she looked at the glass or was able to buy a new piece.  With St. Clair located in Elwood, In and Indiana Glass in Dunkirk, In, it was always a special treat for her to go to the factories with her sister, Aunt Goldie. 

Our mother also collected toothpick holders.  Her finds came from auctions, antique stores visited while traveling with my sister and me, and St. Clair in Elwood, In.  Other than St. Clair, she only looked for toothpicks that she thought were pretty.  The value really had nothing to do with her collections.  In her eyes, all glass was of value.  While I have been selling the toothpicks that were still wrapped in the auction boxes, the ones she did have displayed were included in the toothpick holders for us to choose from.       

The main thing that we did yesterday was to divide the toothpicks between the three of us.  We put all the toothpicks on a long table - there were 150+ toothpicks - St. Clair, Imperial, Fenton, Boyd, Summit, Deganhart and a few others.  Nothing high dollar, but all very special.  We decided to each pick 20 and then we would sell the rest online at CAROLINABLUELADY Vintage Collectibles at eCrater.  We took turns picking out our toothpicks one at a time and with so many to choose from, it took quite sometime to reach our 20 each.  As we looked over the remaining toothpicks, another one caught my sister's eye.  My brother said, "so we each want to pick another one?"  We ended with 22 each.  It was a very good day with plenty left to sell.  And, with 22 each, the grandkids are well taken care of, too.      

The Beginning Of The End Of Our Journey

My brother, sister and I have been on a journey for the past three years since our mother past away in September, 2008.  I'm sure most people can not understand why it has taken this long for us to go through the things in her house.  For most, taking a bulldozer to the house would have been the logical answer.  But for us, hidden in the stacks of newspapers, magazines and boxes, were our memories and treasures that we seem to cling onto so tightly.  Among our mother's stuff was our grandmother's stuff - nothing was ever thrown away.  To be honest, it isn't that the stuff is so valuable, it is the memories that are triggered bringing smiles, laughter and tears that have guided us for the past three years.  The stuff represents the carefree years of our childhood, the shaping of who we are, our mother's love and the love we have for each other.  

Thought you just might want to see the big house -

   
Oh, yes, there are a few additions to the original house. 

It is our goal to be done by the end of October.  This will be my last week at my mother's house and will be the week that we decide who gets what.  I'm sure there will be some things that more than one of us will want - our mother's scissors, our grandmother's big white-frame mirror, our "stagecoach" rocking chair, family-collected glassware and family mementos.  This could be the hardest part of our three year journey. 

Yesterday, we walked through the house and discussed our plan and time frame for ending this journey.  For the next five days, we will again be talking and sharing while dividing our memories.  I'm sure there will be plenty of laughter and a few tears. 

Our final plan begins today. 

Glass Hens On The Window Sill

Although I brought back 34 boxes of "pretties" that we will be selling, there were a few treasures that we won't be able to part with.  Going through the kitchen cabinets, my sister and I found some wonderful memories - some we had forgotten.  When my grandmother moved into the house in the early '70s, she had the kitchen renovated - this is an older house so it has 10' ceilings.  She had cabinets installed all the way to the ceiling on two walls - so you can imagine all the storage space.  She even had a new modern automatic washer and dryer installed.  The wringer washer was being replaced (actually, it is still in the old garage).   The cabinets still have my grandmother's kitchen gadgets, dishes and pots & pans.  My mother didn't remove anything; just added to it.  My grandmother's glass covered hens are still sitting on the window sill in front of the sink and the kitchen clock is still on the wall - a copper teapot design.  We haven't removed them yet.

You know, it is sort of weird.....the dishes, glasses, pots and pans were the same all through my childhood and even into my adult years.  We didn't change or replace dishes like we do today.  I don't think my kids are going to have as much fun going through my things.  Here are a few things that my sister and I found.  You may find this sort of funny, but we were like kids in a candy store.

Yes, that is an egg poacher.  My grandmother would fix me a poached egg and put it on toast - it was always a special breakfast.  Luckily, we found two of them so my sister took one and I took the other.  See that rolling pin?  Yes, the handle is broken off of one side and that is how I always remembered it.  I can see her rolling out the dough for "poppie" on Sunday morning.  She worked fast, maneuvering the rolling pin around and stretching the dough until it was perfect.  Then the dough would have to "dry" before she cut it up and put it in with the boiling beef or boiling chicken.  Sometimes she would let me drop the squares of dough into the boiling water and I could watch it puff up.  And, then her egg beater with the worn green handle - another prized possession. I just loved watching her cook and bake - she always explained everything and let me help.

We found a few more treasures - the beat-up tin pie pan that she always used to flour meat.  The tin measuring cups with the beat-up rounded bottoms.  We'll wait and divide these items later after we finish going through all the cabinets.  I know there will be some flat tin lids that I will want.

In going through our treasured memories, my brother, sister and I can get a little overwhelmed at times - there is so much to go through.  But then I look at the covered glass hens on the window sill all covered in dust and see the copper teapot clock on the wall that no longer works and a feeling of peace comes over me and brings a smile to my face.  Thank you Mother and Grandma for such wonderful treasures and memories.           

The Broken Cup

Going through my mother's things, we ran across a wrapped item in a box - felt kind of fragile.  We carefully unwrapped it and inside was a broken cup.  Just a plain white coffee cup that looked like millions of other restaurant-type cups.  Because of the other items in the box, we knew it had not been broken after it was packed.  At the time, my brother, sister and I thought this was pretty funny.  Our mother had wrapped it after it was broken - not able to throw it away.  Even though this cup wasn't worth anything and could not be fixed, that was just the way she was.  Even the most worthless object was special to her.

It's been over a year since we found that cup.  In my mind, I can see her wrapping that plain, white, broken coffee cup.  Gingerly, taking her time to make sure every piece of broken china was secure and carefully placing it in the box with some of her other pretties.

What did we do with the cup?  Well, after sharing some laughter and other memories, we carefully rewrapped the broken cup and place it back in the box to go through later.  I'm not sure that we will be able to throw that worthless, plain, white, broken coffee cup away.  Perhaps, we will leave that for the next generation.

Memories of Childhood

Picture taken in 1955 of my mother, baby sister, brother and I. I sometimes forget how pretty my mother was and how much she loved us kids. I love this picture of us!

This is my first attempt at blogging. I have been selling collectibles online for 3 years now and have decided that I really need to keep up with all the networking that one needs to do to get buyers to their store sites. With 3 1/2 years until retirement, I have finally found what I would like to do when I grow up - selling memories online. I love old carnival glass and being from Greentown, Indiana, I am also a collector of Greentown glass.

For now I am going to attach something I wrote on Mother's Day of this year about my Mother. Along with talking about the treasures we are finding, I will be sharing some of our memories that come with the treasures.

Mother's Day For A Special Mother

My mother is no longer with us but will live in my heart forever. She passed away September 9, 2008 at the age of 87. She had suffered from dementia with lewy bodies. Her happiness was her home, being surrounded by her "pretties" and her privacy. This disease took that away from her.
My mother's greatest gift was her unconditional love for my brother, sister and I. She raised us kids on her own, working in a factory until she retired. Growing up as young children in the early '50s, it's amazing what she accomplished through hard work and perseverance. Although, she had to work outside the home, the rest of her time was devoted to us kids. She loved us and talked to us about everything. She would buy records (45s) and play them on our record player. We'd sing and dance in the living room. She would read to us from the Bible, especially stories about how Jesus loved little children.

She was also very creative, making up her own stories and telling us - I loved listening to her stories when I was little. We could play with our toys in the living room - I don't think she ever told us not to mess anything up. We were poor, but we didn't know it because of her unconditional love for us. Did she ever get mad at us? Well, the only time she would get mad was if my brother and I would fight. She did not like fighting at all. Oh, and maybe the time I cut my sister's hair that had never been cut before ..... we'll just leave that for another story.

My mother enjoyed collecting things and going to auctions and never, never threw anything away. She had always saved newspapers even when we were little kids. She'd like to cut out recipes and fashion advertisements - well, just about anything that caught her attention. When grocery stores started selling dinnerware in the '50s and '60s, she started buying dinnerware - she liked every pattern! When she retired, that's when she started going to auctions and really started collecting. In her eyes, anything old, especially glass, was beautiful and special. I don't think any auctioneer had to put back a box due to no bidders if she was in the audience. Most items are still in the boxes that she brought home from the auctions, still carefully wrapped in the same newspapers. She also loved to read and belonged to about every book club there was. And, I would almost bet that her Avon rep received sales awards having my mother as her customer. She saved all of our clothes, our toys and school papers as we were growing up.

It is taking us quite a while going through all her things and to be honest, I don't know when we will be done. She had always said we would have fun going through her things. Wasn't convince at the time, but she was right. My brother, sister and I have found a new closeness that we had not shared in a long time. Not only are we finding our childhood memories, but we are also finding things including her written personal thoughts that bring awareness about how unique and wonderful our mother was.
At times there are tears, but then there is laughter, so, yes Mother, we are having fun going through your treasures. You see, these "things" are our memories, too.