Category: Daughters

Unsolved Mystery of the Heart

Just recently, I found the answer to a mystery  I had given up on resolving many years before. I mostly didn’t even know that I was still looking, but the search was hidden away in my heart to emerge only occasionally.  

There were few things of value that I even cared about because Mom left so little behind. But there were a few of precious value to the heart only. Nothing she ever owned was embued with monetary value.

But there was one mystery to solve, known only to me as, “The  Missing Heart.” I would have found the answer if I had known to ask the right people. Why did the loss of this small charm occur to me again? Oh, yes, I remember! My niece, Sharon, was going through her mother’s (my sister’s) jewelry and came upon a bracelet she didn’t recognize, and neither did I.

I asked if among her things, had she come upon a small silver and marcasite heart with a mother of pearl inset? At first, I couldn’t remember the stones, so it was hard to describe. Her first answer was, “No”,  she said,  but she would keep an eye out for it.

I looked online to see if I could at least find something similar to help her identify it. Why did I even care, you might ask. Because, as a small child,  like all curious children will,  I loved to look in my mother’s jewelry boxes and in her top drawer to see her linen hankies and soft gloves of silk, cotton and leather, small veils of soft netting, hat pins, hair barretts and other small pieces and mementos.

On top of her dresser, among the crystal bowls, was her hair brush, a handheld mirror, and containers of face and body powder and fancy glass bottles of perfume and fragrant lotions.

There, also sat my favorite music box. It was a small wooden piano with just enough room to hold a few small pieces of jewelry.

The music box

Mom’s dresser was always dusty with the powders she used liberally. Her favorite perfume was Tweed. The fragrance is strong, with the tiniest bit of floral notes to keep it feminine, but mostly, it is dark, moody and earthy, woody, and resinous. Perfect for Mom, but not for a small child or even a teenager. I was never tempted to use it, but it smelled spectacular on my loving yet stoic mother.

But, back to the heart.

I sent my nephews and neices online images of similar items. Sharon said she would continue to look.  She said she would also ask the other girls. My sister had three girls and four boys that she left behind way too early. She also said that there was a story that went with that heart, if the one I was looking for was one that she remembered. I didn’t remember any such story.

Not long after, another of Kristi’s three daughters, Shauna, sent a message with a photo of the heart. “Is this the one you’ve been looking for, Auntie?” she wrote. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

There it was! She explained that her mother had given it to her, before she passed away, to wear at her wedding. Sarah, one of the three daughters, now had it to wear at her upcoming wedding.

She went on to explain the story behind the heart, a story I had never heard: It was a gift from Mom’s first love. If that’s true, why hadn’t I heard it?

I should have been happy just to know that it was still in the family… but. I wasn’t. I was hurt, confused, and frustrated. When did Mom give that to Kristi? Not known to lie nor even to be secretive, could Kristi and Mom have  kept this gift giving a secret? When did this even take place?

I couldn’t be upset with the girls, and of what use is it now for me to be angry with Mom  and Kristi, now that they passed on years ago. I decided to sit with the feeling. I couldn’t shake it anyway.

Now, after a couple of weeks, I guess I’m happy that the heart is in safe and loving hands. Somethings I’ll never know, like when or why Mom decided to give the heart to Kristi. We were and are a close and loving family. I know also that Mom and Kristi hadn’t between them, an ounce of secretive intent.

Each of the girls wore the necklace at their wedding, and if I had it, it would have been enjoyed and cherished by only me.

“I beg you to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”

–Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet (1929)

Brogues, Metal Cleats and Family

Dad wore large metal cleats on his expensive brown leather Florsheim brogues. These shoes were weekly tended to until they were softly polished to a warm, soft sheen. Even without the cleats, they were heavy. I can still remember the smell of shoe polish and the soft cloth and brushes in Dad’s kit.

Wingtip leather dress shoes

Every day, after he was done with work, we could hear him coming home from the bus stop around the block before we could see him. The large cresent shaped cleats on the heels of his shoes rang out on the concrete sidewalk. We ran to meet him as he rounded the corner of our street.

Cleats

It was a comforting sound that we waited for, even though Mom warned that he would soon arrive and we were to put our toys away and clean up our projects and to clear the walkway of bicycles, scooters, pogo sticks and such.

Mom was usually cooking dinner at this time of day, so she had food ready for him, knowing that he would be tired and worn after a long day. Us kids were to make way for him, so it was a peaceful and relaxing place for him to unwind.

As soon as he removed his shoes, he would put his shoe trees inside to stretch and maintain the elegant shape of these expertly designed and sewn shoes. The cleats were not only music to our ears, they were practical.

Shoe tree

The cleats prevented the heels from being worn down. When the cleats themselves wore down, the edges were  thin and sharp as knife blades. New ones were applied by the neighborhood shoe repairman.

Shoes in those days that had worn out heels and soles were not disposed of but were repaired. My great Uncle Curt had a shoe repair shop where every morning he opened the door knowing that customers would be coming to drop off or pick up shoes. That was when shoes weren’t disposable.

Uncle Curt’s shop smelled of tanned leather and shoe polish. Behind the counter stood a huge black sewing machine and a workbench with neatly arranged hammers and cutters and other tools of his trade and bins of nails and threads and cords of all types and cleats, of course.

The shelves lining the walls were filled with every type of shoe from heavy work boots and workshoes to dainty women’s high heels. He also repaired purses, belts, suspenders, and anything needing his handiwork. There were also a couple of chairs for customers to wait if they just needed a quick fix, like having to replace worn-out cleats.

Dad took care of what was important to him. I remember the smells of banana from the oil when he cleaned his guns and how his tackle box smelled when he cleaned, rearranged and prepared the hooks, the flies, the bobbers, the sinkers and spools of fishing line… and little jars of florescent fish eggs.

When Dad brought out his shoes, guns, tackle boxes, and other stuff to clean and care for, it wasn’t in the basement, not in the garage and not even in the kitchen. It was in the living room where he was in the middle of his family, in the midst of the most important things in his life… in his heart, where he tinkered.

We loved to watch him and ask him this and that while he taught us the value of our belongings and the importance of what we had. But mostly, he taught us to love family.  And we do.

I wish I could hear him coming down the street today. He left us way too young. He was only 52 years old when he passed away. But he left an indelible mark on us all. I insisted on wearing taps/cleats on my shoes, too, just like Dad. I wanted to be just like Dad… I hope I am.

Mother’s Day Daisies 2023

For my wedding day,

I carried the lovely garden variety daisy,

All dressed in white.

They’ve always been a favorite.

But the exuberant Gerber daisy,

Leaves nothing to be desired.

Color riot.

Beautiful bouquet of Gerber Daisies.