Category: Handmade

Memories and Scraps of Leather

Memories and Scraps of Leather
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Handmade purse and sandals

When we were married, Jack used to make leather goods, that included purses and sandals. He started to sell them when the Rose Festival Center was in the park across from the Lloyd Center Mall. It was probably 50 years ago.

What I have left of these is this purse he made for Mom and the tiny, little sandals he made for Hannah.

I clearly can recall the smell of leather, dye, Lexol and rubber cement. His workshop was set up in our small front room and a stump was installed where he cut and hammered and finished his handmade goods.

Scraps of leather and tools were scattered all about. His fingers and the floor were stained with shades of warm browns, soft reds and black and deepest blues.

I was the blessed recipient of purses, belts and sandals and small wallets of latigo and soft suede of many colors.

I miss that workshop that was our tiny house. I miss the sounds and the smells and Jack’s ability to create works of art from leather.

And this is what life is made of, memories and scraps of leather.

A Cup for Promises.

A bit of love remembered:

I finally retired in October 2014. My sister, Kristi, had retired about a year before me. One day we met for coffee at an intimate cafe in Woodstock to celebrate.

Kristi’s
Mine

We bought these cups as a symbol of our promise to be companions as we aged, to take trips together and maybe even one day to live together. Little did we know that within just two weeks, she would die in a terrible car accident.

Two days ago I was drinking coffee out of my cup and I thought about these promises we made to one another. I wondered if Kristi’s kids had found her cup amongst her things.

I sent them a message and in a short time, I got a message back from Sharon, her oldest daughter, with a photo of the cup saying that she drinks out of it often.

I cried for loss but also for gladness. A girl could not have had a better sister. My memories of her span 64 years, so they are many.

When she was only 3 years old, and I was only 5, I contracted polio, and for the rest of our time together, she did for me what I could not do for myself. She was my confidant. She was my buddy. She was my heart.

I miss her so. When I drink from her promise cup, my heart fills to overflowing. I’m so happy to know that my promise cup to her still exists.

The Scarf

Kristi gave me this scarf for my birthday on September 13, 2014. It was a warm evening and we were sitting in the glow of the candles on my front porch with Steve and Dee and Dhillon. We were sipping on gin and tonics and laughing about everything. Kristi knew that I loved handmade things, so she had this made for me. I hugged her and kissed her and cried. Her birthday was coming up in five days and I hadn’t planned anything for her yet, but we were planning a trip to the beach and I would get her something then. Something that she would choose.

How lucky we were. She was retired and my retirement had started just two weeks before. We had plans galore and she didn’t know it but I was hoping that one day we would be two old women sharing a house together.

That night we didn’t know that we had only the next 30 days with her. She was suddenly swept out of our lives, forever. You can only imagine what this scarf means to me.

This morning as I bundled up to take Yum Yum out for a walk, my scarf was not on the shelf with my hats and gloves, so I grabbed one of Hannah’s, figuring that I had worn mine upstairs where I might have left it.

Yum Yum and I had traveled about nine blocks, and there was my scarf, lying in the grass, strewn with twigs and leaves. “What?? That’s my scarf.” I quickly picked it up, expecting it to be wet and dirty and at least smelling like a dog or two had left their territorial mark on it. But no, it smells sweet like a cold and fresh autumnal morning.

Ancel said there was a force field protecting it. Yum and I never walk the same way twice but this morning, we passed where my scarf lay waiting for me.