Rich, not Gaudy

My grandmother, Märta Cederström (1879-1934), traveled to Italy in the 1890’s when she was a teenager. She was likely accompanied by her mother Clara Blixen (1855-1925) and her three sisters. Their visit included stays in Rome, Venice, Florence and Naples.

Both Clara and Märta were interested in art, art history and antiques. Besides extensive sightseeing they did some shopping. I have several items that the ladies may well have purchased in Florence: a small oval box, an oval waste basket, and two picture frames, all covered in elegantly gilded leather.

For hundreds of years Florence has been a center for gilded tooled leather work. Today the Franciscan monks in the monastery at the Santa Croce church run a leather working school keeping this old art form alive. Barbara has several small gilded boxes that belonged to Moster Brita. They are newer, in excellent condition (except the one that Claes bit when he was one) and were likely gifts from some of Brita’s close friends who lived in Italy.

I got the waste basket from Moster Brita after she died in 1993. It sat next to the antique Italian writing desk in her living room. My mother gave me the oval box, when I was 11 or 12. I got the two picture frames after my mother died in 1990.

The leather is in excellent condition on the smaller items, but the waste basket shows signs of wear and tear. The thin leather has worn off in places and there are a number of spots. I occasionally oil the leather, but I doubt anybody else has ever done it. My guess is that all the pieces date back to the late 1800’s.

The little box is one of the many things I have that I really treasure. I have seen it most days of my life, but never given it much thought. I love the patina of the faded soft leather, the dainty gold leaf work, and the graceful shape of the box. I think about my mother when I see it, and I wonder about the grandmother I never knew.

Oval gilded red leather box (3h x 5w x 3w cm)
Oval waste basket (30h x 28w x 19w cm)
Gilded brown leather frame (26h, 20w, frame width 17mm)
Gilded brown leather frame (30h, 25h, frame width 35mm)
**
This is part of a collection of notes I make about objects I have.
Each item has a picture, size, materials, condition, age, place of origin, history.
I also tell whatever I can think of in connection to the object: the object becomes the starting point to a story of a person or an event.
The collection has family tree information, where people lived etc. as separate entries.

Birgitta

To Milton

H.D. Lamb (1864-1927) was an entrepreneur with his finger in many pies in Red Oak, Iowa. He bought and sold pieces of real estate, ran a grocery store, an undertaker venture, and a furniture business, and did some farming. It seems like the ventures he was involved in were successful, but never made the family really prosper. In 1906 the Lambs left Iowa to seek their fortune in Oregon.

The Lamb family, H.D. and his wife Mabel (1867-1940) and their children Marjorie, Harold, Frank, Fred and Harry boarded the train west in Red Oak headed for Portland. They interrupted their journey in Pendleton to visit their friend John Bolt who had moved from Red Oak to Milton. However, the Lambs liked Milton so well that they decided to stay instead of continuing to Portland.

H.D. took his heavy, eight foot long furniture maker’s work bench along on the journey, expecting to rely on his furniture making skills to make a living in his new home. Years later H.D.’s daughter-in-law Willie gave the tool bench to her son Gib.

“You can have it, but don’t ever give it away,” Willie said to Gib when he asked if he could have the tool bench. Today Frank has his great-grandfather’s workbench. It is a sturdy implement, the wood darkened with age, a much used piece of equipment.

Few things remain of the belongings that the Lambs carried with them on that long ago train journey. A carved oak clock some ten inches tall sat on the seat beside them on the train ride. Later it sat on Gib’s TV for years, a treasured belonging. (There is a story about somebody—Willie—who couldn’t sleep when it was ticking or perhaps not ticking)

Stashed away in their luggage, Mabel Lamb also carried some silver. Those days silver flatware was a sign of prosperity. Silver was a luxury item and one that was easy to show off. When the lady of the house had company over for coffee she would dig out her silver coin spoons. Willie Lamb inherited Mabel’s spoons. She eventually gave half of the spoons to Clark and Arleen Lamb and the other half to Gib and Helen. After Helen died the spoons were divided between her children.

H.D. stayed active in business and the community in Milton. Gib remembers that his bald Grandpa was fond of saying, “You can’t grow grass on a busy street.” (Add short recap about business ventures)

**
Thoughts:
This is a work in process, recording objects and events. It is hard to make it come alive.
Other belongings: Blue Willow Ware china, crazy quilt
Attach H.D. Lamb family pictures and Lamb family tree
Silver spoon story

Birgitta

Shorty

He had been resting in the shade of an old Juniper when he noticed a dust devil whirling across the desert. He squinted from under the brim of his old Stetson at the clouds gathering on the horizon. "This is gonna be a bad'un, partner." He didn't expect Buck to answer, but he knew he understood better than most two-legged animals would. "Come on, we best hed for some shelter, there's a line shack about a mile away." He saddled Buck, gathered up his gear, and climbed into the saddle, grunting with the effort. "I'm gettin' too old fer this" he muttered. He whistled for his dogs, a Blue Heeler and a Border Collie, and headed down the trail.

Reaching the line shack, he turned Buck loose as he would weather the storm better, and giving the storm another look, he and the dogs went inside to wait it out. Those blamed cows and calves will be scattered all over, he thought. Oh, well, that's a cowboy's life, dust, mud, heat, cold; and he wouldn't trade it for any other.

As was the way of most dust storms in this desert, this one was over in less than an hour. Buck was waiting for him when went outside, expecting to be saddled and go gather the cows. The dogs were eager to go too, but the old cowboy wasn't in any hurry. His lean frame ached today, and for some reason he was having trouble lifting the saddle; but he finally got himself on and headed out to find those critters.

When he didn't return to the ranch that evening, the cow bossd was worried. Old Shorty should be back by now, unless that storm caused more damage than expected. He called to a couple of the younger cowhands, who were leaning on the corral fence, and told them to saddle his horse and join him. The three of them headed for the back country searching for some sign of where he might be. It was nearly dark when they found Shorty, lying on the ground, with
Buck and the dogs keeping watch over him. It was the last round-up for Shorty.

Dinner at Nana's

Heavy clouds darken the evening sky as Barbara pulls up to the curb outside Nana’s apartment at Mary’s Woods. Nana is on the lookout for us and slides the glass door open to let Missy out. Missy comes charging, her fat dachshund body wiggling in ecstasy. When she reaches us, she lies down, rolls over on her back and wants to be petted, her tail wagging enthusiastically. Then she gets up and charges back to the door.

“Hi, Nana,” Finn yells. “Do you have any monies for the money-truck?”

Nana finds a jar of coins, and Finn gets the piggybank, shaped like an old-time truck, from her book shelf. He starts loading quarters into the slot while we take off our jackets.

As we head for the community dining room, Finn races to the end of the long hallway, turns, and runs back as fast as he can. “Hi,” he says politely when he meets an old lady, but moments later when an elderly gentleman greets Finn, he doesn’t notice. He is busy driving an imaginary garbage truck along the handrail that runs along the wall.

“Beep, beep, beep,” the truck slowly backs up, before continuing down the rail. A maze of winding hallways leads us to the dining room. Finn stops to survey the array of walkers and three-wheelers parked at the entry.

Well-groomed ladies and distinguished looking gentlemen fill the dining room. We wait our turn and are seated. The staff knows Finn: he’s their only regular two-year-old customer. We used to ask for a secluded corner table where a faux pas was easily concealed, but no longer need to take those precautions.

The waiter takes the orders for the adults, then turns to Barbara, and motions toward Finn. “I want grilled cheese and fruit,” Finn says and after a pause adds, “Please.”

Barbara carries emergency entertainment in her large tote bag. When Finn wants to stand up in his chair, or tries to throw silverware on the floor, she digs into her bag for distractions. Today she brings out a couple of trucks and discretely parks them by his plate.

“You don’t put trucks on the table,” Finn tells her pointedly. “They go on the floor.”

“Oh, of course,” Barbara says.

The dining room is filled with distractions tonight. A meticulously coiffed lady passes our table in her maroon and chrome wheelchair, equipped with prominent hand breaks and a rear view mirror. It even beeps when she puts it in reverse.

A friendly gentleman stops on his way out and says, “See you later alligator.”

“In a while crocodile,” Finn confidently answers.

“See you soon, little raccoon,” the man continues, winking at Finn. At this, Finn hides his face in the chair. The man peaks around and says, “Don’t be shy, butterfly.” He walks away looking over his shoulder grinning at Finn, who has emerged from his hiding spot.

As the dining room starts to empty, Finn wanders off and crawls under a vacant table by the picture windows. We hear muted conversation from under the table cloth as his two imaginary friends, Sicsic and Gecka, join him to watch the rain that is now falling in sheets outside.

“Let’s play the piano,” Finn says to Carl as we leave the dining room, and they make a detour to the baby grand in the lounge area. Finn climbs up on the stool and plinks on the keyboard, then slides down, bounces on the long coaches along the wall, is off to climb the wide stairs to the second floor, scoots back down on his bottom, before joining Nana on her slow walk down the hall.

Wednesday is bridge night and a game is underway in one of the rooms we pass on the way back to Nana’s apartment. Under Bruce’s coaching Finn has started to look in on the game.

“How are you, ladies?” he announces to the room in a clear voice.

“We’re fine,” a lady at a nearby table answers. “How are you?”

“Just fine,” Finn responds. “How’s the game going?”

The ladies laugh. Finn, suddenly shy, hides behind Barbara’s legs, then turns and races down the hall.

When we open Nana’s door, a wiggling Missy comes bounding out to meet us, turns and runs back. By now it’s getting late, we gather our belongings, and Finn walks over to Nana.

“Goodbye, Nana. I love you, Nana.” he says and gives her a hug.

“Love you too,” Nana says, “Come back soon.”

We say goodbye and dash out to the car through the rain.

Character Description

She flopped down on the creaking swivel chair, switched on the light, balanced the coffee mug on the crowded desk next to the half-eaten doughnut, turned on the computer, and picked up a dog-eared sheet of paper.

“Ok, Max,” she said to the shaggy calico cat who sat watching her, “Let’s do this Character Profile Sheet.”

Max looked at her with his clear, green eyes, but did not respond.

“Character’s Name,” she continued. “What shall we call this character, Max?”

Max yawned and started to lick his left paw.

“How about calling him Max?” she said, carelessly pushing back her limp, dark hair.

“Sex,” she frowned, “I wish. Perhaps we’d better make it a she. Maxine.”

Max looked offended, but continued his grooming routine.

“Age 35 and single,” she decided, “oh well, why not make it 27.”

“Physical appearance,” she murmured, and glanced at her plump reflection in the window. Absently twisting a button in her faded flannel shirt, she reached for the mug and gulped down half its contents. Max and the room faded into the background as her fingers flew over the keyboard

“Maxine crossed her long, slim legs, reclined gracefully against the plush pillows, and smiled at her handsome companion. Her glossy, strawberry blond hair just touched the shoulders of her teal cashmere sweater. She absently stroked the silky fur of her Siamese cat and reached for the dainty demitasse at her elbow to take a slow sip. Her clear, green eyes, fringed with long, dark lashes … “

Written by Birgitta

**
Thoughts behind this piece:

In class Jann mentioned writing fiction … I wondered what I could possibly write

The doughnut comes from the low carb conversation in class

I’m trying to figure out how to write humor

I couldn’t remember what color is in fashion right now so I wrote “teal”

I was trying to get some clichés in, but wasn’t very successful

Bobby's Christmas

In my family you learned to live with teasing. It was a fact of life with Dad and my brothers; but as I was the youngest by several years, it seemed to take me longer to learn this. I remember one Christmas especially when I was about four years old.


I had always wanted a little brother, but since that didn't happen, I decided to change one of my dolls into a boy doll. I changed her name from Barbardine to Bobby, and pinned her dress to look like pants. My aunt had given me long baby stockings and baby shoes, but I longed for regular boy-doll clothes for Bobby. One day I saw my Mother sewing as usual, but the clothes were small. I asked her they were for and she said they were for a little poor boy. I thought no more about this as she was always making clothes for someone.

Christmas Eve we all hung our stockings. Dad asked if I was going to hang Bobby's stocking. I told him Bobby was a doll, and Santa wouldn't bring anything for a doll. They all persisted, so I hung his stocking alongside mine. Christmas morning I rushed in to see what my stocking held, and behold, Bobby's stocking was filled! I took it down and looked in but all I saw were what looked like rags. My family were all smiling, so I thought I had been had again. I was hurt and mad, so I picked up the stocking and started to throw it into the wood stove; but before I could my brother grabbed the stocking. Mom sat me down and insisted I look inside. There they were! A blue shirt and overalls, and a pair of pajamas, all for Bobby!

I don't remember what I received that Christmas, but I sure remember what Santa brought for Bobby!


Written by Carrie
(This was part of the Life and Times of Carrie McClain that I wrote for my kids)

2004 09 Claes

9/2004


Wapato is lying in the living room wedged between the sofa and the coffee table. Finn is sitting on Wapato’s back. Finn flops over and lays on top of the dog, one arm around Wapato’s neck. Finn’s head is wedged between the sofa and the dog. In that position he falls fast asleep and remains there until Barbara rescues the long-suffering dog and carries the sleeping Finn into his bed.

9/2004

Claes likes to push around Finn’s high chair in the kitchen and climb up on it. He pushes it over to the refrigerator and climbs up to look at all the pictures, points at the ones of himself and says “baby,” pries loose the magnets and throws them on the floor. Sometimes he pushes the chair to the middle of the floor, climbs up and stands on it. As a variation he pushes it over to the kitchen sink, climbs into the sink, turns on the water and is standing there looking out the window when Barbara discovers him.

9/2004

One day as the boys are playing in the sandbox, Barbara goes into the kitchen on a quick errand. A block away, a train whistles as it approaches. Finn walks down to the garage to watch it go by. Claes, left in the sandbox by himself, decides to explore. He climbs out and crawls toward the kitchen. He passes the kitchen, crawls out to the road, up across the rough gravel to Bill and Diana’s house next door, and into their parking lot.

When the train has passed, Finn returns to the sandbox, and goes searching for Claes. He hears Claes talking, follows the sound up to the neighbors, and finds Claes investigating Bill’s trailer. Finn scoops Claes up, holds him tight under the arms, and lugs him back down under loud protest. As the boys round the corner to the drive way, Barbara comes out of the kitchen to check on them.

10/8/2004

Finn is building a machine on the living room rug. It consists of sticks, a rubber band, a cork, and scissors.

“What’s it for?” Barbara asks.

“It’s for taking out the bad bones from the carpet,” Finn answers.

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Written by Brigitta

Here are some thoughts …

Do I need more background to anchor these vignettes?

Is it a good idea to write in the present tense?

Should I invent dialogue if I don’t quite remember how it went?

Do I need to tell the boys’ ages? Readers are limited to family.

Do I need to define who the various people in the stories are.

Does there need to be a moral in the story?