I’ve slowly been trying to clean out the attic. Well, I cleaned out one corner a few months ago. And as Fall turned almost to Winter, I needed to make my way up to exchange short-sleeved t-shirts for sweaters. I love my sweaters, especially the vintage ones.
While searching the far corners of the attic, I always bump into all of the things I’m not looking for first. That must be the Murphy’s Law for attic searching. On this occasion, I bumped into a huge box of old family photos. It was a box I had taken from my Dad’s house when cleaning it out.
In it were all sorts of treasures from the past.
Here’s my paternal grandmother, Helen, loitering with her friends in 1923!
She’s the one in the middle. You’ve got to love those hats; I do! And, I do believe that loitering is hereditary!
Here's Nathan one Halloween.
Yes, he would probably kill me if I posted this on Facebook, so I won't!
Here’s an adorable mutt we owned named Rico.
My brother moved home; however, when he moved out, his dog, Rico, stayed. It’s funny how that happens.
There were many pictures of birthdays past. This is Julie’s birthday.
I’m the one with the braids; it was my Swiss Miss-Pippi Longstocking hair period, okay?!
This was one of the bands my Dad was in. Chet's Polka Kings!
He’s second from the left.
Then there were all the embarrassing school photos. Here I am in first grade.
Iz saw this picture and said, “Who’s that?!?!?!” Can you tell my Mom cut my bangs? And, yes, I am wearing an exact replica of the dress the young girl wore in the movie, “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.” You do have an eye for fashion, don't you?!
Then there were the photos that made you wonder how your parents ever got a hold of them, like this one.
Can you say underage drinking the night of high school graduation?! This must have been one they were saving for blackmail purposes during my college years. And, your keen eye for fashion is correct again. I am wearing Calvin Klein jeans; however, unlike Brooke Shields, something always came between me and my Calvins, my underwear, which I hadn't started wearing inside out yet!
Anyway, it’s just amazing how one box can make your whole life flash across the attic in 20 minutes. ♥
While pawing through the box, I found another one of my Dad’s stories. He was an English major in college like me. This story shouted out at me, because of its title, “Essence of Love.” He wrote it in 1956, and I thought I’d share it with you.
Essence of Love
Pi Delta was sponsoring a dinner-culture night in the basement of Falcon’s Hall. Pi Delta was an independent sorority composed of all the women worth anything, better yet, those women who had or were planning to marry men with money.
The few men who attended, with or without money – this fact depending on the acting ability of the girls enhanced by many culture periods they subjected themselves – tried to hide in the dark corners of the basement. The brave few, accompanied by their wives, or by their girls, pleaded for a location that was away from or out of sight of the main table.
Jack failed miserably in his attempt. He ended up sitting in the fourth row. He never would have gone except that his mother needed a chauffeur, and his father could well afford to buy him off with five dollars.
Jack hoped, at least, that the lectures would be better than the dinner. He put his hand in his coat pocket and pulled out the menu. The young man was not quite sure what he had eaten, but there it was – Reste de boeuf aux choux sprinkled with Cervelles d’agneau, which Mrs. Jerome P. Henshaw said was better than beef brains because it had a more delicate flavor; also listed were Beignet de pommes and café. He wondered where the beef and cabbage that he had eaten came in.
Turning over the paper he had in his hand, he saw the names of the speakers printed on the other side. Mrs. Jerome P. Henshaw, scheduled for a talk on basket weaving, and Ann Jane Mason, listed to give a speech on the “Essence of Love.”
His lips formed a half-smile. Ann Jane Mason! Well, I’ll be damned, he thought. She was his steady for five months before he joined the Air Force. Nice, but sort of skinny…
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” bellowed a woman. “It is time for the cultural part of the night – I would like to introduce our first speaker for the evening, Mrs. Jerome P. Henshaw, her topic – basketry.” The group applauded.
Mrs. Jerome P. Henshaw stood up and began, “Basketry. Basketry is one of the most ancient crafts in the world and probably the origin of all the textile arts in the world…”
Jack’s eyes checked all the members sitting at the head table. He did not see any skinny woman there. They were all plump, except one who was about right. “Well, I’ll be damned!” he whispered. She certainly had changed since their last date two years ago.
“The purpose of interweaving twigs, seeds, and leaves is practiced around the world in the crudest nations of the world and is therefore one of the world’s most ancient arts.”
Ann was going to go to the New England School of Accounting. Let’s see – she was 18 then. Twenty now and all there. She had grown proportionally all over. He wondered how the other girls he had known changed in the interim.
“A thorough and steady training of twelve months is needed to become proficient. Train yourselves to imitate in form the simple things and find your true inspiration in nature.”
The loud applause, and the bellowing voice of the president introducing the next speaker, brought Jack’s drifting mind back to the hall. “Miss Ann Mary Mason and the Essence of Love,” said the President.
She was radiant standing beside the other withered women. She had left the loose, flabby fitting clothes she had worn when she was slim and probably wore, as she did tonight, tight-fitting azure-blue knit dresses. She had sacrificed the pounds of commercial make-up that had covered her face for a light touch of rouge and lipstick here and there that brought out her natural rosy complexion. Her waist was as slim as before but her top and bottom bulged out with a mathematical correctness that gave her body a proper sine curve.
She spoke.
“My topic is the ‘Essence of Love.’ I can only speak on this matter with the experience that my twenty years of age has given me, not having lived the full life of love and friendship that many of you have.”
The women and girls giggled.
“But I can tell you the path upon which a single girl can travel to find a friend or companion of the opposite sex to fulfill the soul’s desire for a natural kinship without reverting to the scandalous conduct of the present day juveniles to satiate their sexual needs.”
“Holy hell!” mumbled Jack.
The woman were sitting on the edge of their seats, listening intently to every word. Jack looked at his mother as she nervously bit on a Kleenex. He looked back at Ann, then to his mother, then at the crowd, and once again back to Ann.
“It is an old love, I believe, that has been lost. I would bring it back as a new love. This new love is a natural attraction of man and woman to each other for the continuance of the human race as opposed to the pseudo-love of today, which has not been directed for the continuance of the human race, but has sprung from a sense of loneliness. It is the pining for sexual pleasure which is to release us from this torrent of solitude. I said I cannot speak with the experience that many of my sorority sisters have.”
A series of giggles, with very little effort to cover them up, escaped from the mouth of Pi Delta. Jacked looked at Ann and smiled a strange smile. Two years ago, all she wanted to do was dance, go to the movies, and listen to records. He had nicknamed her “Cheezhahuh.” That’s all her vocabulary consisted of – “Cheez!” and “Hah?” and “Huh?” But now…
“A soul before whose warmth our own lets fall the covering that the world’s coldness has imposed upon it and shows its secrets and glories without shame.” There is a saying for it.” Anne spluttered, “Liebe ist die Freiheit der Gestalt, Vom Wahm der Welt, Vom Bann der eignen Seele.”
Jack wondered if the New England School of Accounting had a German professor. He did not know what she said, and if he did, she probably never said anything like it when they had smooched in his car at Second Island.
“Such a law must, for the sake of a woman’s liberty, deprive a man of certain of his present rights. But all these limitations will all be to the final profit of love.”
The young airman applauded fervently along with the rest of the audience. His mother cut his applause short as she grabbed one of his swinging arms and said, “If we leave now, we can beat the crowd out.”
He got up, followed his mother out of the row, and waited by the door as she said a last farewell to a neighbor. Leaning against the hall entrance, he said aloud, “Things certainly changed in two years.”
Ann came out of the crowd, tall and beautiful, rushing for the door he guarded. Jack caught her eyes for a moment’s stare. They were cold and impersonal.
As she swiftly walked by, he reached out and grabbed her by the right arm.
“Ann, would you care to go out with me?” he asked. All she did was stare at the hand that held her.
He quickly though of something that would be nice to say. His mind ran over her speech.
“Ann, didn’t I give you enough experience?”
“Ann, would you care to go out with me?” he asked. All she did was stare at the hand that held her.
He quickly though of something that would be nice to say. His mind ran over her speech.
“Ann, didn’t I give you enough experience?”
In an icy voice Ann said, “Go to hell, you uncultured bum!” and she promptly left the hall.
Okay, I’m still trying to figure out what that was all about!
Anyway, it’s interesting how I went through life thinking I was so much like my mother, and it wasn’t until 10 years ago how much I realized that I’m more like my father in so many ways, and that’s a good thing; it really is. I just wish I could have told him that. ♥
Today’s Burning Questions: Does anyone ever eat those little onions in the Sweet Mixed Pickles? And, when did rouge become blush? Anyone? Anyone?
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