A Piece of Time

For the last few weeks I've been listening to the book tapes to China Dolls by Lisa See.  I have enjoyed the characters and plot, but what I have found most intriguing are her descriptions of clothing, the items people could not obtain during World War II, and how much people shared what little they had with others who had even less.  In one scene Grace, and Ruby dress up for a movie shooting in Hollywood, but they didn't have any nylons, so they painted their legs with makeup and drew a black line down the back to look like a seem in their hosiery.  When I listen to the words of a story I do a much better job of imagining scenes and internalizing the emotions of the times.  Consequently, the characters in her book have been on my mind.

Last night I sat down on the floor to continue sorting and reading items that have been stored for decades by my Aunt Della, my grandmothers, and my mother.  From a fragile yellowed envelope a picture dropped to the floor.

Herminia

The inscription on the back of the billfold size photo read, "Della, I am in a Filipina Dress.  Suppose you copy this one together with your picture.  I mean this mine and your together.  How about a Filipina and an American lady friends together....Herminia."  My Aunt Della was a well known photographer in Wichita, Ks.  My guess is that Herminia wanted Della to take a picture of the two of them together using the negative she sent.  

There in my hands I held someone's story, not Grace's and not Ruby's, but who was this woman? The picture along with its negative and another photo were sent to my Aunt Della on "8 August 46" from "Cuyapo, Nueva Ecija, P.I." (the Philippines)  She wrote a seven page letter in tiny cursive writing, and occasionally I used the magnifying glass to read her words.

My Dear Della,
     I was with that undefinable thrill upon the receipt of my most expected letter from you, but much to my regret I was not able to answer at once.  I am trusting to your kind heart to forgive me for the present.  I was confined in bed for a week, a victim of severe cold, headache and high fever.
     Now a days the weather is not so favorable.  The rains are here again....
     Your letter brought to each and everyone of us in the family an endless and in comparable joy.  Friends and relatives who visited me when I was in bed and even at times now read your letters.  Also I showed them your pictures.  They are very glad and say that I'm fortunate indeed to have acquired an American lady friend, so good and nice as you are.  It seems to me they are jealous of me, and the more I feel proud of you, cause they are also professionals like me but they go no lady friend like you.  Perhaps its Grace from Above, for had it not been for your brother we should not have come to know each other.  

Della's brother was my father, who spent four years in the Philippines during WWII.  My imagination has no limits as to how Herminia and my father had connected, but I'm most certainly thrilled to see that he connected her to his sister.  Herminia, later goes on to talk about her family and ask all about Della's family and even names Della's friends.  So I assume the friendship has gone on for sometime.  In the paragraphs about family she writes:  Don't forget to remember me to the Lt. and wife whenever you write them.  I hope to receive a picture of them too.  The Lieutenant would be my father and his new wife Helen.  They married in May of 1946.  

It seems as though Della has been sending Herminia care packages.  In one package she sent a cigarette case and Herminia writes this:  Luckily, you have come to get all the things I like.  They are my weaknesses too.  Only perhaps the cigarette case will be of no use for I don't smoke.  Instead I'll place them in my cabinet as souveneir from you......But Oh! Della, you have touched me very much with those Nylons.  I have been long dreaming to have even one pair of hose Nylons.  You know since the Philippines was liberated we were hoping to have those but in vain.  Every time I go to Manila, I should like to buy one for me but could not find any.  Last month, my last visit to Manila, I went to Dept. Stores where American goods are sold but no stockings still.  All ladies clamor for Nylons.  

Such a great story, hidden in boxes and drawers for over 50 years.  Her language, her undefinable thrill in receiving packages and letters (like mine in finding this), and descriptions of feelings really tug at my heart.   I'll keep reading and digging, and continue to share Herminia's  story and maybe finds some answers.  

Discovering Surprises

A little over a week ago I sat down in our new home, starred at the piles of

My Blue Blogger room

boxes and cried. The tears were a blessing as they washed away my sadness from moving away from my close friends, but somehow the cleansing opened my heart and my eyes to a new stage in our lives and in our marriage.  Jack and I found adventure in every turn on the busy streets of Norman.  Since the kitchen was boxed and hidden from me for a few days we found a variety of restaurants and grocery stores.  We've made daily trips to Lowe's and Home Depot for something simple.  We are slowly learning our way around a town where Jack grew up, and where I spent 17 years of teaching.  The times and the town of Norman, Ok have changed dramatically since we left in 1996, but all for the better.

Della's tiny books

It took me a couple of days of unpacking before I began to look forward to the tasks at hand. Very quickly I discovered that every box was full of surprises: I found a tiny leather bound hand sized book with only a passage from The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.  How appropriate the first lines were, considering I'd been awake that day since 4am:

       "Wake, for the Sun, who scattered into flight 
         The Stars before him from the Field of Night..."

What a delight to sit on the floor and read through a pile of tiny leather bound books that my Aunt Della had owned.  She, too, found these words precious to her long before I came into this world.  Then I read from my favorite book The Prophet by Gibran.  The inscription read: Merry Xmas, from Lillian and Bill, Dec. 25, 1960.  Randomly picking pages to read in books like the Prophet bring their own surprises:  Speak to us of Prayer...When you pray you rise to meet in the air those who are praying at that very hour, and whom save in prayer you may not meet.

The Pro, Johnie F. Stapp

Unpacking dad was even funnier because the silly doll truly is a replica of my father, The Pro.  My father died in 1989 six weeks after my mother.  I have carried them with me not just in my heart, but in my moves and in my boxes even now.  When I uncovered Dad yesterday I pulled up a pile of newspaper and there he was sitting comfortably in a box with pillows, glassware, and golf books (it was a random moment of packing).  I laughed, then pulled him out and found an empty corner in the living room for him to sit and watch the chaos around him grow. 

This morning I found my squeaky mouse mixed in with a scattering of glassware, puppets, and teacher collectibles. Naturally, I picked up the little mouse and squeaked it, only to have Lucy dash into the blue blogger room, and attempt to rescue me from the beastly mouse.  I laughed.  

I'm down to a few manageable boxes, then we will ponder our collections of artwork, golf books and trophies, glassware, and what nots.  In time each piece will find a new home, either under our roof or someone else's.  My mantra for this move remains:  In life and in words...Less is More...Usually the most concise way is the most elegant.

Taking Aunt Della

1965, 2013 The course and I have both changed and matured.

Our trip to the Solheim Cup in August also included a trip back in time for me, when we took a day to ourselves and played Hiwan Golf Course in Evergreen, Colorado.  I tried my best to remember the course from my only national level golf tournament, the  USGA Junior Girls Championship, held in July 1965 at Hiwan when I was 17 years old and a recent high school graduate.  I found an old typed information paper that gave a description of each hole, and I realized that we had played the course at 7,000 yards.  No wonder my boldest memory was of never flying the ball far enough off the tee shot to reach the fairway!  My fondest memory was that I putted like a champion, not well enough to qualify for match play, but I made putts back in 1965.  

While my brain puttered around looking for memories my heart thumped. Suddenly, I realized that my Aunt Della, my father's sister from Wichita, also traveled with dad and me to Hiwan in 1965.   Aunt Della, or Pheobe as dad had nicknamed her when they were children, loved chocolate

Aunt Della and Grandma 1947.

sundaes; dad and I loved malts, so every evening we treated ourselves to ice cream.  One afternoon the three of us went exploring the mountainside.  Finding an old abandoned lodge I watched with glee as my father lifted his sister, Phoebe, through an open window. Upon gaining her balance she walked over and let us in the door as if we'd made reservations. I giggled to my self-conscience teenage self, as I watched the two of them play and pretend like little children in this gigantic lodge.  Heavy white dishes lined the shelves, dust covered the kitchen, very little furniture remained in the living areas, and an occasional critter ran across the floor.  I didn't realize how sick and frail Aunt Della was until she died within the year.

Today while walking and playing like a child, picking up sticks, looking for sea shells, and watching the birds on the beach here at Hilton Head, South Carolina, and after forty-eight years passing, I realized that I'd taken Aunt Della on nearly every trip I've ever made since she died.  I'd never made that connection until this year.  After she died, I inherited a tiny diamond necklace that she had designed.  Della was always an artist at heart, and a great photographer who once studied under Margaret Burke White, and had known other artist in Taos, New Mexico in the 1940's.  I often wondered if she'd known Georgia O'Keefe, so I guess I'll just believe in my heart that their spirits were kindred.  

I looked down at the tiny diamond necklace that has traveled the world, and my heart thumped, once again.  I knew Aunt Della was smiling down and enjoying the view of the ocean, a rare treat for a girl who grew up in the heart of Kansas during the depression.  Della would have loved the beach, I know my dad always did.  As the years flow forward and Jack and I criss-cross the continent, I'll be taking Aunt Della,  storing up memories for another story, and taking pictures to share.  

Where the Atlantic Ocean meets the Calibogue Sound at Sunrise and high tide.