Posts tagged love
Posts tagged love
My Christmas Eve present from Doug. It came with a question. I said yes.
Against my will, I’ve collected Pink Depression Glass piece by piece since girlhood. My Southern grandmother would mail surprise UPS packages to my brother and I sporadically. This started so early that for a long time I thought UPS was pronounced like the word ups. “The ups man is here!” I’d exclaim gleefully at the first brown truck sighting.
She loved to mail anything creative or unexpected: weaving loom kits, French lullaby books, intricately sewn Halloween costumes, a flamingo-shaped toy windmill, a porcelain rabbit that dispensed cotton balls out of its tail, etc. Then, for a stretch of time, she kept sending my brother toys and action figures, but I would receive a domed butter dish or a dessert plate made from cubed Pink Depression Glass circa 1929-1933. It kind of bummed me out.
The glass stayed carefully wrapped and stored in a sealed container in the basement. On a whim this week, I decided to open the container and pull everything out piece by piece. I couldn’t appreciate having a set of antique dinner plates, serving platters, and creamers when I was ten. I think my grandmother probably knew that. Now that I’m older, I feel like she’s giving me these dishes for the first time, even after she’s gone. My Pink Depression Glass collection is invaluable to me now. I think my grandmother probably knew that would happen too.
reblogged from: sparkleneely
Love Jay-Z. Love Harry Potter. It’s like peanut-butter and jelly.
You read the NY Missed Connections illustrated by Sophie Blackall, right? Good. I thought so. The girl in the green dress is my favorite.
“Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.” -Harriet Van Horne.
I agree the best cooks are fearless, but what about the other thing? What say you, dear readers?
Pink Baby was the first thing I ever loved that I perceived to be smaller than me. I may have been the baby of my family, but Pink Baby was my baby. I vaguely remember her standing lifeless in a glossy box under the Christmas tree when I was a toddler. She couldn’t talk. She didn’t walk. She came with only the pink dress on her back. I don’t think she could even blink her eyes. Pink Baby needed me, and I loved her instantly.
It wasn’t long after I christened her Pink Baby, that she earned a coveted role of One of My Favorite Toys (OoMFTs). As anyone who has ever been a child can tell you, there are toys and then there are OoMFTs. My early childhood OoMFTs consisted of my favorite Teddy Bear I named Bunky, a Madame Alexander baby doll who came with the name Puddin’ on her tag, and Pink Baby. In reality, Puddin’ probably cost around $100 and only came into my possession as a gift from my grandmother. Pink Baby came from Santa Claus, or more specifically, Wal-Mart for 10 bucks. I loved them equally because I didn’t see them any differently.
Naturally, I grew up, gave away most of my toys and packed a precious few away. The exception being Bunky. He’s sitting next to me while I type this. I don’t remember when I stopped playing with Pink Baby or where she ended up. I guess I kind of imagine her being played with and loved on a farm somewhere just like our first puppy, Buffy.
At least that’s how my personal Toy Story 3 ended until yesterday. I was reminiscing with my brother about childhood this and that when he said something strange.
“Man, I still feel bad about Pink Baby.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That time I threw her down on the asphalt, and it left a huge dark mark on her head.”
“WHAT?!” I swear I had one of those moments you see in movies where someone has been repressing the truth only to have a flashback vision (i.e. Bruce Willis in Sixth Sense, Natalie Portman in Black Swan, etc.) appear. Suddenly, I had a mental image of Pink Baby with a black line across her bald head like the Prime Meridian separating her frontal lobes.
“I didn’t think anything would happen. I was mad at you, so I threw her down on the driveway. I felt really bad once I realized I had ruined your favorite thing.”
“You ruined my favorite thing??!?!?”
I seriously cannot remember much about this episode. Maybe I cried. Maybe I didn’t. All I know is that I didn’t even bother to hold a grudge that I could have been milking for years. I guess as much as I loved Pink Baby, I loved my brother more.
But I was still a little mad at him yesterday.