Buried Treasure

Dear Sylvia,

I have to tell you about a life-changing experience I had a few weeks ago.

A special occasion was coming up and I needed something to wear. I went to a few local boutiques but could find nothing that caught my fancy.  My last try before calling it quits was Rub Of The Green in our neighbouring town of Midland.  I parked my vehicle, slid a few quarters into the meter and walked in.

Christine, the proprietor, was serving someone so I perused her eclectic collection, thinking to myself, “I could never pull any of this off”.  I poked around shuffling clothing back and forth, spying nothing that I felt confident enough to wear.  I had put on more than a few pounds and although I had just recently lost 10, I was not quite ready to face the mirror.  As if she knew my plight, Christine came to my side and I blurted out my story.

“Here, take off that hoodie,” she almost—but not quite—commanded, and then handed me tops, sweaters, dresses, even shoes to slip on.  I was skeptical at first, but Christine encouraged, “Just try it on”, so I did. With each selection she offered I hesitated less.  Slowly I was beginning to see the possibilities that she saw.  

“Do you do scarves?” she asked.  I cringed but allowed Christine to wrap gauzy fabrics around my neck, letting them cascade down in front of me, reviving me with life! 

This exchange went on for an hour or more.  We talked about what I had at home, what I felt comfortable in, all the time Christine was urging me on to break barriers that I had erected for myself.  She pooh-poohed my hesitations and gradually, as she clothed me in her ultra comfortable, easy to wear pieces, I watched as she watched my demeanour change from hopeless, to expectant, to joyful!  As I was leaving with my parcel, Christine gave me some of the best advice I’ve received in years.

“Go home, search your closet and pluck out only the pieces that you truly love, and build your wardrobe around these.”

I was sceptical but later that week I scrounged through my closet and dresser pulling out beautiful pieces that I rarely wore and draped them around the room.  I couldn’t believe my eyes!  By mixing and matching what I owned with what I had purchased at Rub Of The Green I was amazed at the many outfits I had created.

A few days later I pranced back into Rub Of The Green.  Christine spotted me, smiled and said, “Look at you!”

I had to admit I did look like a different person than the one she had met several days earlier.  My closet had given up a pair of nicely fitting jeans, a classy rust coloured sweater and a teal tee shirt.  I topped it off with a luxurious Avoca scarf from Ireland and I was even sporting a hand blown glass necklace I had found at the bottom of my jewelry box.  All pieces I’d had for some time, all pieces that I loved but all that I would not allow myself to wear.  Until now.

“You changed my life, Christine!  Thank you," I said as I hugged her.  

Today, Sylvia, I feel like a different person.  No. Today I feel like the person that I am!  The person I had been burying in sweat pants and hoodies waiting till I had lost the required amount of weight to emerge.  I thought that the clothes buried in my closet were the treasure, but I was wrong.  I am the treasure…imagine that!

Always,

Peggy

Soup Making

Dear Sylvia,

The scent of turkey soup fills our kitchen this cool afternoon in early May.  The savoury aroma reminds me of post-Thanksgiving soup making and the many times Mama and I boiled and peeled and chopped; stirred and spiced and tasted the steaming concoction.  Most often we were at the cottage when these magical episodes took place.  Like dance partners Mama and I maneuvered about the huge kitchen each knowing just which utensil to wield in order to carve and chop and stir.

Today it is a solitary effort, my soup making.  I am alone in a kitchen Mama never knew.  The cottage has been sold and Mama has passed on.  But she lingers.  She lingers in my memory of her love...of Dad, my siblings and of me, my husband, my children...and of life.

Coming home from school was always a treat in Mama's house.  The kitchen was chock full of freshly baked cookies and a wonderful meal simmering on the burner.  Yes, there were times when I wondered if Mama actually loved me.  We would argue; I was a teenager of course.  But as I look back on the life she and Daddy built for us, I know that we were loved in abundance.  Because I have learned that love isn't perfection.  

To love is rather like making soup.  It requires the delicate art of knowing which choice pieces to include and which ones to eliminate...as with memories.  To make soup you need a large pot with room enough for all the ingredients to mix and blend, each one taking on a bit of the flavour of each other... that's what living together can accomplish.  Making soup takes time...just like the building of a family.

I can only pray that now that my children are adults they can say they have fond memories of growing up...and of soup making.

Love,

Peggy