There is almost nothing I like more than a good story. And a good story that is true is even better. This memoir written by an 80 year old Iowa woman about a summer she spent working in Tiffany (the jewelry store) is the epitome of charm and quaint nostalgia. Written in the 1940s lingo complete with "Ohmygosh's" dotting every page and the simple pleasures of being a poor girl living in New York City, the book is one to read again and again.
One adorable quote from the book's conclusion is "Wouldn't it be fun to have hat stores on every corner like Starbucks and to call a friend: 'Let's meet for lunch and try on hats'?" Darling, stylish, and simple, the book is a warm story told by an intelligent and very passionate little old lady.
Well, I will now proceed about my day. Probably wearing my hat.
Love, Flo
My face is turning into a sappy and mischievous grin as I am about to reveal a little tidbit of my childhood with you. It is somewhat embarrassing, but as this blog is quite private, I just feel like writing about my blanket pal who has been with me through thick and thin.
You may be wondering, where is this post coming from. You haven't written on your blog for months, and now you come on here to write about your security blanket. Gettin' a bit soft in the head are we Flo? I was actually inspired to write this post from a book I picked up from the withdrawn section of the library where they sell books for cheap. Called "Creature Comforts" is is a black and white picture book full of quirky memoirs and photos of people (of any age) and their special "Creature Comforts". As my face just started grinning and I felt a bit teary as I related to these little stories. I thought I'd relate mine.
When I was a baby and toddler, my comfort of choice was a cloth dolly named New Doll. She was soft and mushy and pliable and had the most appealing cloth textures. I remember her hair was yellow yarn and her clothes were made of a thin silky rose-studded fabric. Always fascinated with fabrics and kinesthetics I was obsessed with her dress and would run it through my fingers constantly. With time, New Doll became old and worn, and her name slowly morphed into Old Doll. No less loved because of her tattered-appearance.
Although Old Doll and I were still good pals, I turned, when I was three or four to the blanket that had kept me company in the bottom of my crib from when I was a baby. A gift from my Grandma from Missouri, the quilt was hand-sewn and had bears sleeping under a cherry tree on one side and bows on the other. Hemmed by a yellow border, the quilt soon became my new treasured companion and I her greatest admirer. She developed a personality and even a language. I would bunch up one corner of her into a type of ghost-like face, she would float around and say "Hi-eeee" in a high pitched and mischievous squeak. I thought it was the funniest thing. Her name was and remains to this day, Bow-Quee, and for short, Bow, and I love her dearly. Her texture, her smell, and her unceasing comfort whenever the trials of being a sensitive child grew too much for me have been endless. Even into elementary school I often contemplated taking Bow with me in my backpack to school or taking her with me to sleepovers (as she always slept in the crook of my right arm at night). Slowly, I grew confidence in my abilities to survive without Bow and her home became under my pillow, where it exists to this day.
Bow came with me to college. First semester she was stuffed in the back of my closet. Second semester she emerged in a desperate crying fit of homesickness. And she stayed hidden in my college dorm bed for the rest of the year. But I am completely unashamed of that fact. So, to those of you who have a "Creature Comfort" bunched in the back of your closet, there is no need to be ashamed. I would rather admit my love for my blanky than be addicted to a drug, addicted to drink, or addicted to bad relationships. My blanky is my innocent addiction. And I will love her always.
To my Bow, "Hi-eee", and I will never toss you in the washing machine like any old quilt. You will always be my special hand-washable, heart-warming, friend.
~Have a good night,
Love, Flo
There is almost nothing I like more than a good story. And a good story that is true is even better. This memoir written by an 80 year old Iowa woman about a summer she spent working in Tiffany (the jewelry store) is the epitome of charm and quaint nostalgia. Written in the 1940s lingo complete with "Ohmygosh's" dotting every page and the simple pleasures of being a poor girl living in New York City, the book is one to read again and again.
