Lace Memories
Ysterday I got a pleasant phone call from a long time friend. We have been friends since the 1950’s. I think the last time we spoke was after my husband Peter had passed away. Perhaps we spoke by few years after that as well. Sometimes years fly by then they jumble up in such a confusing way and I cannot remember how I got where I am now. Where did the time go? We were youngsters then. We were all in London for the spring holidays, off from boarding school. There were the four of us, my sister Nora, his cousin Vivian, Ronnie and me. We were gadding about all over town like the giddy youngsters that we were. And here we are now. Older, staider and quite mellow. It was has been quite a few years since we spoke yet it seemed like it was yesterday. We asked about each other’s news. It was a lovely visit.
As I was taking my shower this morning my mind wandered off to our conversation of yesterday. Ronnie had lived in many places. “Where do you live now,” I asked.
“Santa Barbara, I have lived there all these past few years,” he replied.
Aah, Santa Barbara! This time my mind took off to an entirely different direction. Many years ago my mother became gravely ill and that took its toll on my father. He became frail and fragile. I began to fly to California one week out of each month. Suddenly life drastically changed. Before my mother’s illness, their house was a place where friends always dropped in. After her illness, it became a quiet and somber abandoned place. Peter and I decided to spend each Passover in Los Angeles. We planned to do the Seder there. Kelly lived there at that point of time. I would give him my shopping list over the phone and he would get everything I needed. The morning after we arrived, we would all gather in the kitchen in the morning. Twyla would bring Mama in. Papa would enter, walking slowly, precariously supporting himself with his cane. He had become feeble and his appetite was poor. As we had breakfast, the conversation around the table became somewhat animated. Papa and Peter started a conversation. I took advantage of that opportunity and kept offering my father little tidbits of food which he ate without any fuss! Twyla and I smiled in relief as he ate. Soon after, Kelly returned from his usual morning walk with Max, our dog. Max lived in LA with him.
Then my sister Gilda and her family, who lived downstairs, joined us. At this point, the kitchen became quite crowded. We all moved to the living room. However, since it was a week day, Gilda and her family could not stay too long. They visited a short while and then off they went about their day, as did Kelly. Peter took Papa for a walk. Mama smiled broadly as Twyla and I chatted. Although at that point in-time she had lost her power. of speech and movement, I knew she that she enjoyed our making conversation. I included her as we spoke, even though I was told time and again that she wasn’t there, I was certain that was not the case. I saw it in her eyes and her sweet smile.
Passover was finally upon us. The participants at the Seder were my brother’s family, Gilda’s family, a couple of people who did not have families to share the holidays with and Peter, Kelly and myself. My parents seemed happy. They always loved having friends and family gather around their table. Mama sensed that there would be company for the holidays . It showed in the vague smile lingering about her lips. I am convinced that the surgeon’s knife had slipped as he tried to remove the tumour from her brain at that cursed moment in time and no one can convince me otherwise. That reknowned “Surgeon of the Year,” had miserably failed her! That man whose name was emblazoned on the cover of one of the major weekly publications the winter after my mother’s operation, had messed up her life! But that’s neither nor there! We cannot go back and alter that fact. That was a very bitter and galling pill for us to swallow! However, at that moment, as I surveyed the table, I was content. My father’s face was animated as he surveyed the company around his table. Mama also looked happy. Once more there was conversation, laughter and life in their home. I leaned back in my chair, satisfied.
For the rest of our trip, we took them to places that they liked to frequent. We packed Mama’s wheelchair in the trunk of the car and drove to the Third Street Promenade or to one of their favourite seafood eateries. Papa proudly walked beside Mama’s, as Twyla contentedly pushed her wheelchair. The rest of us walked along with Max, our bicoastal dog, sedately walking alongside of us. As we approached the boardwalk, we heard the waves gently lapping at the shoreline. The sound was soothing. This was one of my parents’ favourite spots. Watching Papa’s face, I felt sad. I could see he was,remembering better times when Mama was healthy, vibrant and full of life. It is hard to admit that your mate, someone who was so loving, vibrant and caring had turned into the shadow of herself. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but such is life.
After a pleasant walk alongside the ocean, the fresh air made everyone feel peckish. We headed to an eatery that served seafood. I still remember that day. My mother perked up a bit when the food arrived. Upon seeing her plate of fresh crisply fried fish and French fries, she happily ate. It may have seemed an insignificant moment, yet it stayed in my mind it, never to be forgotten.
On that trip, Peter and I took one day off for ourselves. As was Peter’s way, he drove aimlessly, or so I thought, but he wasn’t. He drove to Santa Barbara. Santa Barbara is a beautiful jewel of a town, and that day felt like a magical, beautiful day, forever enshrined in my mind. We meandered through the town. Peter took pictures of things that attracted him. Sometimes he had me pose in front of something that that he liked. When we tired a bit, we stopped for coffee, then we continued walking arm in arm as was our habit. We were completely relaxed and content. As we continued our meandering, we came across a quaint little passage. We peeked curiously to see what there was in there. The narrow path was cobbled. Overhead it was partially covered. The passage sloped gently at an incline. On each side of it were shops inviting one to examine what they offered. What they offered were luxury goods. We stopped every once in a while, but nothing attracted me until we reached a shop that had the most exquisite lace tablecloths. I have always had a weakness for beautiful things. I gently tugged at Peter’s arm.
“Look Peter! These are so, so beautiful! Let’s go in!” My darling husband was never one to refuse anything to me. So we entered. There was no one in the shop except for an elderly gentleman who stood behind the counter. He was very gracious. Peter and I immediately warmed up to him. As he showed us his laces, we began talking. We told him that we thought his laces were works of art. They truly were. He smiled with pleasure. You could sense the pride he felt in the quality of his laces. He confided in us that after being married for over sixty years, he had recently lost his wife, the love of his life and how very much he missed her. We commiserated. We knew what love like that felt like. We could not imagine losing each other at that time. Now I experience that pain all the time. There is not a day that passes that I do not feel a pang of pain at losing Peter. After admiring and gently feeling several of his laces, I chose a table runner and a small table cloth. As the store keeper lovingly wrapped those items for me, he carefully instructed me to never throw them into a washing machine, but to hand wash them with gentle soap. I could feel how much he loved each piece in his shop. It made me like him even more. He was proud of the items he sold.
“Don’t worry sir, I won’t. I truly love them and will take good care of them.” With that, I pulled out my credit card.
With a look of dismay upon his face, he said, “I do not accept credit cards. I am ninety years old! I only take cash or checks.”
Now it was my turn to be disappointed. These items were not cheap and on our trips we do not carry too much cash on us, not since we had a bad experience in Oxford, England. My wallet was stolen from my handbag then. After that we were cautious and did not carry too much cash.
He looked at my very disappointed face, smiled and handed me the parcel. “Here,” he said, with a smile. “Send me a check when you get back home.”
Peter and I both looked at him in surprise. “But you don’t know us!”
“You do not get to reach my age without being able to know people’s characters. The only person who ever disappointed me in all these years, was my own nephew.”
Peter and I were lost for words. What a nice gentleman, he was. Needless to say, I sent him a check as soon as we got back home. The next year we once more went to visit my parents during Passover. Once more we drove to Santa Barbara. This time we went just to see the nice old gentleman. We parked the car and walked down that passage. What used to be his store was now occupied by others. We were concerned that perhaps he had passed away! We asked others about him. Fortunately another store owner knew him. We asked about him and were told that he was well, but his children had convinced him that at ninety something years old perhaps it was time for him to retire.
Ronnie’s call the other day jogged my memory of that old sweet gentleman who sold me the fine lace. I sometimes lay the lace runner on the the table over a crimson tablecloth in autumn, when the leaves change colour. It brings back sweet memories. Sometimes when I used to make an intimate tea for my friends or perhaps a tête a tête one on a cold winter’s day with my Peter, I would spread the little cloth on the kitchen table, then I would place a pot of tea underneath one of the tea cozies I had made. I set up the table and the two of us would have our tea as we listened to music and looked out the window at the leaves drifting to the ground or the snow flakes gently moseying to the frozen lawn. It felt so special and intimate. I still get a warm fuzzy feeling, when I look back at those times.
Yes, Ronnie jogged my memory. He made pleasant thoughts gush forth and reminding me of happy times gone by.