The Gift...

"Sisters and Friends" Book and Presentation Box

This is a difficult post to write, so please bear with me. Sunday was an emotional day when my dear niece, Jennifer gave this book (back) to me. I've been emotional over it ever since.

I created this book for Jennifer's mom, my sister, Lyn in 2005. I took photographs of every page after I finished it, thinking I'd give it to her and never see it again except when visiting her. That was true until Sunday.

"The Village of Hidden Wishes" by David Fletcher

The "bones" of this book was a book titled "The Village of Hidden Wishes" by David Fletcher. Mum and Dad believed their kids should read, and we were always gifted books which we loved dearly. This particular book was given to me, so I wrote my name on the inside cover. My sister and I shared a room, and it often happened that my name would end up crossed out and Lyn would write her name inside instead. Once my other younger sisters came along, they too signed their names into childhood books I'd left behind. I always smiled to see that.

Anyway, this was a story about twin sisters who traded places with their dolls and went on merry adventures. Lyn and I both loved the story. So, in 2005, I took this book and turned it into a book about us.

Inside pages

I added photos of the two of us as little girls, favorite places, and favorite shared memories. Here, I added album covers from our favorite music from that year, and pictures from a party she and her husband had at their home, as well as a picture of her when she came home from traveling all over the world. I called her "Sister Goldenhair". I even added a pocket to hold a cd of music I'd recorded for her.

Lyn's (First) Wedding

Over the years, my sister married four times in search of happiness. In 2005, I placed these photos from her first wedding to my niece's father. When I painted the pages of the book, I always kept a few appropriate lines unpainted. On this set of pages, I left Fletcher's words "far too confused and dizzy with all the excitement and changes that had taken place to properly notice the passage of time". Looking back, those words still ring true.

Lyn - The Day I Gave Her The Book

This is the photograph I took of my sister the day I gave the book and box to her. I'd even decorated the inside and outside of the box, so there was no doubt it was a set. She loved it and cried when paging through it.

The Box Today

When my sister died in 2023, I only asked for two things from her personal belongings. There was a bottle of liqueur that Dad kept in his "liquor closet" that had a dancing ballerina inside. He would occasionally bring it out, wind it up and the two of us would watch her spin around. Lyn had the bottle for years. 

Her daughters gave me that bottle, but told me that, sadly, the ballerina didn't dance anymore. As they handed the bottle to me, the mechanism started on its own and that ballerina danced in my hands. We all wept together, taking it as a sign from Dad and their mom.

However, they were unable to find the book. I showed them photos of what it looked like, and said that even though she'd spent years angry with me (it was a stupid family thing), I just knew she would never destroy it. I was right.

Sunday, her husband said he found it tucked away in the back of one of the drawers in her room. My niece told me she'd added precious other things to it over the years...cards from me, a single seashell from when she came and stayed with Handsome and me in Florida, baptism records of her girls, and a few other things. The fact is, she kept it safe for the past twenty years. Thankfully, we reconciled before she left us, so I do have her sweet, final "I love you" to hold on to, too.

The paper on the outside of the box, as well as the individual beads I made to embellish it are faded to white now, but everything else is intact. 

The Keeper of the Book - For Now

I asked Handsome to try to recreate me posing with the box and book as Lyn did all those years ago. I'm smiling through tears. I've added a few more photos to the back of the book, and added the date she left us under the date that we celebrated her birth.

I'm going to add the cards I saved from Lyn to the box. Even when we weren't on speaking terms, we each held those memories close. When I opened the pages in front of Jen and her two kids, I explained each and every photo. Where we were together. What the notes meant. The shared secrets and laughter behind every element saved between its covers. Jen thanked me for sharing and being our memory keeper. That meant the world to me.

I've told Jen that I'll hold the book until it's time for me to be with Lyn again. Then it will go back to her and her daughter for safekeeping. Lyn always used to say, "Look to the stars". That's why I chose the handmade paper that was used throughout her book.

Now she rests among the stars and watches over her two beautiful girls and their families. I'll do my best to watch over them from here, and be the keeper of the flame that keeps her memory alive for them. I have lots of wonderful stories, and I intend to share them all. 

Sweet As A Daisy...

I had all sorts of suggestions for my future spool animals, so I started Saturday night. Meet "Daisy the Skunk"!

I told this story on Facebook, but I want to share it here, too. When I was a preschooler, my Dad - who was also a college student/veteran with two daughters and a wife - owned a pet shop in Stevens Point. We had lots of fish in aquariums, budgies (like parakeets), and even a pet monkey. 

I've heard stories of how I fell into a salt water tank (right after a fish delivery, no less) and needed stitches above my eye. I also had to have my young stomach pumped because I'd eaten a container of water purification tablets (chlorine). Not too bright then, I guess. The monkey tried to pull out my mum's long hair in a fit of pique, and when someone asked me  what my name was and where I lived, I'd reply, "Donna Uby, Budgie Shop". (My maiden name was Newby, but hey. I was only about three.)

So, among other critters, Dad also had a de-scented skunk he named "Daisy". My grandparents lived on a the south side of Stevens Point, and I vividly remember our family visiting them with Daisy in tow. Somehow she got loose, so Dad went out looking for her. My grandparents lived near a dump, so naturally, Dad headed that way. 

When he saw Daisy, he was so happy. He ran up to her and scooped her up. Thing is...that wasn't Daisy. He got sprayed...a lot...and came back to the house, stinking to high heaven. Mum, my sister and I all squealed at the smell, and Grandma flatly refused to let him in the house to take a shower. She made him strip down outside and handed him a big container of tomato juice. I don't think we ever saw Daisy again, but Dad managed to get back into Grandma's graces after a tomato bath. This is my little tribute to Dad's little skunk...the one that didn't smell. 

I have more animals on my list now, but this is the only one I did this weekend. I also completed Bobbi's travel sewing case which shipped today, but I'm not going to share photographs of it until I know it's in her hands. (I sure hope she loves it!)

Broken...

One of the first "souvenirs" I purchased when we moved to Sarasota was this handcrafted mug, signed by "Dave". That's all. Just "Dave". I found it in a little consignment art shop in Sarasota Square Mall, down the road from where our friend, David lived. No. He wasn't the artist. Making pottery wasn't his thing.

At any rate, I loved the beautiful ocean blue and purple colors. Ocean blue and sea green colors would have been the only improvement on the design. I used it for the seventeen years we lived in Florida, and then carefully packed it to bring back to Wisconsin. It sat in our china cabinet until about a month ago when I took it out and hung it on our mug rack in the pantry so it could go back into service...even though I noticed it had a very small crack on the rim.

Yesterday, it was sitting in the sink after my morning cuppa. There it sat until I finished baking. Then I started doing dishes. I happened to drop a 1/4 c. metal measuring cup and heard an unusual "plink" sound. It was then that I saw the two pieces of my Sarasota mug sitting in the drain cup. My beautiful treasure was broken. I might have uttered a naughty word as I collected the pieces and sadly set them aside.

I finished doing dishes and then carefully washed and dried the mug and broken bits, and then I walked upstairs to my studio. The entire hike upstairs, I wished I knew one of those Japanese artists who take broken things and repair them with gold to make the break more precious to the whole piece. Alas, all I had was crazy glue gel.

It's sort of back in one piece now, but it will never hold another cup of tea, coffee, or hot cocoa to start my day. Yes. The cracks are noticeable, and even though it's not usable, I can't bring myself to toss it. It still holds memories from our days in the south. I only wish I knew someone who could duplicate it. 

For now, I'll use it to hold pins or something in my studio. Perhaps I'll turn it into a pincushion. I don't know at this point. I just know that even though it's been broken, it could be repaired and still be useful. Perhaps it's a metaphor for broken people. They can be healed, even if the scars are still visible, and most certainly, still useful. 

In the meantime, if anyone knows "Dave", I wonder if he's still making Sarasota mugs?