I is for Innocence.

More innocent times, more innocent past-times, more innocent people.

While cleaning that box in my closet yesterday, I came across this sampler, stitched by my grandmother in 1918 when she would have been 12 or 13. Back before she left her home in Germany to come to a new country, all by herself. Back before she met her future husband, an immigrant on a later ship that she only went to greet because her closest friend’s brother was on board. Back before the Depression. Back before she became a mother. Before her husband developed Alzheimer’s (not they knew what that was then) and almost worked herself into her own grave trying to care for him. Back before she became a grandmother, five times, and a great-grandmother (to two girls when she died, but to five more since then). Before all of that, when she was just a young girl, learning the household skills she would need.

It’s not one of those fancy, embroidery samplers, but instead a practical one. Buttonholes around along one edge, buttons and hooks on the other. Tiny, reinforced loops of thread for the hooks. Different types of patches in the center. And a nice, neat hem all the way around the outside. All the thing a woman would need to know to take care of her family’s mending. Isn’t that remarkable? I don’t know that I’ve ever actually seen one before. Yes, of course, I’ve seen this before since it was in my closet and nobody else could have put it there. I don’t remember ever seeing or reading about a practical sewing sampler like this. I have books about old, traditional embroidery
samplers, some of which included a hem and maybe a buttonhole, but which were mostly, well, embroidery. Here, except for her initials, the whole thing is made up of functional sewing skills. Many of which I certainly can’t duplicate.

And then, there’s Fluffy. He’s also from Germany, but he belongs to my Mom. She got him 56 years ago (I won’t tell you how old she was). He’s the one toy that she still has from her childhood. Or, I think there’s a doll stashed away somewhere, but Fluffy has pride of place in Mom and Dad’s bedroom. I absolutely adored him when I was little, too–he looked just like a real dog, and was covered with real (rabbit) fur, so he felt like a real dog. She’d let him sit on the bed when I was sick, and even let me bring him to Show & Tell once. (I’ve never been so afraid of losing something in my life!) He’s an intrinsic part of both Mom’s and my childhood. And he’s unique–they simply don’t make toys like this anymore.

 Unfortunately, he’s lived a little too near the heat vents for the last couple decades, because his skin is dry and cracking, but for a toy dog in his sixth decade, I think he’s doing just fine, don’t you? Of course. Chappy doesn’t know what to make of this little dog that looks like a dog, smells like a musty, old rabbit, and doesn’t move . . .

Of course, this “I” could have stood as much for Inheritance as Innocence, huh? Lessons we owe to those who came before us….

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  Oh, and before I came up with this “I,” I was trying out other things. Like this tall, iron (steel) girder. Or the candlestick that looked like a capital “I.” Nothing was hitting, though. Thanks, Grandma!

• Tags: ABC-Along, Family • Permalink:Innocence //