B is for Boxes and Bags and Barbie Dolls and Bananas

This is actually yesterday’s entry. I already composed it in my head but was too lazy to move my fingers to add it to the screen. Yep, lazy. That’s me.

Boxes and bags. Yesterday I saw many of them. Yesterday I helped to fill many of them. And because of filling them yesterday, today I’ve also spent some time emptying boxes and filling boxes and bags.

You see, yesterday was the day that we (me, my sister, my sister-in-law, one of my nieces, and occasionally my dad) met to go through Mom’s clothes. It’s been two months since her funeral, so it was time. We held off until Dad started to make noise about it, waiting for him to be ready. I’m not sure whether he truly was, not as ready as what he thought, but he held up very well.

Of course, he mostly stayed out of the rooms where we were working.

First off, Mom had a whole more clothes than I suspected. We found several items that she never wore, several that she seldom wore, and others that she had worn so often that they really weren’t even suitable for the thrift shop.

Bags. Those were for the throw-aways. All of the underwear, bras, socks. That was the easy stuff, though some looked brand new.

Boxes. Originally for the items to go to the thrift shop.

Of course, we each claimed some items.

Many items.

And we also gifted one of my SIL’s coworkers with several boxes of stuff.

I should have taken a photo of all of the stuff, all of the bags and boxes from her closet and two dressers and an indeterminate number of storage containers brought from the attic. But of course, I didn’t. I took a photo here at home showing one of the boxes I brought home with me as well as an Ikea bag that I’ve filled with items that I’ll be taking to my local thrift shop — had to remove items from the closet to make space for Mom’s hand-me-downs.

I guess I should mention that there were moments of sadness and moments of laughter yesterday. There were sweaters that we remembered Mom wearing. Some of those went home with one or the other of us while others we had to let go. And there was laughter as we tried to picture one of us wearing other items.

So what did I come home with? Coats, a few shirts, shoes, bags (canvas, not trash style), puzzles, one book that looked interesting, some jewelry.

And bananas. No, not from Mom’s stuff. I stopped at Sharp Shopper on the way home (much more organized now that they’ve remodeled) and came home with bananas (what can I say, I like them), cheese, and bologna. Hmm. Bologna starts with B as well. Kutztown garlic ring bologna. Of course, I bought a chunk of it, not a whole ring.

One of those B-words in the title doesn’t really fit in with yesterday’s activities, but I’ll throw it in anyhow. When I was growing up in the 1960’s, Barbie dolls were the rage.

I didn’t have one.

*sniffle*

My Mom’s rationale was “then I’d have to buy all of the clothes for it.” Disappointing, but I survived. Besides, I really liked paper dolls better. (Oh — just found a picture of Betsy McCall paper dolls. I’d forgotten about them. I think I’ll have to talk about them later this month).

Okay, I survived. However, I was determined that my daughter would have a Barbie doll. And clothes for it. So she ended up with several of them and lots of clothes, including items that I knit or crocheted or sewed for them. I guess that was my way of getting play out of them.

Of course, though Anjee played with them, she also liked to remove their heads. And draw on them.

I’m sure that somewhere I have a photo tucked away of the most memorable Barbie head, but who knows where it is. It had blond hair. Frizzy blond hair. Frizzy beyond ever being able to be combed or brushed. And she had eye shadow. Ball point pen eye shadow/eye liner.

I’m sure that sounds bad enough, the description of the inky-eyed frizzy-haired head with no body to accompany it.

But it gets worse.

It was one of the favorite toys of the cats we had. I don’t remember which cat started it, whether it was Spock or Buckwheat or Savik or Max. But one of them decided that the Barbie head was a toy and started carrying it around the house, cat teeth gripping that frizzy blond hair and toting it from one room to another, placing it on the floor, and then batting it around like a hockey puck.

I wish I could find that picture.

But photo brings me to a bonus word: bonnet.

The other item that I brought home with me yesterday was a box of photographs. I could have brought a half dozen more, but enough’s enough. I’ve taken on the task of scanning photos so that everyone has copies of them, and believe me, Dad has lots of them.

The box I brought yesterday wasn’t with the other boxes. No, this one was tucked away in a corner of one of the bedrooms. It’s not even a big box. A Harry & David’s box with my grandparents’ address on it.

In it are treasures. My great-grandmother Swartz’s death notice. A Mother’s Day card from my dad to my grandmother. Photos of my great-grandmother Hartman and her Stark brothers and sisters. And newer photos as well. One of my favorites — and one of the first that I scanned — was in a little folio holding two photographs, one of my with my Uncle Ron and one of just me. I should have posted them last week since they’re from Easter 1955.

And I’m wearing a bonnet. Because that’s what we did. Women wore hats, and little girls wore bonnets. Of course, that doesn’t mean that we were happy about it.