I loved you since I was a small child. We all did. You went to my aunt first.
Then me. Initially there was a little jealousy. My aunt lavishly gave out other
heirlooms to compensate. My grandfather created a special built-in place ~ a cut
out in the dining room wall. You fit there perfectly. It was harder to see your
scalloped side edges. My aunt’s artwork surrounded you on the front and side
walls. Your curved scalloped top welcomed everyone.
Not that you were ornate. Just the opposite. The smooth wood. Solid.
Not veneer. No high shiny mirrored luster. Original knobs. Dovetail
joinery. Lovely warm wood tones. Cedar, pine perhaps maple. Not
really sure. Somehow cigarettes would sit, burn, and fall from an upper
shelf. The smoke curling up before someone noticed it was burning the
wood. You can see and feel the burns with your fingertips on your wood today.
The two upper shelves each have a groove for plates. Five small
drawers. Spice drawers (I learned). Holding small treasures.
Alabama cotton ... hard candies ... pennies ~ small change for penny candy.
The silverware drawer held the everyday silver. Not the good stuff. That
was protected in a tarnish proof silverware chest which sat on the hutch.
Opening the lower doors reveals an inside shelf or maybe a small hidy giggly child!
Tradition(s) passed down. This treasured treasure I have loved all my life. There is
no cut out in my dining wall. You’re the highlight of any house ... my house. Displaying
small works of art by the kids. Those spice drawers still contain small treasures, trinkets,
and Alabama cotton. The aged patina didn’t match my grandmother’s oak dining table.
Nor does it match mine. It blends, mingles, and creates balance in all our homes.
You’re exceptional character. Simple. Unpretentious. Like my Nana.
Your long, strong curly hair
always in revolt of what you want
a small mutiny on top of your head for a strong rebel.
Swinging all over your back as you strongly
stride down the street. Reaching
well past your waist the profuse, waves of spirals
naturally sway restlessly with your hips.
The strong rose vanilla scent wafting
after you with every step. Everyone
wants to caress your curls; strongly tugging them;
tousle your head. All the things you strongly
detest. So annoying ... right???
The strong golden red highlights everyone
would give anything to have.
Growing effortlessly down your back.
The strong pony pulls up from
the roots in a perfectly sloppy bun in three
minutes or less. Something I could
never do! Not good enough for dance class.
That required a flawless ballet bun to match
the pink leo and flouncy tulle skirt.
No curls allowed in class.
Braid your hair and create a strong rope.
Twirl your curls around your fingers; looping
them around making them more unruly and untamed
“Stop it. Don’t touch my hair!”
Those curls that come out of
the top of your head are smooth as silk,
soft as rose petals. I wonder if the
clematis vines and rose climbers
grow as strong as your hair. They are
a tangled, twisted mess becoming
a strong wildly chaotic mass. The curly vines
are strongly tied to the trellis to keep them bound up
"in line" like the unyielding ballet bun. Are the flowers
as fragrant? Certainly, the roses, which is
your middle name.
You all could be Rapunzel
weaving, braiding, threading your tendrils strong