FINDING GLADYS

My original Gladys Rude, stored away for decades, resurfaces.

For reasons that remain obvious, this COVID year has meant a good deal of time at home. I should be keeping a list of all the oddball jobs we've gotten done around here but the thing about having a house, or for that matter, a residence of any kind, means it's a never-ending battle to keep up with what needs done, let alone hit that list of wants.

So yes, some of our closets are tidier; some things have been gone through and donated such as a vintage sewing machine, or in the case of 40-something-year-old homemade prom dresses, trashed. Much remains to go through, especially in the attic, where such treasures such as those prom dresses (yes, sarcasm) lived for so long.

But because attacking the attic is overwhelming and there are all manner of sentimental, as well as practical, decisions to make, I have a new goal. Attics tend to be either hot or cold. Ours is not the easiest to access and even though I tell myself to beware of those beams, I still boink my head on one every time I'm up there. 

I decided to approach the attack in a new way. Once a week, I will select one tub or box, bring it downstairs and decide what to do with the contents. This is week three. Brian even took part this week by bringing his childhood accordion downstairs. Don't ask me what will become of it. Figuring that out is on his list for this week and I will say, he's good about checking off the list.

You do find surprises when you tackle this sort of thing? I actually don't mind the chore because hey, what's one box? Even one full box?--in the scheme of things.

I solved a minor mystery. At my bridal shower 42 years ago, one of the sweet older ladies in the church congregation gifted us with a small painting. Her name was Gladys Rude, and she was well known in our community for her landscape paintings. We didn't have the funds or priorities back then to have such a gift professionally framed so I placed it in an inexpensive picture frame and somewhere along this 42-year journey, misplaced Gladys' handiwork.

For the life of me, I couldn't figure out what happened to it but in this week's edition of What We Keep, I found it tucked away in a box of miscellaneous keepsakes, half of which I tossed. But the painting? No way. I don't know that I'll frame it, but it looks pretty nifty propped inside our glass-front bookcase of my most treasured book titles.

I remember another handmade gift from that shower. There was a beautiful round braided rug made by the late Vivian Clevenger. We used it as a throw rug with little thought to it being a keepsake. It wasn't treated as such. It was made with rags from no doubt repurposed clothing. Truth is, if I'd kept it and washed it right, it would likely still be in service today. 

There are other gifts from our wedding that are still used today.  I think of the ultra practical yellow speckled plastic mixing bowl from the late Cleo Winters; an elegantly scalloped-edge aluminum tray with wooden handles from the shower committee (Pat Buell was on that committee and is still very much alive and well.) The late Dorothy Boggs gave us a set of place mats, napkins and napkin holders. The plac emats and napkins are gone but the wooden napkin holders remain. I still use the aluminum measuring cups and spoons from the late Barb Kaufman and the mixer from my SIL Linda Cronk remains in use when I need a hand-mixer for a boxed cake or muffins.

The surprises keep me going! Who knows what I'll find next week? A box a week, until it's done.
And now, an original Gladys Rude on display.