Care Package

My parents do this from time to time: send me my old stuff. Or even stuff that they think might be my old stuff. I know it's bad that I still have junk in their basement, but we live 2,000 miles apart, for Pete's sake! Every time I come home, I squeeze a small item into my luggage; but it remains a tiny grain of sand in the precious oyster of our relationship *snort*.


My dad had a great time with this, some years ago, when we were still living in our cabin up in the mountains. I found a note in our mailbox informing me that I had a package waiting at Silver Fork Lodge, a little restaurant on the canyon road. I stopped in for it and found the proprietor a bit put-out. Seven LARGE boxes filled the bar area of the restaurant. I loaded them into the pickup and took them home, wondering what marvelous gift my father had sent. A bedroom set? In the winter, we didn't have road access to the cabin; so after parking the truck, I had to sled each box in, one at a time. When opened, they revealed...CRAP! Carnival prizes, old dolls, dime-store vases. Basically, the contents of my room in Wisconsin. Much of it I didn't even recognize. Of the 7 boxes, only about one box-worth was anything I wanted to keep. The rest was put back in the boxes and sledded (one box at a time) back out to the truck and down to the dumpster on the canyon road.

Thanks Dad! That was so special.

He laughed his ass off when I called him to...uh...thank...him. Good one.

Mom is not quite the practical joker that he is. Not that's it's such a big deal, since we're living in a place with road access now; but still, the box I received yesterday was small-ish and contained:

1. A brown envelope labeled in my late grandmother's handwriting: "Made by Porter Seymour". Inside there were cut paper silhouettes of two people that must be Grammy and Grandpa. If so, this guy got Grammy's nose all wrong. I'm very familiar with that nose, as I have the dubious pleasure of looking at it on my own face every day. He probably knew better than to be too accurate in that regard. And who the hell is Porter Seymour? I will have to investigate.
   
2. My old Girl Scout vest. At least, it must be mine... a lot of the badges look familiar. But some of them don't. How did I earn the computer skills badge? I finished Girl Scouts in 1983 or so. I don't think I touched a computer for the first time until I started college. Scratching my head, I reach back into the box and find...
   
3. two more brown envelopes, one labeled "Alice" and the other "Flora". OK. These are actually mine: paper dolls I bought with my allowance in my later childhood. They're meant to look Victorian and the dresses were all taken from period issues of Godey's Ladies Book. There had been others, too. Probably long gone in the bedroom depredations of my nieces while I was in the Peace Corps.
   
4. Books. Of course. Mom and Dad think that, given enough tiny bites, they will be able to eat this elephant and reunite me with all of my books. Let's see...what do we have? A Cricket in Times Square; The Trumpet of the Swan, by E B White; and a couple of those Scholastic Book Club books. You know, in which a book would arrive by mail every month? I loved that. This one is McBroom Tells the Truth. One of several stories about Farmer McBroom and his wonderful one-acre farm. I plopped right down on the sofa and read it to the kids. Still funny.
   
5. Necklace and matching earrings. SO not mine... Gold and, uh, mauve. Heavy and good quality, though, and the clasp says "Chico's". Ooooh. LOVE Chico's. I only go to Chico's if Mom comes to visit and goes in first, brandishing her credit card. Even a belt from Chico's gives me sticker-shock. Ah-hah! Elementary, my dear Watson! I'll bet Mom bought these, ended up not wearing them much, figured I could use them. Thanks, Mom! I might own something...mauve. Or gold. I''ll have a look in my closet.
   
6. Finally, I unwrapped the tissue paper in the bottom of the box and pulled out THE SWEATER. I've never seen Mom wear it, except for old photos: she and my dad out to dinner in the Bahamas in 1965 or so. I guess the Bahamas were dressier then? And colder?? Poor sweater - hasn't seen the light of day in 40 years. Look out, Mom! When you give me stuff like this, I'm actually going to WEAR it. Somewhere. It has a convertible collar. The low-key trim...

or the mink stole.

Won't people run up and throw super glue at me or something if I wear it? Does it make a difference that these minks died before I was even born? I could not have saved them. At least it doesn't have eyes and one of those little clip-mouth things.