When I was
young I endured many ear infections and respiratory ailments. While I was in
bed under layers of vapor rub with the humidifier running on high, I read Robert
Louis Stevenson books. There was The
Child’s Garden of Verses, Kidnapped,
and, of course, Treasure Island. Maybe
he planted the wanderlust and my life-long desire to find buried treasure. I went on to study archaeology and
anthropology which is a sort of treasure hunt about us and our history.
Sometimes
treasure hunts and treasure “findings” are as close as a closet. The painting Between Dances, painted many, many years
ago, illustrates such a case.
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| Between Dances. Acrylic 12 x 16 NFS |
In her last years my mother wore only Birkenstock and Dr. Scholl’s sandals daily. Sturdy, comfortable, practical. About as close to barefoot as a person could get. My foot is almost an identical replicate of hers, so I inherited her closet of footwear. When it came time to clean out her closet, a treasure trove of memories fell out of the shoe boxes. In the back of the closet buried under old blankets there were sexy, hip, glittery shoes of bygone days, shoes made for cocktail parties and dancing.
There they were−see-through high heel shoes, glittery shoes, black strapless heels. The shoes transported me back to dress-up days in Michigan when I would raid my mother’s closet for shoes, dressing gowns, hats, and gloves. I would proudly parade up and down the street in my finery. It wasn’t just my mother’s closet I’d invade. It was a favorite pastime to scour my grandmother’s fabulous walk-in closet. There stored was my very favorite pair of chic, open-toed silver high heels that I always wore when I visited her home.
So here I was ransacking my mother’s closet once again. My mother hadn’t relinquished these shoes because they told her story. Between high heels and Birkenstock there were dances and babies and three daughters to teach about dress-up, garter belts, stockings, heels and boys. I’m a grandmother now who wears tennis shoes and Birkenstocks. This time my closet raiding that began with grief and dreading yielded not just remnants of clothing, but happy memories, recalled love and complete delight.
I look forward to the days when my own granddaughter will loot my closet—and discover still there in the back of the closet the shoes and stories of both me and my mother.
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| Hats Off 12 x 12 Oil Available here. |
Hats Off (more information here) is a recent painting from my own closet--dear memories from college,
Easter and beach outings.
Discover
treasure in your closet!
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