An expert assures me that this is a '56 Nash Rambler. But I have to say it looks more like a '55 to me.
It’s a box, or a drawer, or a trunk. We all have a place that we put things we deem too important to throw away, but too useless to leave in the open. These choices make perfect sense at the time, and we could explain why we kept the eraser shaped like a piece of sushi or that invitation to a party long past. Soon the meaningful things jostle with the mundane things, the paperclips, stamps, the pennies. And the meaningful and mundane things get tangled and stuck to the inexplicable things.
Passing by my favorite weekly garage sale (many of them are like semi-permanent thrift stores in our neighborhood) I noticed this box. I had a feeling it was good just from the unicorn stamped on the faux leather covering.
Even if it had been empty, this was well worth two bucks.
An unusual box–something I can use anyway. And inside, the odds and ends of some strange woman’s life from the mid 1950s through the 70s.
And my first thought was, Wow, what a freaky lady. Among the frugally saved bits of yarn, seam liners wrapped around a 1955 pocket calendar and the invitation to a shoe sale, there was a LAPD sponsored pamphlet called “Rape! Lady Beware” and a wedge of plastic cheese. A picture of a young boy with this inscription, “From a smart brother, to a dumb sister.” And my favorite, a beautiful slide of what I take to be the woman and her husband in a red and white ’56 Rambler. Big fins, red and white. In the background you can see a classic example of 50s So Cal architecture, flat, square and modern.
Spools, strawberry, Necchi book, buttons, thread box, bobbins, fake fall leaves
It all seemed so random at first, but when I think about how odd the contents of some of my own drawers are, I started trying to assemble a mental portrait of this person. Let’s see, Necchi sewing machine, manual and bobbins.Why not a Singer? She was thrifty—the smallest ends of thread were carefully wrapped up on their original cards. A Catholic…there’s a St.Christopher medal. There’s an invitation to a shoe sale at May Co. downtown at Broadway and 8th…back when there were still big department stores downtown, instead of out in the suburban malls. Her brother’s picture, with the funny inscription in terrible handwriting. I googled the address on the shoe invitation and zoomed in to see the street view. A nondescript bungalow in Redwood city…not the midcentury house from the slide, and no sign of the badass finned car. Not sure what to make of the scary rape brochure, or the plastic cheese and matching mouse. It’s just funny how much I do know just from this random set of objects that she set aside, for neither use or disposal. I know where she lived, where she shopped, even her name. I have a sense of what she privately felt was important to keep, things she never thought about anyone seeing. When I think about someone going through the analogous box from my life, it feels very wrong, invasive.
I love the little needle folio...it features a woman holding her needle triumphantly aloft, the envy of her girlfriends.
So, in repayment, for letting me spy on her, I’ll do my best to use the useful things. The needles and bobbins are in great condition, and I’m sure someone out there is looking for that Necchi manual. I hope she enjoyed herself in the Nash, and that she managed to stay safe with the help of the rather lurid LAPD instructions.
Spools, LAPD Booklet, Pens, Shoe Sale Invite, Strawberry Pincushion, Cheese
I leave you with a commercial for the ’55 Rambler; perhaps it was this very ad that inspired the couple to purchase theirs the very next year.
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Lady beware, people are rummaging though your (super cool) old stuff.
Pics look good!
Beautiful and poignant.
As I go through my own belongings right now–trying to decide what to ship, what to toss, and what to store…I find myself holding on to the oddest things. And I, too, collect my life’s treasures in little boxes.
Among the treasures in one little box–hand written notes from high school because they remind me of how badly we all wanted to DO something and BE somebody. Those notes remind me to keep that fire alive inside. I also have wine corks from my favorite bottles of wine and also from some really ordinary ones that I drank on some extraordinary nights. I have a plethora of photos. And tonight I could not bring myself to part with a broken Christmas ornament shaped like a Mallard duck because I remember where I was when I got it. I also have a piece of volcanic rock that basically fell on our house when Mt. St. Helens erupted. I don’t remember this, but I lived it, and I don’t want to let it go either.
Interesting, huh? I wonder what someone would extract from all this about me someday?
Keep blogging.