From Where I Sit

By Pat Spilseth, Columnist

Today I received an email that is definitely a “keeper.” In our toss-away society, it’s a blessing to hear that there still remain keepers, things and people worth saving.

Remember when we didn’t toss something just because it wasn’t working correctly. We fixed it. We resoled shoes; we saved wrappings and ribbons from presents, ironed them so they were no longer creased and regifted with that same wrapping paper. We didn’t throw old clothes if a younger brother or sister could wear it when we outgrew the item. Hand-me-downs from older kids were treasured by many kids. Inez Husom gifted her wool skirts and sweaters to me when she either outgrew them or tired of them. I felt so grown up when I got to wear her outfits. We also borrowed clothes to make it seem like we had more outfits. Sandy Fjoslien had a glamorous black and white outfit I borrowed once for a fancy dance. It was so nice to have friends who wore the same size clothing as I did!

If the fabric of a shirt, dress, robe or coat was still good, without holes from so much wear, Mom would cut it up into small pieces and stitch circle pieces to be made into a doily or a quilt topping. Sometimes she used various fabrics pieced together and sewed them together with a flannel backing and some old quilt inside to make a new quilt. If the shirt or dress could be reused and made into something else, we carefully cut off the buttons to fill a button box or a button jar, usually a glass canning jar with a screw-off lid. Mom even saved the hooks and eyes from worn brasseries for future sewing projects. Torn blue jeans weren’t tossed, and we certainly didn’t wear the jeans with holes or tears like folks do today. We mended them with iron-on patches. Though that patched area was a bit stiff for awhile, after numerous washings it softened and didn’t rub on our knees.

Mom had a darning egg made out of smooth wood which she inserted into our socks that had holes. She stretched the sock’s hole around the egg and darned the hole with a needle and thread. When our wool socks got holes, she used yarn to darn the holes with fatter needles.

I remember helping Mom rewind window shades that would snap, come loose and fall open to the floor. The shades came in brown and white. It was a matter of resetting that little metal part on the wooden roller and rewinding the shade, clamping it into the sockets and presto! It worked once more.

We couldn’t afford new screens, and they were important to keep out the flies and mosquitos. Nobody had air conditioning, so we opened all the windows to get a breeze and cool off in the summertimes. Dad bought new screen at the hardware store and stapled the screen to the frame. It worked the same with broken windows. Glass was purchased and reset into the window frame. Things were fixed at home most often. Handy men were valued!

But in those days, I wanted just once or twice to be wasteful. Why couldn’t we throw things away when they didn’t work any more or were worn out? Waste meant that we could afford to buy new, not fix things over and over again. Throwing things away meant I knew there’d always be more.

To this day, I still wash out used plastic bags and dry them, ready to be used once more. Why throw it when it still can be used?

Today, pennies are throw-aways. They’re basically worthless. Why does the government keep printing more pennies? They’re a nuisance. They’re too heavy in my purse. Who can find penny candy any more? But I did love to survey the aisle of penny candy at Potters’ Dime Store in downtown Glenwood on the corner. My favorites were the coconut chews. Layers of pink, white and brown sweetened, chewable coconut were such a treat. And the Tootsie Rolls were a penny; those Tootsie Pops were 2 cents. Bubble gum could be chewed for only a penny. Sometimes a collectible card was included in that flat square of gum. Some wax bottles filled with sugar-juice were a penny, but the red wax lips and black wax mustache were a bit more.

If I didn’t get to Potters’ Dime Store with my tiny leather coin purse of pennies, I’d plunk them into my green pig ceramic piggy bank that an aunt had molded and fired in a kiln as a gift to me; sister Barbie got the red dressed pig with the black hat. Once the pennies went through the wide slot in the pig’s back, they were gone for good. There was no way to retrieve them. It was a forced savings for a kid who spent most pennies on the sweet penny candy I loved so well.

Silver dollars were keepers for Mom. The silver dollars made special birthday presents to favorite folks, tucked into a birthday card along with a cotton hanky. She saved those large silver coins in her bureau drawer next to her Lady Esther face cream, Camphor Ice and Cloverine Salve, known to cure more cuts and dry skin. That same drawer held her collection of costume jewelry, much of it gifts from her brother Arthur, the jewelry salesman who traveled the state in his white linen suit during summers. That jewelry is now in my dresser drawer. Though I usually wear the same two pair of earrings and a bracelet, I can’t part with the jewelry. It has too many good memories

Marble agates and steelies were keepers. Their pretty swirling colors and heavy steel roundness were pocketed in a string bag to be carried on our belts or in bicycle baskets to the playground where kids would lie on the asphalt grounds of Glenwood’s elementary school, draw a chalk circle and shoot marbles. Kids would trade marbles or win them from each other in a game. Martha Achter was especially good at marbles.

That same school on the hill has become a keeper too. Today, the school has been converted into apartment living units, beauty and barber shops and a theatre for the community. It’s become a community gathering place, just like it was in past years when the entire town would attend band and choir concerts, school plays and basketball games. The brick school on the hill carries many memories for anybody who attended school there.

Best friends and family are keepers, whether they move away or remain close by. Emails, cards, letters and phone calls keep us in touch as well as visits occasionally. Some things make life important, like people we know who are special.

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To contact Pat, email: pat.spilseth@gmail.com.