The house I grew up in had many lovely architectural features – a fireplace, a lovely stairwell, and a beautiful oval stained glass window that was in my mother’s closet.
I loved sitting in that closet. It was a cosy and private place for a child to play, and the light coming through the stained glass would bathe the closet floor in lovely colors as I sat between the windowed wall and the wall opposite that held a rod for my mother’s clothing and a shelf below for her shoes.
My mother wasn’t much of a clothes horse, and I don’t remember that she had any really memorable outfits; she used no make-up other than lipstick; and the only jewelry she usually wore were earrings and a stand of pearls. But I do remember she had a pair of strappy, alligator shoes that she prized and were probably rather costly.
My dog Fluffy was a puppy then. (See Fluffy, or How I Got My Dog) In fact Fluffy often followed me into my mother’s closet, and we were playing there once when I heard her call me to dinner. I ran out leaving the dog behind.
Hours later I was upstairs in my third floor bedroom when I heard my mother cry out from my parents’ bedroom a floor below, “Look what that dog has done! She’s been in my closet and she’s destroyed my pair of alligator shoes!”
“Ah Jess”, I heard my calm and ever-conciliatory father say, “don’t be too hard on Fluffy, and don’t exaggerate. She only chewed up one shoe, not the pair.”
I don’t think my mother was amused.
Dana Susan Lehrman
This retired librarian loves big city bustle and cozy country weekends, friends and family, good books and theatre, movies and jazz, travel, tennis, Yankee baseball, and writing about life as she sees it on her blog World Thru Brown Eyes!