A Heavy Tole

Here I sit with my twelve dear friends, celebrating our tenth year together. I started this group because my husband and I retired to a place where I knew no one, zip, zilch and 2000 miles from our families. Amazingly our college graduate sons, came with us to this isolated place and fortunately, we all managed to adjust.

My first acquaintance was Pam the owner of the sewing shop where I had replaced my sewing machine after its destruction in a horrific car accident on our way to our new home. Pam was irrepressibly positive and supportive. She invited me to come to sewing classes at her shop. 

There I met Ann, my first best friend here. She was about 10 years older than me and was married to an old codger. She too had been involved in a car accident but, shortly after she moved here. We loved everything craft and did everything craft. We had the same sense of silly.

There was also Pat, a sweet dear woman that had recently lost her husband but was incredibly resilient. She continued to live alone and cared for a large lot and garden, sharing harvests every year. She is always willing to help anyone and does a lot of volunteering.

Diane worked at the sewing shop part-time and was a former owner of a dry-cleaning company. Diane was incredibly talented artistically. She worked in mixed fabrics and was an artist with paints. Her crafts were always the best. 

Which brings me to sitting with my dear friends

We planned a High Tea to celebrate our tenth year together and we are having a great time. We are at Margaret’s house and she has her table set with her best china, a light green Art Nouveau pattern with gold plated edges and accents. I would like to be in Margaret’s will. The ladies have brought finger foods, both savory and sweet. We even have a tiered plate for presentation. As with any potluck, some foods are so delicious, and some are not. After ten years I know to pass on Delia’s and Cathy’s, but to definitely have Pam, Melissa and Myrlene’s offerings. I quizzed them on the origins of ‘high’ tea. Seems ‘high tea’ was the common man’s tea and named so because they sat in the tall chairs in taverns to have their ‘tea’.

With tea over and the table cleared, we were giving gifts to our ‘secret sisters’. I gave a cloth wall hanging of cats at a window in the style of stained glass to Ann. It was pretty cool, and she loved it. I got a lovely one-gallon crock with flowers planted in it from Myrlene, who was another friend I cherished. 

After everyone had opened their gifts, Diane stood up and announced, “We have a special gift for our illustrious, hardworking leader.” She presents me with a 24-inch round, wrapped, somewhat heavy, something.  I pull the paper off it and see a turquoise painted wooden round with a picture hook bar in the back. 

“Turn it around!” I was ordered by… everyone.

I did and oh, I caught my breath. I was speechless. I just had no words to describe my feelings. What was going to say?

It was the ugliest tole painted partridge, dove, pigeon, bird? Just hideous. The worst thing I have ever seen Dianne paint.  The ugliest tole painting I had ever seen, period. I looked her in the eyes, for an inkling that this was this a joke? She smiled. Apparently, not a joke. 

I smiled back, “It’s just wonderful Dianne.” What was I saying? What in the world am I going to do with it? It’s tole painting, like from the 70’s. It’s painted puke green and the bird is baby poop yellow. I live in a craftsman home and this thing will never see a wall. “I just love it.” I wanted to hand it back, instead I handed it to Phyllis to pass around the table so they all could look at it.

I began to doubt my friends had any taste at all as they were all oohing and aahing at it as it was passed among them. They couldn’t all be in on it as a joke, they weren’t that organized without me. Crap. I thanked Dianne again and told her I loved it. What else could I do? I stuck it under the table when it came back to me. I thought about leaving it at Margaret’s and just never remembering to get it.

Instead, I took it home intending to quickly hide it, but my husband caught me coming in the door with it and laughed and laughed and laughed. He suggested I hang it in the kitchen. I suggested if he didn’t shut up, I’d hang it in the throne room and the baby poop colored bird could watch him. 

What the heck was I going to do with it. I wanted to toss it in the garbage. I should have tossed it immediately, but I felt guilty for not liking it. I couldn’t even recycle it to a Salvation Army or Good Will. Dianne was the queen of used goods. She knew every secondhand shop in 75 miles of our little town; and haunted them all - regularly.  I’ve tried to get every new person in my life interested in it. My daughters-in-law have good sense, so do the new neighbors.

I have thought about re-purposing it. I collect sun faces and it would make a good base for a cool sun face. I just need the talent to draw and paint it. I probably shouldn’t ask Dianne to do it. So, it’s been stuffed in the junk corner in my house, for over five years now.

I tell myself that I have never invited my group of dear friends to my house because my husband and I never followed through on our promise to do the interior trim of our house. But actually, I think it is because I would have to get the baby poop yellow bird and hang it on a wall somewhere. 

Dianne is getting close to eighty now so, maybe I can get rid of it soon. I check with Pam occasionally about how Dianne is getting along. She doesn’t always come to our meetings anymore.  Surely, she won’t be going to Good Will too much longer. 

(Did you think I was hoping for her old age demise? Shame on you reader.)

I recently joined another group of people for an entirely different reason and they wanted to raise some money by having an auction. I dutifully gathered up some projects I had sewn and took them to the auction. I got next to nothing for them and they cost me time and money to make them. Non-sewers have no idea of the time and energy it takes to create.  Anyway, I came home with a fake Gucci bag, and some other pieces of junk. I went to the junk corner to put the bag away. Oh! My breath caught. I started cursing and stomping my feet. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I yelled. “I blew it! I blew it, I totally blew it!

My husband came to find me. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I am so stupid!” I yelled at him. “You are supposed to be watching me! Not let me do dumb@&$ things.”

“What are you talking about?”

“They had an auction, an auction! It could have been gone!”

“Hey babe, calm down. It can’t be that bad.”

“Yes, it can! I had the chance to get rid of the poopy bird and I blew it! I could have taken it to that stupid auction and even sold it!”

True to his nature, my husband’s concern evaporated, and he came apart with laughter. He walked away singing “Poopy bird, poopy bird, Nancy’s still got poopy bird.”

I threw the Gucci at him. “Wait until next year,” I yelled.  “When they have an auction again, success will be mine! I swear it!”

“He, he, he. Poopy bird, Poopy bird….” He tormented me for months.

Every time I see that round sticking out of the junk pile, I think about it.

A simple, “Gosh Dianne this is really nice, but my house is classic craftsman and I wouldn’t have a place to put it. It’s just the wrong style and I’m afraid that I just won’t use it. Choose someone else to have it, everyone else seems to like it. I would appreciate it if you would do that for me. And I truly appreciate your time and effort making it and your thoughtfulness in wanting me to have it.” 

Yes, that would have handled the situation perfectly, but I didn’t think on my feet that fast.

Who am I kidding, I’m stuck with the poopy thing forever, my husband better not bury me with it.