Vanity Reflections

Dear Jean,

Jerry and I have large comfortable chairs for our newly renovated basement, a picture of an abstract dancer, beautiful glass and silver serving plates & bowls and all sorts of other condiment and entertaining pieces- all great finds from thrift stores. Yes, your son-in-love, my husband, and I have been going in and out of thrift stores looking to find treasure. It is such a habit now that even when we travel we look up the local second-hand shops, thrift stores, and consignment shops. I am not sure he fully understands my connection to the thrift and why it, for me, is like having a piece of you still with me.

As a little girl, I remember the smell and hating it…it. It was the shopping in second-hand stores and the smell of dust and mothballs, and old. Does old have a smell? That little girl would think “yuck, it’s dirty too”. Ok, well, it was dirty sometimes. You never seem too daunted by my pleas to not go or to hurry up. Every now and then, there was that look of annoyance. My younger self always wanted to “go wit you Jean”. I guess I wanted you to go to all the places I liked. I did not fully understand the euphoria of a good find or a saved buck. It didn’t matter, I still needed to be near you and with you.

I remember you at work surrounded by co-workers in the mix of doing your job and going to lunch with the ones who matriculated to friend. It was like you knew everyone. Your fill of job, and people and raising me seemed like a full life. You were an avid reader and loved the romance novels and cookbooks, and you were able to load up at the second-hand/thrift stores. The thrift stores offered one and two dollar books, you could take some back and trade them in at this particular store. You never seemed inclined to pay full price for books so the thrift store bargains were the best way to fuel your habit. You followed the stories of the damsels in distress in love like they were real people. You were able to retreat into a book and be at peace. You found baskets, wall decorations and various pieces of furniture for our home. As habits go, it was not a bad habit. I would wait around, shifting back and forth on my little feet like I had a job to get to and the car keys to leave you if I wanted. Eventually, the impatience would turn into curiosity: I began to look in the cases and around the overstuffed, overloaded, over-packed stores. I was intrigued. I remember you buying a well-loved vanity and bench and every morning before work you would sit in front of that 3-part mirror combing your hair and applying your makeup. I began to see the beauty and see and feel the history in the stores we visited. As I looked at the furniture, the pictures, and the jewelry, I would wonder about the history. Things have a funny way of bringing up good memories while simultaneously our history. Joy and sadness reside in the same space.

Someone else’s history has a story in my life too. In college, while feeling homesick and missing you, I ventured into a second-hand store and found a thick heavy red sweater with little black dots throughout; it was a man’s sweater with large round wooden buttons and a shawl collar. It felt like a hug. I wonder who had it before, did he have children that loved to hug him and smell his cologne in the sweater? One day I found a vanity; it graced my first apartment off-campus, a nod to the vanity you had at home. Had someone sat there and prepared for their day at work? Or their wedding day? When I got married, I combed the thrift stores for my something old (to have in addition to my grandmother’s bible) and found these great vintage drop multiple beaded pearl earrings. I have lost one and am on the hunt now in the thrift stores to find a match. It was my good fortune to find a replacement for the beautiful ring box (that was accidently broken) that was an exact replicate of the one Jerry gave to me when he proposed so, I have hope. Do you remember when you wanted me to practice my math skills over the summer? You bought me an abacus because it was not enough to just learn math one way. Lol. You knew the importance of education and learning. There is a beautiful abacus that I found and purchased. It is the memory of you teaching me. Your love, our bond was strong and I feel it when I remember... I can think back to watching you get ready in the mornings. The vanity that you had and the memories of you sitting there stuck with me. I told my husband I wanted a sitting area to do my hair. We found a second-hand mirror (he painted it), a shelf to mount under the mirror and a chair, all at a thrift store. He reupholstered the chair and I have my designated sitting area- an updated version of “the vanity”.

You loved a deal and I do too. When we purchased our first home, Jerry found African masks in thrift stores, purchased frames and fabric and now they are great art pieces for our living room. Those masks would normally be extremely expensive; I love that we got them second-hand and customized them for our space. Years later, we found a washboard, a vintage iron, and an old-time washing ringer to decorate our laundry room. You would love it, I can thrift online now. I have found some gorgeous rings and necklaces. I have inherited your love of jewelry and unique pieces. Your son likes cigars and we are creating a room for him in the basement: I found an antique cigar/tobacco chopper to add to the decor. I am peacock proud of myself for finding such a rare gem. The feeling of nostalgia for the years before I was born, I am sure is from the early visits to these stores with you. It is as if the people who came before me are here with me.

I had been wanting a jewelry armoire for years. It was as high as $600 in some stores other models on sale were $300-$400. I would always look at it and of course, never purchase anything that extravagant (extravagant for me and my sensibilities-well, the ones you helped build inside of me). One day while on a leisurely stroll through a 2nd hand store-I saw it! It was the same expensive jewelry armoire for $35. I hesitated even at that price because I could hear you “Dee, stay out of the stores”. We got it and I was excited and came home to call you about our great find. You were not as excited and I got the warning again to stop spending money. As I think back, I believe this was at a time you knew you were dying and you would not be here much longer to be my safety net.

I was supposed to come to visit but had not started my new job and I did not want to ask you for money so, I postponed the Thanksgiving trip to Christmas. You said ok, we talked a little and always ended with “I love you” and your “I love you more”. You called me late the day before Thanksgiving to say you were going to the hospital. Our normal 6-7 calls per day were down to one or two very brief calls. Your energy was seemingly off and I was concerned but not as much as I had been in prior months. I was there in July and October encouraging you and loving on you as much as I could. It was the holiday weekend and the nurses would monitor you and send you back home, I was certain. You had survived multiple surgeries, a near-fatal car accident, renal failure, jim crow, mistreatment by your employer, cigarette smoking, your mother’s death and so much more. Jerry and I spent Thanksgiving and the day after with a wonderful family –The Winwoods. I received a call that you had “crashed”. They were trying to resuscitate you. A little later, a doctor called, and then, called another doctor to tell me you were gone. There would be no more I love yous, no more hugs, no more…

On the day of your funeral, I wore a jacket you had given me a month before your death. I combed the thrift stores for jewelry that would be befitting a Queen’s burial. I found a gold and black, regal-looking earring and pin set in a store just up the road from your house. As I got dressed, I chose to wear a black full-ball skirt. It was a skirt that we saw in a second-hand store when I lived in Montclair, NY and you had come to visit. Was it the late 90’s? All these years, I have kept that skirt. It served me well at black-tie dinners for Ford Motor Company and other fancy community events. I am sure it has made an appearance or two at the church watch-night service; now, it would be worn the last time that I would see you. Your friends were mortified. How could I not wear the traditional southern funeral attire? How could I wear a cropped blue jean jacket and a ball skirt? What was I thinking? I was thinking of you and needed to have everything around me, adorning me to help me through the day. As I delivered your eulogy, I sashayed to sit down in my $25 designer ball skirt that you told me 20 years ago would be a staple in my closet.

Just because the life of one item is over for one person, it does not mean that the memories stop for someone else. Repurposing things brings joy to a whole new set of people and circumstances. This letter helps me to repurpose my grief. It scares me to think that I do not remember enough about you and we do not have enough memories together, sometimes my soul aches because of your absence. After a pause, I look around and see items inspired by our early memories in the thrift stores. I hope my grief repurposed can help someone else.

I love and miss you, Jean.