Car Keys in my Story Box

I don't even have a photo of my first car, let alone the keys to it. The keys in the box are the keys to the zoom zoom I drive now. My little Mazda is a great source of frustration for me. Oh, no, not the car itself. It just fits Mom and I, and it took Cindy and I on a little jaunt last fall over to Maine, very comfortably. It's the dealers that drive me crazy. Crazy enough that I might sell my little silver lady.

Today, I will tell you about my first car. And, if you wish, you can tell me about your first car. I don't remember the cars in between, particularly, except the white Saturn that I smashed in a snow storm. It wasn't my fault, honest. The driver of the other car admitted that right off. I thought you weren't supposed to do that. Mind you, it would have been pretty obvious, had we left our cars in the accident position, but due to the whiteout conditions, we figured it would be best to move our cars off the road while we waited for a long twenty minutes for the police to arrive. We were both uninjured, but I know what a sore neck feels like. I liked that car. She was toast. But that's not today's story.

My first car was a Chevy Nova. Here's the thing. Cars, for me, should be functional and comfortable, and never stall in intersections like my Dad's white Chev Impala always did. I have a love hate relationship with new cars and their sensors. If the Impala had a sensor, I'm sure it would have lit up permanently. Oh yes, the Chevy Nova. I think it was a light green. I don't care what colour a car is, as long as it doesn't stall in intersections. But my Chevy Nova reminded me of it's cousin, a souped-up royal blue Nova with a handsome, ever-so-slightly scruffy blonde-haired driver about the same age as me, with a muffler that he could make loud or soft. I'd know it was coming down the street from way up the other end of Wellington, but to please the parents, it would purr into the driveway. Now, this was not the kind of feller that my folks generally took to, and it displeased them immensely that he did not get out of Nova Blue and push the doorbell to announce he was here to take me for a drive. I was so surprised that they didn't object to my getting into that car. I think they knew, somehow, that the relationship would go nowhere. And so did I. He had a childhood sweetheart; I knew about her. He married her and they are, last I heard, still together. I digress . . .

My Uncle Ralph worked for General Motors. He was always on the lookout for demos for folks, and he knew I was looking for a car. So when the salesmen drove the limit of miles on this green Nova (was it green? I am scratching my head), Uncle Ralph gave me a call. Would I like to take a test drive? You betcha, but I didn't even have my licence yet. Bought the car and couldn't drive it. I took my drivers test in it and passed; not the first time, as I recall. Paul and Bill went driving with me. I remember those three point turns with Paul. Just get out of one and he'd make me do another. I can still do a three-point turn, but I'll walk a kilometre rather than parallel park. Last time I parallel parked was the day I took my drivers test. That is Paul, below, and Impala when she kicked up her heels like the young filly she was. No stalling in those days.

I got my first loan at the bank where I worked, for about $4000, with an employee discount on the interest. Rates were high back in the day. Nova served me well for several years, but not long enough to put a baby seat in it. He never stalled in intersections.  I did not inflict any great damage to him, nor did anyone else. I don't remember who I replaced him with.

You never forget your first, do you?

Doll Clothes in my Story Box

My friend, Susan, put this idea in my mind when she shared a photo of her old cardboard suitcase. I had a similar suitcase, and so did my sister, when we were young, and we kept our doll clothes in them. I threw mine in, willy nilly, but for my photographic purposes today, I folded them all neatly. Elspeth shared an old suitcase, too. It was lined with beautiful paper or fabric, and held papers and photos of a previous generation. They don't make'em like they used to. Thank you for your memories. And I loved your suggestions of what my box might have contained: the silver, or the egg money. Who knows?

In my story box today, I put doll clothes. I have shared many doll stories, but probably not dolly's clothes. So, into my box I put samples. I loved my dolls. My girls, not so much, although Erin, inspired by a baby-sitter who was a porcelain doll and cabbage patch doll collector, liked her porcelain dolls.

Mom sewed doll clothes whenever we girls got a new doll for Christmas - we being me, my sister, Pat, and my cousins, Susan and Cindy. She used scraps of clothing from the clothes she made for us. A piece of clothing had to be in sorry shape before it went out into the trash. But, I digress. That is for another day.

Oh, the fun we had, mothering our "babies" and changing their clothes. Pretending. Do children pretend any more? Mine did for sure. And I did.

So, what apparel did I put into my story box today? I chose:

Two blue dresses of different sizes, made by Mom. There were big dolls and small dolls and in-between dolls. I loved them all.

A pretty dress made by Julie when she took sewing lessons.

A green sweater knit by me. I knit several doll outfits, as did Mom. Mom knit Barbie clothes as well.

A blue striped shirt. We three (Paul, Pat and I) had these blue striped shirts and shorts sets, as I recall, and there was enough left over for Mom to make a doll shirt to match.

A short nightie that I don't recognize or remember. It's made of flannel, as many of them are, and it's in the same vein as the baby nighties that Mom made for newborns, reminiscent of her mother before. She always embroidered along the neck. Many people made them longer, but she liked them short for ease in changing nappies.

A blue bunting bag,  a big pink nightie, and a pink with kitties on it nightie with a ruffle, made by Mom.

A sheet and quilt made by Grammy Vasseur for the doll bed that Uncle Rene made.

Did your dolly have clothes?

What will I put in my story box next?

My Story Box

I found an old box in the other house at the farm. It was dirty and gross and the top was all bubbly, and not in a nice way. I brought it home anyway, and took the vacuum to it. The main thing to do, initially, was to rid it of cobwebs and the wallpaper that lined it. Literally, and figuratively. What did it hold initially? There was nothing in it, so I don't know. Who made it? The tinker, Uncle Billy? Perhaps.

My mother sent it off to be refinished, and it returned as a clean, lovely, shiny box, much like it must have looked when somebody made it. She wanted to have it for Christmas, so she could put some little things in it. Her wish didn't come true, as it came back in the new year. I'm sorry she was disappointed - not because I didn't get the little things in it, but because she couldn't put them in it.

She asked me what I am going to put in my box. I thought, perhaps, my crochet threads. But, no. I have a place for them. I thought of it last night. I get a lot of ideas on my pillow. Even though I have a new pillow, I still get the ideas, so it can't be the pillow, but the placing of my head thereon.

It is a story box. I will tell stories inspired by my box. I will encourage others to tell stories. Sometimes it just takes a little story to make somebody think of their story. But, mostly, I will think of it as my story box, so I won't be disappointed when nobody else puts a story in it.

What did I put in my box this morning? Stories. Other peoples stories. Some of my favourites, representing my family. I could do a lot with books, and I will, but for today, I'll just tell what stories I put in it and why.

In the back is Pookie. Aunt Phyl sent me this book when I was a little girl. Probably it had my cousins' names on the tag, but I know who really bought it, as they were as young as I was and younger. It's about a rabbit with wings, and a heart which breaks in two, but Belinda mends it with love and her work basket. 

Then there is "The Silver Chalice." A good read. There weren't many books in the Vasseur family, but I nabbed this one from the bookshelf in the den in the house in Grand Falls. 

Next, in red, is a "Happy Hollisters" mystery. Those Hollister kids bravely solved many mysteries with no help from adults, and entertained me for hours.

 "Rose Under Fire" comes next. That is the last book I read. Was it a good read? Yes. Was it a happy read? No. Did it have a happy ending? How could it?

"Anne of Green Gables." Love the Anne girl and her many books. But her journals - five edited books of them. Oh, how sad.

"A Tree Grows in Brooklyn." That came from my Moore grandparents bookshelf, which I have, and has Gramp's autograph on the fly leaf. A good old read. And many memories of that book shelf, and Gram scoffing, "those books are too old for you." I wasn't reading them. I was the LIBRARIAN. 

"Wee Sir Gibbie." My favourite author, George MacDonald. I have a large collection of these leather books on my bookshelf in my bedroom. They were generally scanned from the originals, and include many paragraphs in the Scots, which I have learned to read considerably well. They make a very handsome shelf, as well.

"Keeper of the bees." Gene Stratton Porter, a naturalist from another era, and a writer of novels about same. I have many of her books. 

"Kazam." From the farm, with Gramp Holmes "Floyd" written in the fly leaf. A good book about wolves.

"Heidi." Such a beautiful book.

You can hardly see it, but "Cinderella" comes next; a very old Cinderella. It was in the desk in the kitchen at the farm. Along with other children's books.

The little turquoise book is my grandmother Holmes one year diary. Those who knew her get a chuckle from this diary. "No visitors today. Cindy and Greg were here." Bless them and those who visited often enough that they were not company.

Next is my Grandmother Moore's date book, with 1907 written on the front. In it are mostly birthdays and a few deaths.

Last is my Grandfather Holmes's New Testament. Inside it says, "Presented by the Canadian Bible Society (British & Foreign Bible Society) to the Canadian Soldiers in the war of 1914. 'Be strong and of a good courage.'" Gramp wrote on the next page, "Pt Floyd O Holmes. 1st Depot. Battalion. 10 Platoon. Camp. Sussex."

I could have added many more, but my box was full.

I think I will have fun with my box. Join me if you wish. What will I put in it next?

"If the book we're reading doesn't wake us up with a blow to the head, what are we reading for? So that it will make us happy, as you write? Good Lord, we would be happy precisely if we had no books, and the kind of books that make us happy are the kind we could write ourselves if we had to. But we need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. That is my belief." - Franz Kafka