Hang Onto Your Hanky

     Its storming outside my window, so I come to write.
     January continues to dim my light, so I write and write some more!
     Or..look for my iron?

     This week, a box of horrible smokey handkerchiefs, lifted my spirits and my imagination
     My sweet Mary Heyward ( mom) gave me a box of hankies from a dear friend of hers, who had recently died. Not everyone, would have accepted these so cheerfully, but I knew there must be a story, who has a box of over two hundred hankies? Mom has, over the years, placed into my hands some jewels.( my brothers never want anything!) So often, I say yes, and don't truly know until I get home and explore the contents my treasure. Not all do I keep, but mom knows, that once it comes to me, I will either give it away, or find a special place in my home and heart for the stuff of stories.

   OK, back to my iron...I did not even know I had one, and when I found it, was excited to find it was new and never used ( that part was not a surprise) The hankies stunk to high heaven, and I washed them like a newborn baby. I was sure they would dissolve, these things were old. You see, Mrs. Pickering,my mothers friend, died at 99. She had no children, and at some time, I think, thought my mom was her child. I remember going to her house, near the paper mill, for my mom to take her things. Cakes, Pies, Cookies, just stick her head in to say "Hello" and we Blackman children usually were in tow. None of us wanted to go there, except maybe me, I liked to see there living quarters! I could not imagine a house with no children, and it always fascinated me, that there were people that their houses were quiet. Noreina was her first name, and her husband were friends of my mom for a LONG time. Mrs. Pickering worked at the Middle School, Oceanway, for forever!!! she was the guidance counselor, I thought she was the Assistant Principal, mom corrected me this morning. I use to like to see Mrs. Pickering's clothes, beautiful suits and high heels, daily. Her hair was tight and coiffed, never moved, she was a pint size force. I was a little scared of her. She was not gentle or soft spoken, and that would cause me to shrink a little, and take notes also. She was strong and vulnerable, and as my dad would say, " She is a pistol"

   I know, I left the iron on! Well, when the hankies were washed in four, very small loads, and dried on baby gentle, I began to iron them in groups, and with each one, I  threw on the table, ( You don' t think I put up an ironing board??) I had to look and examine and take photos to send to my mama, and think, " How did you get all of these handkerchiefs, Mrs. P?" ( I think I may have spelled some hankerchiefs !!that is how it sounds coming out of my mouth, and I may or may not correct it!!)
  When mom told me about the kerchiefs, she asked me if I knew that Mrs. Pickering was a Prima Ballerina?
 I did not, she was extremely tiny, but I could see it. Worked at being a good ballerina for a long time, and had an opportunity to be in a company but her mother said, "No."
  The mother wanted her to become a teacher, have something to fall back on, being a ballerina was a hobby, not an occupation, to people living in the depression. They were probably proud, that she was smart, and somehow they could scrap up the money to send her to college. So Mrs. P's dream, life long dream, was shattered.  I saw pictures of her, in her home, looking like an angel. I think ballerinas are the most beautiful creatures in art. Oh what these handkerchiefs could tell us? All I know for sure is that she had a zillion of them, and kept them for 99 years!even in a nursing home, pretty amazing. I wish I had a picture of her doing "Swan Lake", maybe I will find it at some antique store one day. She really was pretty amazing, and my mom's friend, that I sort of shared all of these years.
    I still have all the white ones to iron, maybe today? Thank you Mrs. Pickering? For still being a part of my life, and who knows where these handkerchiefs may go? I just promise you they will find good homes, and know your story.
  This story is from my memory, with mom helping me. I left out some parts about her husband because, well that was her story to tell. I can say that she is a survivor in so many ways, and leave it at that.
  Strong women, I salute you.