WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

Well I’ve stumbled across a few Latin phrases after 43 years in the legal biz, a few which I’ve committed to memory, but it doesn’t really impress folks much when you throw around res ipsa loquitur or ipso facto … so I keep them in my back pocket just in case I want to appear extra smart. Trust me, there are a lot of trite things that fill my brain and take up valuable real estate there; no wonder I forget what I went downstairs for sometimes.

Lots of Latin phrases roll off our tongue in everyday conversation like per se or a few of my favorites are carpe diem (seize the day) and caveat emptor (let the buyer beware). We could fill this post with common Latin phrases ad infinitum (forever) but for today the topic is “tempus fugit” (time flies).

This post was borne out of my original intent to write about this fellow, a/k/a “Joe”:

It is a story that took on legs after I went from discussing the restoration of Joe the Monkey to delving into the past wherein I began some serious time traveling.

Before I sat down to write this post, I was thinking about just how many vintage items, besides Joe, are in this house (not counting me of course).

While the clock with the words Tempus Fugit is not that old – I bought it for my parents’ 25th wedding anniversary in 1978 – the time pieces, a wristwatch and pendant watch, belonged to my mom and they were gifts from my father, likely during their courtship – they would have been married 70 years on June 11th.

The prayer book and prayer cards are the most-vintage items of the mementos I have.  The prayer book has held up well, with the only damage being that the outer layer of the book’s spine is missing.

Mom made her communion, some 90 years ago and is pictured here by herself and with my grandparents on that day.

Moms Don’t Tolerate Monkey Business!

(At least my mom didn’t.) Though I have often sung the praises of my late mother throughout the pendency of this blog, while growing up, it was Mom who wore the disciplinarian pants in the household. During my formative years I was “Daddy’s Little Princess” and in his eyes I could do no wrong, BUT Mom kept a close rein on what I could and couldn’t do. Oh yes, I had a few spankings from Mom’s hand in my day when I pushed my luck a wee bit too far with her, but, since I was an only child and raised so strictly, believe me, those instances were few and far between.

In the past, I’ve written about the “Momisms” that were dispensed. There were always words to the wise, plenty of advice and the inevitable “I told you so” which lasted well into adulthood. I’m sure you got the same lines about “monkey see – monkey do” or “if everyone else jumps off a bridge, do you have to follow?” Yes, Mom was always dispensing a ton of advice and I knew to toe the line, because if I went down any other path, I’d hear about it, or feel it on my bum.

So why is today’s post mostly about “monkeying around” anyway?

After I published my Christmastime post about my favorite childhood doll “Tilda Jane” (click here for that post in case you missed it), there were a lot of fun comments from fellow bloggers and readers alike. I no longer have any of my own dolls, nor Mom’s dolls, although through the years she often told me she wished she had saved her Shirley Temple for me.

There is, however, an honorable mention, an asterisk regarding one vintage toy. “Joe” is a felt monkey Mom hand crafted when she was a patient at the Hospital for Sick Children in Toronto, Ontario. Mom spent four long years at that hospital, as well as Thistletown, a branch of the HSC which was a long-term care facility for kids.

She was only 11 years old when she was struck down by a car on July 11, 1937. She would have 42 operations in her lifetime, all orthopedic but one … the C-section which was me.

Mom was very ill the first year and in a body cast. She was in a ward with other sick children, some who had polio. To occupy their minds, those young patients had arts and crafts, like leatherwork and constructing animals from felt, like this bendable felt monkey which Mom named Joe.

Joe sat in a corner atop the loveseat … that is, before my collection of teddy bears began encroaching into more rooms. One day, I noticed Joe was missing from his usual spot. When I asked Mom where he was, her answer was “I put Joe away in a drawer until you move some of those bears around.” Then she added “one day when you’re at the craft store, buy some brown felt and wire … that monkey is missing a tail.”

I used to sew all my own clothes back in the 70s before tall clothing was available, plus I dabbled in lots of crafts in my day, so I knew I had felt on hand and meekly responded with “okay” but I never got this simple task accomplished.

It was actually Mom who started me on the teddy bear collection when we were at the mall and she bought me a cute bear in the early 80s. As a youngster I was allergic to stuffed animals, so I grew up with zero plush toys. Mom would later rue the day she bought that teddy bear, as 51 would follow until I called it quits as to stuffed bruins. Some bears I bought, but most were gifts. Mom said “thank goodness” to ending the teddy bear collection, then turned around and purchased a cute monkey while we were at the Hallmark card store a few months later.

She suggested I name it “Linda” – well Mom was full of monkeyshines sometimes, but then she sarcastically added “you’ll find a place for YOUR monkey; meanwhile MY monkey is in the drawer, awaiting a tail.” Well that comment stung just a bit.

The tail must be fixed, or the tale cannot be told.

Flash forward to that December 19, 2022 post and in the Comments section, I committed myself to restoring Joe to his former self and in doing so I knew I would create a Mother’s Day post as well. I had about five months to whip Mom’s monkey into shape – no worries!

After the flurry of comments, that very same evening, I retrieved Joe from the drawer where he’d been tucked away a few decades, then studied him anew. Admittedly, the years had not been kind to him. Although ol’ Joe had no wrinkles to show his old age, where his legs bent, the fabric had begun to pull apart. Hmm – was that even fixable?

Then, I turned him over – sigh. How would I fix the tail dilemma?

For a split second, I toyed with the idea of finding a similar-sized monkey and swapping tails à la Tilda Jane’s head-swapping adventure. Heck, Amazon has about everything you desire, right? So, I perused Amazon for possible “fixer-uppers for a tired and worn monkey” but came away with no magic monkey fixes, (unless I wanted to dress up like a monkey – um, no thanks). So I ordered brown pipe cleaners and a dark brown waterproof magic marker and those fixin’s have been in the closet in the Amazon bag until Mother’s Day grew near.

Sewing was a passion for me once upon a time.

When I was a little girl, Mom borrowed my grandmother’s Singer treadle sewing machine and made a few dresses for me and my dolls, notably Tilda Jane. I remember a black/gray and white dress with a bright red sash was “our” favorite. We even had matching fuzzy pink cardigans with pearl buttons Mom knit for us. Since I expressed an interest in sewing, I got a children’s sewing machine for Christmas. It was beige, made by Singer and sewed like a regular sewing machine but used no bobbin, so seams could not tolerate too much strain or they would burst.

I would like to imagine I looked like this little girl from a vintage card site (Vintage Greeting Card Art on Facebook).

When I suddenly shot up to 5’9” tall in the early 70s, sewing my own clothes became a necessity, or else I would look like I wore my younger sister’s duds. I got a regular sewing machine in a console and matching chair in the early 70s and sewed for many years thereafter. I was not good at hand sewing, however, so Mom would baste in sleeves and zippers for me and, as each project was completed, she’d hem it and sew on the buttons. She often said “I hope you don’t take credit for sewing this from start to finish when I do all the hand sewing.”

Here was one of my creations, circa 1975, with me standing with my short parents and even shorter grandmother.

The weather was so-so, so sew-sew I did to get ‘er done.

We’ve had a few rainy weekends, so, amid a little fanfare, it was time to get the photos done for this post.

First, I grabbed my old sewing basket and got everything together for my project.

Here is Joe before. You can see the wear marks where his legs were bent. It appears his “innards” were some type of shredded flannel.

I decided to document the repair.

The easiest fix would be twisting eight brown craft pipe cleaners together and attaching them to Joe.

I wasn’t crazy about that look so decided to use them INSIDE the felt, chastising myself by saying “Linda, if you’re going to do this, you’ll do it right!”

(Hmm – talk about vintage … that red tomato pin cushion I got for 8th grade Home Ec class, circa 1968.)

After a few (okay seven) unsuccessful attempts to thread the sewing needle, I was sure Mom was looking down and laughing. Flashing back I could picture her sitting at the kitchen table ready for a hand-sewing session, saying “Linda why don’t you make yourself useful and thread this needle for me – your eyes are younger than mine.” Well, I tried to thread that needle’s eye with my glasses off, then on. In the process I bent the needle threader … finally, success and you can bet I used the longest piece of thread so I didn’t have to repeat that exercise again!

Finally the tail was done and sewn on – no, I didn’t just use a safety pin. Ol’ Joe was ready for the final touches.

I uncapped the magic marker – it smelled so badly I was sure I’d keel over from the fumes before I finished the touch-ups, but when they were done, he looked great. If only I could be revitalized so easily!

I estimate Joe to be at least 85 years old. I don’t know exactly when Mom crafted him, but I suspect around age 12-13. I posed Joe with Linda for this post.

Finally I returned Joe to his rightful spot, after about 30+ years of hibernation. I hope Mom is looking down and Joe passes muster.

Happy Mother’s Day to you if it applies!