Feeling Safe and Valuable...
The red roses Ron gave me on Valentine’s Day became fodder for the compost bin, but the lasting feeling those roses gave still makes me feel safe and valuable!
I once knew an old lady. She had a quaintly old-fashioned name--something like Hattie. That’s what I’m calling her today because to tell you the truth, I cannot remember her name! Memories of Hattie were rekindled recently when I saw several rows of old-fashioned round, pleated pillows while browsing at the local At Home store.
My memories of Hattie are warm, and today I would like to celebrate her—along with other old ladies like her whom you remember warmly.
Hattie’s life hadn’t been easy, but despite the pain she’d experienced—which I only heard about in gossipy, whispered conversations—her wrinkles were soft; her words were kind; her laughter was contagious; and her crinkly hands with knobby knuckles were always busy. They prepared scrumptious casseroles for church suppers, cuddled crying babies in the church nursery, and sewed beautifully.
In my hometown there was a line of demarcation, which defined the idiomatic “wrong side of the tracks.” Burlington Northern Railroad determined which side was which. Hattie’s home was on the “wrong side,” a part of town I had never been.
That is, until I invited myself over to her house.
Hattie made the most beautiful round pleated throw pillows, which were all the decorating rage at that time, and I wanted to learn how to make them. Even though my craft talents are mediocre, I have always enjoyed interior decorating and learning how to make pretty things.
What better place to learn than at Hattie’s house, my teenage brain reasoned?
Hattie did not extend, but she did accept, the invite.
Mom let me use the family car, and I traveled across the tracks to the tiny house with a neatly mowed lawn. The yard was filled with colorful flowers—gold and orange marigolds, pink and purple zinnias, and spindly pink and white cosmos. A sweet picket fence surrounded the property.
The inside of Hattie’s house reflected the exterior. Colorful and spotless! I’m sure Hattie’s housekeeping motto would have been similar to my mom’s:
A place for everything, and everything in its place!
She served cookies and lemonade. Can’t get a whole lot better than that for a teenage girl. She taught me how to make those round, pleated throw pillows, which I made in plenty the next few years. A while back when Ron and I purged a storeroom, I reluctantly put the Simplicity pattern for those pillows in the Get Rid-of pile.
Hattie and I chatted non-stop during our pillow-making visits. These many years later, I cannot recall the gist of our conversations nor any one powerful verbal takeaway. No, my interaction with Hattie was more in line with words Maya Angelou wrote: “I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
Hattie made me feel safe and valuable!
We moved away from my hometown shortly after high school graduation, and I never saw Hattie again. The last one of my round, pleated pillows was donated to the thrift store following Mom’s passing last September.
These days, I interact with several young women—generally in their 20’s or early 30’s and usually in a professional coaching relationship. Recent memories of Hattie remind me the most memorable service I may give to my clients is a sense of safety and the feeling their unique God design is valuable.
What teen or young adult’s life intersects with yours? How will she remember you?
