WWED?
I haven't blogged in a while. I've been busy scurrying around my basement, sorting and boxing and scratching my head. We're having the basement finished, and the construction begins next week. I think I'll use the process as a starting point to start blogging again.
This Mother's Day weekend, with my own mother safely tucked away on a riverboat in Eastern Europe, I found myself thinking about my grandmother. Specifically, wondering what she'd want me to do with her fur coat.
It's been sitting in a box in my basement since my uncle sent it to me after she died in 2002. It's beautiful, a flawless full-length mink. An appraisal certificate from a furrier on Castor Avenue in Philadelphia remains in the pocket.
I can clearly not keep this coat. It's not fashionably retro - while my grandmother was always stylishly and fabulously dressed, it's most likely from the 1980s, when she was already a mature woman. I covet any one of many dresses she's wearing in the pictures I have of her from the 1960s, but this coat is not my style. Additionally, my grandmother was at least 4 inches taller than me and a broad, full-figured woman in her day. I drown in the coat, exactly like a little girl playing dress-up in her grandmother's fur coat.
And where would I wear the coat? I have no occasion for a full-length mink coat. I briefly toyed with the idea of wearing it to be Lucy Pevensie for Halloween, but Mike will not go shirtless in October to be my companion, Mr. Tumnus.
Finally, I just don't wear fur. Even if it's free. Even if it's inherited. Wearing fur implicitly supports the fur industry, and I don't.
On Saturday, I removed the coat from its box, shook it out, and put it on. So did my mother-in-law, who is at least tall enough so that the coat did not brush the basement's cement floor. We admired the perfect lining, my grandmother's name embroidered in sloping script. We discussed options - should I sell it? Or keep it, to remember my grandmother?
It's not as if I need more material assistance in remembering my grandmother. Her lamps and furniture are prominently displayed in my house. I wear her scarves and jewelry on grown-up occasions. Henry is named for her older brother. For Pete's sake, I am using her napkin holder in my kitchen (she bought it in Israel, it's lovely).
After a day spent wondering what she would want me to do, I decided that she would've been annoyed that I was spending this much time on it. My grandmother was tall, stylish, and also easily annoyed. We're going to sell it. Which is the easy part. Because, since I do remember my grandmother and do think about her frequently, I'm quite certain that, while she would not be upset that I plan to sell her coat, she would be livid if I don't get a fair price.
Any suggestions?
This Mother's Day weekend, with my own mother safely tucked away on a riverboat in Eastern Europe, I found myself thinking about my grandmother. Specifically, wondering what she'd want me to do with her fur coat.
It's been sitting in a box in my basement since my uncle sent it to me after she died in 2002. It's beautiful, a flawless full-length mink. An appraisal certificate from a furrier on Castor Avenue in Philadelphia remains in the pocket.
I can clearly not keep this coat. It's not fashionably retro - while my grandmother was always stylishly and fabulously dressed, it's most likely from the 1980s, when she was already a mature woman. I covet any one of many dresses she's wearing in the pictures I have of her from the 1960s, but this coat is not my style. Additionally, my grandmother was at least 4 inches taller than me and a broad, full-figured woman in her day. I drown in the coat, exactly like a little girl playing dress-up in her grandmother's fur coat.
And where would I wear the coat? I have no occasion for a full-length mink coat. I briefly toyed with the idea of wearing it to be Lucy Pevensie for Halloween, but Mike will not go shirtless in October to be my companion, Mr. Tumnus.
Finally, I just don't wear fur. Even if it's free. Even if it's inherited. Wearing fur implicitly supports the fur industry, and I don't.
On Saturday, I removed the coat from its box, shook it out, and put it on. So did my mother-in-law, who is at least tall enough so that the coat did not brush the basement's cement floor. We admired the perfect lining, my grandmother's name embroidered in sloping script. We discussed options - should I sell it? Or keep it, to remember my grandmother?
It's not as if I need more material assistance in remembering my grandmother. Her lamps and furniture are prominently displayed in my house. I wear her scarves and jewelry on grown-up occasions. Henry is named for her older brother. For Pete's sake, I am using her napkin holder in my kitchen (she bought it in Israel, it's lovely).
After a day spent wondering what she would want me to do, I decided that she would've been annoyed that I was spending this much time on it. My grandmother was tall, stylish, and also easily annoyed. We're going to sell it. Which is the easy part. Because, since I do remember my grandmother and do think about her frequently, I'm quite certain that, while she would not be upset that I plan to sell her coat, she would be livid if I don't get a fair price.
Any suggestions?
posted by mrotzie at 12:40 PM
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