The Traveling Christening Gown

I was born in March of 1949.  WWII had ended and former soldiers were home and starting families.  Shortly after my birth, my baptism or Christening as some call it, was scheduled.  Unbeknownst to me, my great grandmother had sewn a gown with fabric allegedly from a silk parachute used in the war, and lace from her own pantaloons.  The gown was an “ecru” colored, rather simple gown first worn by me in the spring of 1949.

My Baptism was attended by several generations of family. Above is a photo of my mom and dad holding me.  Below is a photo of my mother, both of her grandmothers and her mother (holding me).

The dress was especially cared for and in 1954, when my brother, Steven, came along, he too wore the gown.  At this point, the dress was packed away to await a new generation.  And yes, years went by until my first child, Marcus Alexander was born in 1976.   Alex wore the gown at his baptism in St.  Philip’s Cathedral in Atlanta, Georgia.  A few months later, my brother’s daughter, Emily was born.  She also wore the gown at her ceremony at The Cathedral of the Incarnation in Garden City, Long Island. 

 Her brother, Andrew, was the next newborn to wear the gown some seven years later.  The gown was not utilized by my second child, Wes, as he was not baptized for another four years and was obviously, at that point, unable to fit into it.  Again, the gown went into storage but was brought out in 2002 to be worn by Taylor Ann, one of Emily and Jonathan’s twins at their double Christening in Atlanta, Ga.  The gown had now been in storage for nearly twenty five years. 

 Neither of my children have had their own but Emily’s children are grown and there may be a need in the near future.  Somewhere along the way, I decided that we needed to record the names and the dates of those who wore this very special dress.  I set out to embroider the names and the dates of each baby on a strip of fabric.  Although I did complete it, I could not decide on how to connect or attach it to the gown whose silk fabric was by now over 75 years old.  The embroidered strip sat in the box for several years until my niece, determined to make sure it survived me, traveled to my home to motivate and encourage me to “do something”.   Together, we sewed the strip onto some satin blanket binding and then hand basted it to the hem of the underskirt of the dress.  Because she has the sweetest heart, Emily insisted on cutting a tiny lace flower from my wedding veil and sewing it onto the dress itself.  It forms the center of a rather long thin satin ribbon.  In the final picture, you can see the naming strip attached to the underskirt so that it is nearly hidden by the lace overlay.

  Emily is now in charge of the Christening gown, having taken it from my home in South Carolina to hers in New Orleans.  Who knows when the gown will be used next?   In anticipation of what

 I hope will be the inevitable, I left room on the ribbon for the addition of more names and dates.

                                                                    

                                             CHILDREN THAT HAVE WORN THE GOWN

                                                                       

                                                                  Pamela Sue Protz  1949

                                                                  Steven Paul Protz  1953

                                    

                                                            Marcus Alexander Whitaker  1976

                                                                  Emily Foster Protz  1977

                                                                Andrew Steven Protz  1984

                                                                 Taylor Ann Sontag  2002

                                                                         

 

Resurrection Sunday

Years ago, Easter Sunday was a happy day full of smiles, laughter, egg hunts, baskets and gatherings of relatives.  We usually had some new clothing, mama had a hat, and we'd take photos on the front lawn before church.   

Many years passed, my brother and I grew up, moved away and had children of our own.  Easter remained special however, and generally one of us would travel to spend the holiday with mom and dad who eventually had moved to Sarasota, Florida.  I always looked forward to spending time with them in Florida.  We'd go to the beach or lounge around their pool and at some point, mom and I would go shopping.  A visit to Siesta Key was usually on tap with a stop at the Lily Pulitzer shop.  I looked forward to "a new frock" every year.  In those days, "Lilly's" were very unique...lots of color and lace.  I could wear my skirts short then and those dresses always made me feel very special.

We lost daddy in 1996 and mama moved to Wilson where Allen and I were living.  She bought a cute, new "villa" home nearby and lived there happily for about five years before quickly succumbing to Chronic Myelogenous Leukemia which took her life in less than a week.  It was a quick death and not much pain involved.  She reported feeling as if she had the flu, weakened rapidly, became jaundiced, was hospitalized and died.  The date was March 23 but it wasn't just any other day....it was Easter Sunday.

Since that day, I grieve her passing for more than a day - more like a season.  The 23rd comes and goes but either shorty before or shortly after, here hops Easter.  It's like losing her twice in one month.  I think of her often for days before the 23rd, then the 23rd comes and I think of her and then I keep thinking about her until Easter Sunday (whenever that happens to be).  It's like a never ending sadness.  Mama loved life and she loved those who shared her life.

I will probably always continue to associate losing my mom with Easter.  Gratefully though, I also have a belief in God and in His son, Jesus Christ.  It's somewhat of a comfort to think that as Jesus rose again and joined his father in heaven, my mom's spirit soared up to meet them both.  

"I go to prepare a place for you" said Christ.  I trust that my mom is helping Him to prepare a place for me too.

As Time Goes By

Today was hard.  Today I loaded Allen's trusty GMC Denali up to the gills with the intent of taking box loads of treasures one hour north to a Consignment Shop.  I know junk and I know treasures.  Lenox China and Waterford Crystal are treasures.  Downsizing from a 6,000 sq. ft. home to a 2,300 sq. ft. home is a challenge.  Where we once entertained on a regular basis, we find we are no longer interested in doing so.  Two years of Covid virtually eliminated intimate dinner parties.  Thus, setting "Martha Stewart-like" tables is nothing of interest to me anymore.  Age has a lot to do with it.  At 72, I get tired early in the evening and am ready for bed long before 10pm.  But, I digress.

We completed our move on Halloween Eve of 2020.   For some reason, this tiny house has four garages and we filled each to the brim with moving boxes I am still opening.  Once you put what you want to retain in place, there is a lot....I mean, a lot left!  I've always been a collector....and I was always fortunate enough to be able to add to my collection whenever I saw something I "had to have".   Married in 1973, by 2015 I had acquired my mothers china, also.  I've always loved her pattern and so am willing to part with my own Lenox wedding china.  Along with the china, however, came the crystal jam dishes, vases, pickle plates, creamers and candy bowls.  Each time I unwrapped a tiny treasure, I placed it in a carton to be re-distributed.  The numbers of cartons kept growing.  

Winter is coming and my goal now is to be able to park the cars in the garage this year.  I've made a sizeable dent in the moving boxes but now I am down to these cartons of treasures.  I cannot even begin to list what we have donated to various local organizations.  Almost all of our furniture is having to be replaced due to room size constraints so all of that went early on.  Furniture is easy to give up...I have no tie to furniture.  It's giving away pieces my mother, my grand-mother and even my great grand-mother once held in their hands.  It feels wrong.  I feel as if these were passed to me and it is now my duty to share and protect.  I just want someone to see it on a shelf somewhere and be jolted into that burning desire to claim it as theirs.  

Yes, I have distributed things to my nieces that they expressed interest in but my own boys are interested in very little.  They are into the "minimizing" trend which seems so popular today.   My husbands brother had two lovely girls who now have families of their own and they seem to appreciate my offerings.  Last fall, they drove six hours with a U-Haul, loaded it up and took it home.  I was ecstatic.  We gave them anything from their side of the family that they wanted.  One has a daughter who is furnishing an apartment. She can stand guard now.

The point of my mind wandering is that no one wanted it...any of it.  Boxes of treasures and no one wanted it.  The shop owners have similar refrains....since Covid, no one entertains at home anymore.  Heck, it has nothing to do with Covid...people these days don't entertain.  They order food that is delivered by UPS in boxes.  They have few friends to invite over anyway.  In todays home, both adults are working, few attend church, fewer engage in social clubs or other ways time was passed years ago.  Friendships are few and far between....relationships are no longer a priority.   

A good friend accompanied me on the drive north to Hendersonville.  She knew the owner of the shop and speaks highly of it.  Once we arrived I could see why....it is filled with beautiful things....filled....to the rafters.  She isn’t moving anything.  We wandered around and there wasn’t much I didn’t want to claim as my own.  An old woman wanting more old stuff...that’s me!  Only I need to rid myself of a carload!  She walked out to the car with me, briefly looked at what I had and very honestly stated that she had no room for anything more.  She suggested a shop down the road and we did stop and try there but it was the same.....lots of lookers...no buyers.  Well, there would be no point in returning all of these boxes to my garage... so I announced to my friend that we would return home and drive to our local Habitat for Humanity shop and deposit it all there.  My friends reaction was to announce that she was going to go Christmas shopping at Habitat tomorrow.  I hope she finds something.  I really do.  I want everything to find a good home.  There is a part of me in every piece.  I will miss it all.

All About Me - Prompt #4 - My Favorite Season

When the leaves begin to color and fall and the air turns crisp and clear, I know that autumn is on its way.  For many people, January starts a new year but for me, it's fall.  And yes, I have been a school teacher and as the mother of two boys, I think autumn does signal a new year of sorts; new books, new pencils, new clothes.  To me, it feels as if new opportunities await. 

Fall reminds me of weekends at our summer cottage on Shelter Island.  We had a large stone fireplace and my dad would build a crackling fire in it every afternoon and keep it burning into the evening.  Even after going to bed (my room was right above the living area), I could often hear the cracks of the wood as the sparks flew.  I remember feeling homey and safe hearing those sounds.  I had an old gold satin feather quilt that I would wrap myself up in.  It was amazingly warm.  I would stroke the satin as I was lulled to sleep by the sounds of the fire and the warmth of that quilt. 

Autumn meant long bicycle rides down Apple Tree Lane - a shady lightly trafficked road lined with what else?  Apple Trees!  It was not an "active" orchard and so the apples rotted on the branches and fell to the ground to further decay.  Thus, there was an aroma about the lane that was unmistakeable.
It is one of the more idyllic memories of my childhood.  There are roads near me now, canopied by trees, that awaken old memories every time I travel them. 

In those days (late 50's, early 60's), burning piles of leaves in the streets was still allowed and I can remember tending the fire as my dad added more and more leaves to the mound.  The smell of the leaves burning is more a memory than anything else now but every once in awhile, I catch a whiff of burning somewhere and it takes me back.

I was married in autumn - October to be exact.  Probably my very favorite month, my mother was born in October, also.  Because October in New York is usually "Indian Summer", we were able to have my wedding reception outdoors in a sort of  'tree house' venue.  I've never been a big fan of football but I did enjoy attending game day at my alma mater (SMU).  In those early 70's, guys still provided their dates with oversized mums as corsages.  My bridesmaids each carried a lone white "football" mum with streaming ribbons of lime satin.  I have a photo of my husband and I leaving the reception.  For years, I thought that the light behind us was a "harvest" moon.  It was only upon closer study that I realized that it was just a light on the path to the parking area.  In my mind, however, it remains a big yellow Harvest Moon.

All About Me - Prompt #5 - My Childhood Home

I started my childhood in an apartment in a residential section of Roslyn Heights on Long Island.  I remember nothing about it and have no pictures of it that I am aware of.  By the time I was three, my parents purchased a home in nearby Garden City on Wickham Road.  Garden City was a somewhat affluent community although I never felt affluent.   I spent my entire childhood in this house and in 1963, my parents were fortunate enough to be able to purchase some land on Shelter Island.  Reacheable only by ferry, Shelter Island was a sort of retreat for all of us.  I spent my summers there and have many good memories of my time there.

The Garden City house, however, was our home for most of the year.  There were three bedrooms and two and one half baths.  My brother had the smallest room, a fact that I always felt badly about.  My room was larger but not really by much.  We had tiny closets - nothing like what many have now.
My parents room, across the hall from my brothers and mine, ran the entire length of the front of the house, had a large bay window in it that overlooked the front yard and two large walk-in closets....one for each of my parents.

Downstairs, the living room was directly under my parents room, the kitchen was under my brother's room and the dining room under mine.  Years later, my parents added an enclosed "porch" room that we used for everything.  It had a table to eat at, a sofa to lounge on and a table with a television.  It also had a door to the back yard with a lock that didn't work.  I dreamt about that door for years.  I could never really understand why or believe that no one ever fixed that door....it could not even be closed completely.  It was an open portal to our home.

As we lived in New York, most homes there have basements to facilitate insulation.  Parts of these basements were often finished and used as party or "rec" rooms.  Half of ours was finished with a bar at one end and a honkey-tonk type of upright piano along one of the walls.  My parents would have large costume parties every year and the photos they took of each party lined the other walls.  This was in the hey day of "cocktail" parties and mixed drinks.  Wine was pretty much unheard of and beer was looked down on - especially when drunk out of the bottle.

The other half of the basement was used as a laundry, sewing area, workshop for my dad and science project desks - one for me and one for my brother.  My mother had one also on which she kept her ceramic hobby materials.  The furnace was in this room also, standing guard between the washing machine, sink and dryer and my dads' workbench.

In my early adolescence, my mother enrolled me in piano lessons.  I was supposed to practice daily but I was afraid to go into the basement alone so I rarely did.  I can remember running up the stairs as fast as I could to get away from whatever I feared was in the basement, flicking off the light and slamming the door before locking it with the hook and eye latch at the top of the door.  I never felt good about that place and I never learned how to play the piano.

The backyard of our home was small but had two trees in it.  One of the trees grew large and tall and had strong low hanging limbs that I climbed frequently.  Sitting in that tree was one of my favorite things to do.  The other tree was a favorite of my mothers who allegedly played "cowboys and Indians" with my brother and myself.  She would capture each of us and tie us to the tree while she prepared dinner, "freeing" us in plenty of time to clean up before the meal was served.

Another favorite pastime was sunbathing on the tarpapered roof of the shed that was connected to our garage which I could access by climbing out of my bedroom window.  It was a tiny spot but large enough for me to spread a towel, set down my transistor radio, a book and a bottle of baby oil mixed with iodine.

We had a one car garage but two cars.  The driveway was two strips of concrete separated by an island of grass that needed mowing as frequently as the rest of the yard.  My parents eventually tore it up and replace it with a solid strip of cement. 

I remember roller skating on the sidewalk in front of my house, building igloos in the piles of snow pushed onto the sidewalks by the snow removal trucks common in the 50's, ice skating in the rink my father built and flooded for us in our back yard, and walking down the block and around the corner to play at the Tullamore Road Park.  Those were the days when we could do such things alone and have no fear.  The "ice cream man" came every summer evening and sold popsicles for a dime and the "milk man" delivered glass bottles of milk and cream to our door. 

I left the Garden City house when I graduated from high school in 1967, returning on vacations from college and on holidays.  Since we spent summers on Shelter Island, time spent at the Garden City house became scarce.  My parents eventually sold the house and re-located to Sarasota, Florida.  I returned to Garden City for my 25th high school reunion but it never felt the same.

All About Me. - Prompt #2

This weeks prompt was to write about the day I was born......that seems like a pretty difficult assignment because although I was there, I sure don't remember anything about it!  All I know comes from what I have been told through the years.  Told by my mother.  My father wasn't there.  He, according to mom, was at the movies.  That is where men went in those days....they didn't go into the labor and delivery rooms.  They waited in the waiting areas or went elsewhere, particularly if it was predicted to be a long labor as it so often is with the first child.

Yes, I was my mothers first.  I don't know if anyone was with her.  I don't even know how she got to the hospital.   Gee, I wish I knew.  I wish I had asked her.  I wish she had told me.   How scared she must have been.  She was young, younger than me when I had my first.  Mom was about 23.   I know nothing about what happened on that day at Doctor's Hospital in Manhatten.  By the time I made my appearance it was a Wednesday.  I was "Wednesdays Child" and allegedly doomed to be  "full of woe" as the well known ditty goes.  March 16th...sandwiched between The Ides of March and St. Patrick's Day.

In my laundry room hangs a small ceramic plaque made by my mother to commemorate my birth.  Hand painted, it is decorated with baby rabbits nibbling at the grass in an imaginary garden.  It highlights and records for whoever is interested, my birth statistics......born at 4:47am and weighing in at 7 lbs. and 1 oz.   I don't know how long I was as I don't think my length was measured or she didn't record it anyway.  She named me Pamela Sue.   In my adolescence, I asked her whom she named me for expecting that I bore the name of some ancestor from long ago.  Alas, that was not to be.  Mom said she named me for a character in a soap opera popular at the time.  With hair the color of dirty blonde and eyes of hazel,  I made my entrance into the world.  The year was 1949.

All About Me.....Challenge #1

What a great idea....not mine, of course...but a group of us "crazies" are answering blogging prompts designed, I guess, to get us going.  The first assignment...answer the question; "Who am I" in 20 lines.
This feels awkward but here I go....

I AM:

1.   almost 65 and not terribly afraid to age
2.   the mother of two sons of whom I am very proud
3.   a wife of nearly 40 years to a wonderful man
4.   the older sister of my brother
5.   the proud aunt of four twigs
6.   an amateur genealogist and family historian
7.   a friend to many - I hope
8.   a lover of peace, serenity and quiet altho' I admit to being short-tempered, impatient and irritable at times
9.   a perpetual student
10. a dreamer
11. a retired homemaker
12. a retired therapist
13. not as organized as I wish I were
14. happiest when my children are doing well
15. not as good at keeping in touch as I wish I were
16. too lazy to exercise regularly
17. someone who loves to garden
18. a "wanna be" writer
19. at a pivotal point in my life
20. a believer that there is a plan for us