Crimson and Clover
On April 6, 2018 by Speranza
Before and after the Easter holidays, I traditionally take a few days off to complete projects I have been meaning to return to (I’m looking at you, streamlined recipe binders) no longer flinging ragged sheets everywhere as I try to squeeze your gaping three rings closed with an arthritic crocodilian snap. But in-between bursts of energy like this, The General and I have shut the doors against the snow and wind and taken to wandering around with cups of scented tea and wedges of sticky Baklava, talking for hours about topics as diverse as Sidney Bechet, British trade unionists (to be fair, we were considering The Perfect Dog Name for a dog we do not have – yet) and soon to be perused Roberto Bolaño, the poet that Patty Smith mentions so often in M Train.
In short, it’s my idea of bliss.
But yesterday, when we decided we really should get out, we realized that the two films we have been meaning to see (Three Billboards Outside Ebbing Missouri & The Party) were both finishing on the same day. Yesterday. So in true vacation spirit we decided we must see both on the same day. Why not?
As we waited for the show to start, I suddenly had an image I have not thought of for over 40 years.
My father’s job in the steel-iron industry often meant that he had access to items from demolitions and he once brought home a massive, sinking bundle of red crushed velvet. It was the theater curtain from an old cinema and he had decided that it would be perfect around our so-called “picture window” which had also been recently liberated from a shoe store.
My mother, who had always made it widely known that she couldn’t sew, whooshed the curtain out in our little backyard like a giant tablecloth, till the grass was completely replaced by crimson, a dramatic and sumptuous transformation. I watched, fascinated and impressed, as she crept patiently along on her knees, drawing lines with chalk, cutting and dividing. There were lots of scraps left and although I hinted loudly for a long, slim column of a dress or even pants, strangely, my mother reminded me once again that she could not sew. The finished drapes once installed though were spectacular; vintage (before that was even a thing) and heavily sealing out all drafts. I was still delighted with the remnants I was given and fashioned 3 identical tiny velvet ballgowns for my favourite Troll-dolls who suddenly acquired an unfortunate Moulin Rouge vibe …
Funny though, I remember the feeling of that fabric in my hands, the excitement to make something, anything, with it; it’s exactly the same “sparkle” (a word I may overuse here at Speranza) to describe that elusive feeling of hope, anticipation, wonder, something that is about-to-be. It’s important, vital even, at least to me. What do you think?
I’m still wondering what name, taken from British trade unionists who often seem to be called John, Bob or George, might be suitable for a dog!
Sue, I’m still laughing about the troll being able to carry off a fabulous plush red velvet ensemble!! As a kid I had something called ‘Troll Village’…ah here’s to the trolls!!