I am not even sure what to say about this. The name of these unfortunate sandals…. I don’t allow anyone to say it near me (different spelling), because it just creeps me out. This, however, had to be shared. Found it while surfing for 70s fashions.
Right now, I’m wishing for winter the way it was when I was growing up—you know, back when there were actual seasons? Remember putting away summer clothes after a frost or two and pulling out your winter wardrobe? Mine never totally recovered from the mothballs, and the mothballs let me down, I discovered, when I pulled out a gorgeous emerald green wool coat I’d worn ONCE and noticed mothholes on the arms. Winter clothes were always better than summer clothes, I thought, because you got to wear boots and shawls and ponchos! Well, I fantasized about wearing shawls, anyway. I finally have one but not the weather to wear it in. Sigh. If you couldn’t guess, my best winter wardrobe memories involve clothes from the 70s. Some early 80s, too, but I remember so well my sister’s clothes during the 70s. She had white jeans, I think, and knit tops, chunky heeled shoes, blouses that tied in the back, handkerchief blouses, and a tube top. She even made her own bikini.
Some of the others, I’ve just picked up. Sometimes, you snatch them up before you think, right? Like this one–my bust could be a 32 1/2 again, right? Pppptttttttt! As if! And I’m sure I’d love to have to unzip my blouse in the back to take it off, wouldn’t I?
Now, to be totally mushy and sad. These two, I bought when I was pregnant but before I knew I was carrying a boy. I thought for SURE, I’d get to buy pink. I suppose I could buy fabric and wait for someone I know to get pregnant….Has the time come for me to come to the realization that I won’t be needing any more baby clothes?
But the girly robes are darling, aren’t they? If you know anyone who needs anything so warm, that is. As long as I continue to live in Texas, it would probably be a good idea to resist the long sleeved little treasures like these. But, wouldn’t it be lovely to have a houseful of little girls in pajamas and nightgowns hurrying off to bed and waiting for their bedtime stories?
Okay, I guess the good news is that I won’t be humiliating a daughter by making her wear homemade clothes that would be, in the under 10’s set, considered out of style. And, truth be told, I may be trying to recapture something that is truly gone forever. BUT, I like pulling these out every once in a while to think about what might have been, remembering my own little 70s pink pajamas I got to wear by the fire, back when we had seasons.
This is my sister. She can do anything. Not half-way, either. As far back as I remember, she was crafting, sewing, or just had her hands busy doing anything creative she could. I think the first vehicles were, for her, camp crafts, bible school crafts, 4-H… She told me recently about an art teacher she had as a child, or was it a teacher who happened to teach a little art, who inspired her. I’d never known how important all of that was, because just as we don’t imagine our heroes having heroes, it never occurred to me that she needed any inspiration of her own or that she was once the little pair of eyes watching someone else paint or sew or pull odd materials together to form something new. To me, it all began with her, and that’s all I needed to believe, anyway. At the time. We shared a room together when she and I were kids, and she looked like this and had a horse. I followed her everywhere and must have been very annoying. She put up a funky looking poster in our room and a bumper sticker over her closet door that said “Archie is a Saint” referring to Archie Manning. She, along with everyone else in our family, actually enjoyed watching football on tv. I never got into it. In fact, I never even had the sense to ask who Archie was or what a Saint was. She also hung a burlapped rendering of Raggedy Ann and Andy on the wall. Early on, Andy popped his suspenders, and it all began going downhill from there for him. As different pieces of the unfortunate duo began to disappear, it seemed a bit sad and lost. Not that my grubby, fat little hands had anything to do with it. That I don’t remember. Once, she made one of those science project volcanoes for school. Fascinated me. She knew everything! Of course, these days, that kind of info is everywhere–how to make science projects, craft of the week, dough crafts, macaroni crafts, crochet patterns, knitting patterns, etc–but in the 70s, it absolutely was not. We didn’t get craft magazines or sewing magazines at our house, and there was no internet. There weren’t copy machines in the grocery stores, and we really didn’t have much of a public library. “How to” books are everywhere now for those who can do, or those who, like me, are, like me, wannabes. Wannabes tend to read a lot and look at pictures.
When the 80s hit, she dove into the craft movement like Greg Louganis at the Olympics. She taught me to crossstitch, and she taught herself to crochet rugs, knit sweaters, weave baskets, embroider, quilt, smocking…
You know, I just say that she taught herself. Truthfully, I can say I’ve never seen her in the beginning stages of anything. She presents her idea, gets the what-choo-talkin-bout-willis look from me, then presents the finished project, and again, I’ll say in all truthfulness, it ALWAYS looks ready to be photographed for a magazine.
I call myself a WANNABE because, unlike my sister, I’ve spent years studying crochet books, sewing books, knittting books, tatting…. everything. It takes me forever to make any progress, because I need someone to actually guide me through my lessons, to correct me, to tell me when to pull stitches out and to start again. And, to be honest, I have less faith in myself than most people. When I tell her about some of my ideas and ask her if she thinks I can do it, she always responds with an “Of course, you can!”
But, she can actually read and understand directions.
I’ve always believed that she is fearless.
When she was a teenager, she used to scare my mother to death all the time as we were riding along in our car. “LOOK AT THAT CORVETTE!!” she would scream. Maybe it’s just me or maybe it has to do with THAT kind of reaction, but I don’t think Corvettes have ever been as beautiful as they were in the 70s. I used to fantasize about growing up and making enough money to surprise her at Christmas with a yellow Corvette in the front yard. It would have suited her perfectly. Of all the strong personalities in my family, she is one of the only ones I truly consider to be fun-loving.
She was always, always kind to me. She took the time to teach me manners, to talk to me, to let me tag along, to ride me on the back of her bicycle, to laugh at my mostly dumb jokes, to rouse me on Christmas morning to say “I think Santa Claus came last night!” and to bring me tons of presents home from her church trip to Disneyworld, one of them being my first watch, a Minnie Mouse with a pink strap that I still have. Well, I still have the watch–and it works–but not the pink strap. I had longed for one all through second grade. She even wrote a postcard to me on that trip, and I don’t know where it is anymore. I would give anything to have it again.
She was the first person to make me feel important. And, it’s funny, but nobody has had quite the same effect on me since. It’s funny how imperative that first sense of self is, and there’s no bond like the one you make when you’re that young…..with someone who guides you, who inspires you, who shows you how much fun life can be, who makes you feel cute or precious during the only time in your life you can expect to be adored. God, we’re lucky if we ever find anyone who thinks everything we do is smart or funny or just naturally enjoys our company. She did. And, she does.
- "garage sale"
- Calvin Klein jeans
- Crochet Pattern
- Designer clothes
- designer jeans
- Finished Crochet Projects
- Finished Products
- Finished Projects
- Food and Drinks
- new projects
- Sale at Hancocks
- The Twenties