About four years ago, my mom decided to move my great aunt Hilda from her apartment to my mom’s home. At the time my Aunt Hilda was 100 years old. Her health was in bad shape and it seemed she would require additional care which my mother could better provide by having her live in the same house. So my sister and mom (as well as cousins, aunts, uncles, and maybe my brothers), took on the task of packing up the apartment which had been home to many, many years of saving. Saving stationary; saving pads of paper, books, pens, pencils, purses, clothes, magazines, linens…the list goes on and on; and it wasn’t even that big of an apartment! But Aunt Hilda managed to save many of her treasures which also serve as (mint condition), historical markers. One such marker I was fortunate to receive. It is a small tin, coral colored, filled with cotton. It is called the, “Cotton Picker Cotton”, a Curity product. It was sealed and ready to be used. If you have been to my house, you know that one of our two bathroom’s is decorated with the colors salmon, pink, and orange. Since we live in a house built in the year 1956 and since the sink console is original to our home, the Cotton Picker fits very well with my motif!
However, unlike my Aunt, I prefer to utilize the things that I have instead of save them . For example, if I have a hand towel hanging near a sink, you can be assured it is ready and awaiting the task of soaking up water from your skin after you have finished your cleansing routine. And because Brian is my husband, this means I do NOT have nice hand towels…I have stained and very used hand towels, and when he is working on a car or art project, sometimes those hand towels “disappear” altogether! Anyway, because of my ‘use it’ mentality (though sometimes this does backfire and I find myself wishing I had held onto something instead of use it up), I decided to open my new cotton filled gadget and put it to work. So for the last few years I have been pulling cotton from my “cottin’ pickin’, “Cotton Picker.” I periodically pull out and cut a piece of 1950’s era cotton from my vintage tin and save myself a trek across the hall to the other bathroom (a 10 second walk east) where the more modern cotton balls can be found. Well last night I pulled from my retro well only to find a sticker adhered to the 100% fluff which read, “Buy Another Cotton Picker Today!”
Now mind you, I am currently wandering around, on this planet, in (pretty much) a constant state of exhaustion. You must also know that with exhaustion comes delirium. And for me, delirium manifests in form of crass dialogue with myself. So after I read the words, “Buy Another Cotton Picker Today!”, I said the following out loud:
“NOW HOW IN THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO THAT?!? I MEAN REALLY, WHERE THE HELL AM I GOING TO GET ANOTHER COTTN’ PICKN’, COTTON PICKER?!?” And then I laughed at myself, and my own absurdity (I think I even gave a shout out cursing toward my sister, Leah, for salvaging the darned thing for me in the first place…yeah I’m pretty sure I did!).
Well aunt Hilda will be 104 years old in February, her health goes from bad to amazingly well on a rotating schedule of every other day; and I know that if she still lived in her little apartment I would have a trusted source to go to for my cotton replacement. For your enjoyment (and mine), I share the following photo…