Just rolled in from Chicago on a smaller than usual plane-felt like I was in an H1N1 capsule. As much as I travel and spend time sequestered on planes I feel like it’s just a matter of time before the viral spore hits me. The smaller planes are packed-I’m glad that airlines remain solvent but they've become an incubator for vicious virus congregation. On second thought-I’m too damned mean and cranky after two days of work to be a good host for a virus.
I don’t wear suits and ties too much anymore so most of the things in my accessories box spend more time entombed therein that out and about. I have another quasi junk drawer where this and another couple of boxes live. When packing for Chicago the other day I opened the boxes and saw good fodder for a post.
I thrive on memories and there are a few nuggets in here that take me way back. My wedding band is in here. I have a box of things for LFG and if and when she wants them I’ll pass them over to her-my wedding band included. I want her to know that there was a time when her mother and I had a good connection-one that was equally yoked at least for a period of time long enough to yield this incredible gift from God-LFG.
My maternal grandfather's pocket watch.
Vintage Cuff Snaps
There’s also something in the box that I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing but I just can’t seem to discard it or sell it for scrap gold. It is testimony to why I beg my family and have always admonished girlfriends to NOT try to buy me a watch or jewelry. I don’t wear much jewelry and chances are if you buy me something I’m not gonna like it. I don’t wear watches with metal bands/bracelets because my wrists are small and I don’t like the scale. The Rolex thing is lost on me-unless we are talking 1930’s Prince with a leather band. So if you look closely you’ll see elements of a gold rope bracelet slinking around the other items in there. A lovely-nice-stunning woman gave me that for Christmas almost twenty years ago. I was aghast. Too disco for me.
My Lee-Jackson cuff links live here. Wore them to the Union League Club in Chicago years ago. Kinda liked taking my Southern boys into that club with me. I can tell that they are Lee and Jackson. Most wouldn’t be able to. These are gifts from one of my best buddies who is a native Virginian. Matter of fact, he called me tonight when I was in the airport in Chicago.
An old fraternity ring and my father’s signet ring. My mother gave it to me when he died. I’ve worn it from time to time and even though I had it sized to fit me-the scale is a bit much for my hands. LFG can have it one day.
Cuff links from London with the Vanity Fair image of the cricketer Lord Hawke. The print hangs in my bedroom. I also have a set somewhere that have the Vanity Fair image of Winston Churchill on them. Hawke was typical in his view of amateurs versus professional cricketers in his day. Walter Hagen broke that same barrier for golfers in the States during the early 20th century. Hawke on professionals…."Pray God, no professional shall ever captain England. I love and admire them all, but we have always had an amateur skipper and when the day comes when we shall have no more amateurs captaining England it will be a thousand pities."
My uncle gave me this little Willie Wirehand lapel pin when I was a kid. I thought it was just the coolest thing and I wore it to church every Sunday when I was a little fella. He spent his entire professional life as an executive and lobbyist for rural electric cooperatives in several locations across the country.
When I first moved to Washington he was still coming here for work and we would always meet for dinner and he’d take me to some of the legislative things that interested me. Here’s some additional scoop on the mascot…
“Willie Wirehand was created for use by rural electric cooperatives and public utility districts. Willy was a stick figure, with a lamp socket for a head, an electric plug for legs and feet, and wore gloves similar to those worn by farmers.”
Next month will be the one year anniversary of my uncle's death. I was a pallbearer-along with Willie Wirehand on my lapel.
My childhood pocket knives are in that old collar box that I bought at the Georgetown Flea market. I carried one all the time except when at school. Today that would be scandalous I suppose. The tiny one is a cheapie but I wouldn’t take anything for it. It was my first ever pocket knife-from my grandmother. I still have the massive scar on my left index finger where that Barlow knife took the end of it off. The tip was hanging on by the nailbed only. Hurt like a mother ____ when they sewed it back on.
And finally-rolling around in the drawer are two great memories. The gearshift knobs from my MG Midget and my Triumph GT-6.
Onward. With Stuff.