After Work: Vintage Family

Once upon a time, a horse lived at our house. He seemed real, though he wasn't and actually only existed in splendid stories. The author of these tales, my dear husband, crafted each adventure as a way of encouraging our very young daughter to expand her reading prowess. For years, Horace romped through his make-believe life, getting into an occasional bit of trouble while retaining his charming personality. A few months ago, our now adult daughter, asked if any of the Horace stories were available. I responded that I knew just where to find them if she wanted copies. She did and after scanning the pages, I promptly forgot about the inquiry.

Recently, we eagerly anticipated a Caitlin visit occasioned by responsibilities as a bridesmaid for a high school friend. We are never particular about the reason why she's in town and are always delighted to have her sleeping in this house. Near the end of the first evening, we received an early Christmas gift. Two of the Horace stories, illustrated by a Portland friend and printed in a hand-crafted book with pages tied together by bright blue ribbon, remind us beautifully of a unique childhood tradition. Caitlin's remarkable caring, thoughtfulness and creativity produced this extraordinary new family treasure. Horace inhabits her memory and ours.

Often, even during the briefest visit, I rummage through boxes and closets, pulling out items from our family's past. Caitlin is quite familiar with this routine and generally tolerates my mild mania. She's frequently taken possession of her 'treasures' and during the college years, filled her car with an eclectic assortment of stuff. A few years ago, a friend loaded his SUV with her specially selected articles and drove them to Oregon.

My jewelry box and several spill-over plastic bags teem with family history. Three charm bracelets from my teen years and one that belonged to my mother intermingle with necklaces, pins of every description, and earrings tossed aside and forgotten. None of this eclectic jewelry matters as Caitlin focuses on a collection of rings. A particular favorite is my high school class ring, now a half century old. It fits perfectly and she begins wearing it immediately. Mother's gold ring with a cluster of small diamonds is definitely coveted. (I thought she hated gold.) It's hers now. Forever. She spies a silver ring without a stone. The antique style appeals greatly and she knows immediately the replacement stone she'll choose...a purple sapphire. This ring belonged to her paternal Grandma and may have been her engagement ring from the early 1940's. We agree to select the new stone when we visit her next year. I'm so pleased that three generations of women are sharing rings.

Henry was a student at SUNY Stony Brook in the turbulent sixties. His campus hosted many of the most famous musicians of the time (Big Brother and the Holding Company [Janis Joplin, lead singer], Jimi Hendrix, Simon and Garfunkel, The Doors, Jefferson Airplane, to name a few) and was also the scene of anti-war protests, drug busts, and rampant student activism. (All concerts were free with a student activities card.) Rife with an impressive array of amazingly intelligent faculty, Stony Brook attracted brilliant students. Serving as a dormitory Resident Assistant, Henry interacted with university staff on behalf of students. Not long ago, he discovered that two yearbooks from his college years are now available in reprint format.

Though the quality of these new books is merely adequate compared to the originals, the content remains vibrant and evokes a significant period in twentieth-century American history. Students are eager, engaged, ethereally optimistic. Clothing is hippie-ish with bold prints and minimal fabric, at least on the young ladies. Hair is long regardless of gender, a visual statement of individuality becoming the norm.

To Caitlin, the mid-sixties are history. Her parents' history. She listens attentively as her dad shares his student experiences. I know she's impressed by his passion and perhaps she realizes that the Stony Brook campus might have been a good match for her. Except, of course, for the weather.

For those of us who are readers, words satisfy an array of emotions. We're often drawn to fiction and find ourselves awash in sentences, compelled by characters, finding solace within pages when life itself is intolerable. As a middle teen, our daughter found peace (and parts of herself) in Stephen Chbosky's, The Perks of Being a Wallflower. She read her paperback copy so many times that it finally succumbed to tatters. While carefully retaining that original small, precious volume, she bought many additional copies through the years. Some have remained with her as she moved from home to dorm to apartments to other houses and then away from California. Her constant companion, her lodestar, the beloved coming-of-age book that was, and is, and forever will be, her favorite. Copies have been distributed to friends in multiple states and she's been pleased, but not even slightly surprised, at the reaction to characters and their story.

Naturally she was apprehensive when Perks became a film. She approached her first viewing with great unease. No need. The movie honored the book and its messages. She relaxed, recommended it to others, returned for a second look. Along the way, she encouraged me to see Perks myself. During the weekend, Caitlin practically insists that we see the film together. With the geographical distance between us, we have little time or opportunity to share a movie.

I, too, am now a Perks devotee. I believe I understand Caitlin's teen-age years much better after spending ninety minutes in the dark with her favorite book's characters. I know that slim volume proved an essential companion through often perplexing years and made the unendurable bearable.

In four frenetic days, there's time to savor Rio Azul's Mexican food, sweep through multiple stores shopping purposefully, and watch our long-time stylist, Frank, transform raven tresses into charming curls.