Looking back: Josephine

I have found that even though I’m not actively working on my memoir, memories and remembrances from the past come to me and want to be told. So I’m making them little stories to share.

Today’s post is about Josephine, my great-aunt and the doll that she gave me.

Aunt Josephine was my father’s aunt, so my great-aunt. She was my paternal grandmother’s youngest sister. The photo below is one taken of my great-grandparents and their daughters. Aunt Josephine is the little girl on the right on the front row. My grandmother is on the back row, second from the left.

There were brothers in the family, too—quite a large family—but none are in this photo.

My grandmother died when I was 4 years old, so I don’t remember much about her. Two of her sisters, Josephine and Ida, who is standing beside Josephine in the photo, were like surrogate grandmothers to me growing up.

I didn’t think of them as that when I was little. It was only when I was an adult did I realize how they played that grandmotherly role with me.

Aunt Josephine played another important role in my life. She had been the one to introduce my parents to each other. She was the youth leader at my mother’s church in the 1940s, and she thought she and her nephew would get along.

Aunt Josephine was fascinating to me. She loved antiques and collected a lot of things. Her husband built a little building beside their house for her to store her treasures.

Her house was so different from mine. It was full of stuff. There seemed to be no order to anything.

Sometimes Aunt Josephine’s mood would be low. She looked greatly fatigued, like she could barely move, and her eyes looked sunken in.

I remember her visiting our house one hot, summer day. She looked drained and sad. But she sat down at our piano and played lovely tunes by ear.

I understand now that the way she kept her house and her low moods may have pointed to depression. At the time, it just seemed like that was the way she was.

One day, for some reason, she gave me a doll she had found somewhere in her treasure hunts. I was little enough to still be playing with dolls, and I liked this doll’s pretty face and what was then long golden hair.

I held on to the doll, and some years ago, after I had had her in storage for a long time, I decided to refurbish her a bit.

All of the photos of Josephine the doll in this post are "after" the changes.

One side of her head was bald where her wig was halfway off, and the hair itself smelled moldy. So I tore off the wig and gave her a good bath.

I bought a bag of doll hair. It was in individual ringlets. I hot-glued each one to her head, giving her a head full of dark hair.

Why dark hair? Because Aunt Josephine had had dark hair before it turned white, and I wanted to name my doll Josephine.

I added a pair of glasses because I liked the look.

The dress she has on in these photos is an old baby dress—one of mine, I think. And she’s wearing my baby shoes.

I would like to dress her in clothes that look like a girl would wear around the turn of the 20^th century. Someday I will.

For now, she sits in a rocking chair that was mine as a child. And she reminds me of Aunt Josephine.

Do you or did you have any relatives that fascinated you?

Looking back: The little red chair

When I was a small child, my paternal grandfather lived about a mile away from us.

One day he walked up to our house carrying a little red chair that had been in his family. He wanted my father and his children to have it.

I was the youngest and the only daughter, so I ended up making the chair my own.

When I was growing up, I kept it sitting in front of an old vanity that I had in my bedroom until I left home. I could sit on the chair and brush my hair and “primp.”

 I liked the story behind the chair. My grandfather, who was born in 1885, used it to learn to walk. Someone would turn over the chair so that it set steady on the floor, and my grandfather would push it across the floor.

Apparently, someone cut the legs down short so the chair could be used for this purpose.

You can see where the chair back and the top of the front legs are smoothed down from rubbing against the floor.

Granddaddy didn’t have an easy life when he was young. His father died when he was two years old, and his mother died when he was four. He had three older siblings. Apparently he lived with different relatives growing up, eventually living with his paternal grandmother.

Granddaddy in 1889, when he was four years old.

Granddaddy when he was a young man.

The chair has been painted red since I can remember. I don’t know why someone painted over the wood with thick red paint. Perhaps it was to brighten it up for children.

Now I keep the chair in either our den or living room. It’s currently sitting in the living room, providing a seat for a stuffed snowman that I’ll keep out a few more weeks.

I have an old doll that would probably look better on the chair than this stuffed snowman.

(Note: Do you think I should try to remove the red paint and show the original wood? Would that hurt the wood?)

I have other pieces of furniture plus other treasures that have been in my family a long time. I’m trying to record their stories so I don’t forget and so my nieces and nephews and other family members will know their meaning.

And I have so many family stories to record, including my father’s writings and letters he wrote his sister during World War II.

Not all my memories are good, but that’s the way life is. The good can be remembered, and the bad can be learned from.

Do you have any pieces of furniture that have been in your family for a long time?