The nicest thing anyone ever did for me

 

My taste in home décor is what I call “country cozy”—I love antiques and other rustic, old furniture; they remind me of my childhood, when we considered ourselves lucky to have things that were not ours originally, but had been passed down to our family through the love and generosity of people who probably did not have much more than we had.

One day about two years ago, I was talking with Craig Cairo, an old friend from my days on the craft circuit. I told him I had moved into the first floor apartment of the two-family home I share with my sister—the Bragg Street house I have referenced many times—and he asked the obvious question, “How's the decorating coming along?”

After telling him that I had wanted to paint the walls before moving in, I explained the reason that had not happened—my aunt was hospitalized at the time, but truly believed she would return to the first floor apartment where she had lived all of her life. I went on to say that, even though I suspected my aunt would never return home, I had agreed not to paint. It would only have upset her, and that was not going to help her health issues at all.

After listening, he said I was a good person. I have to admit we both laughed pretty hard at that; on the craft circuit, I was not always pleasant—long days, hard work, and sometimes little financial gain did not always make for a happy vendor, and the people I was closest to on the circuit were generally privy to my “after hours” grumbling, especially if visitors to my booth were unpleasant on any particular day.

Returning to the original topic—the decorating my house—again, I told Craig I had inherited some antique furniture, and had a few things that would serve the purpose until I could afford something of a higher quality. I then confided that there was something I wanted, but could never afford—a Victorian fireplace mantelpiece converted to a headboard.

I mentioned that it was a very popular look, and I often saw them in country decorating magazines. I confessed that I had been in the habit of saving pictures for “someday when I do this.” I went on to describe the one that existed in the Burnside Avenue house of my childhood, and said I had yet to see one I liked better, as it was elegant yet unpretentious.

Before I drew my next breath, Craig said, “I'll make one for you. Consider it a housewarming gift. You've waited long enough for 'someday' to get here.”

True to his word, he did exactly that over the course of the next two years. Working from an old, faded photograph and a drawing I made of the mantelpiece from memory, he recreated something I thought was gone from my life forever. He installed it in my bedroom four days ago as I write this, and I cannot say how many times I have walked through the room, just to have another look! It is like having the sudden ability to see a memory.

I have since told him, and anyone else who is around to listen, that this is the nicest, most generous thing anyone has ever done for me. He laughed pretty hard when I told him I was including a blog post about his generosity, but I think he was touched.

It sounds corny, but true friends are hard to find. If you are lucky enough to have one, hold onto them for dear life, and always be sure to be as good a friend to them as they are to you.

Decorating the mantelpiece

I have now decorated the mantelpiece for Halloween—Craig says it looks great with 5 pumpkins on the top shelf and two teddy bears (wearing their COVID-19 masks) on the lower shelf.

For Christmas, I am planning to have a holiday garland that I made many years ago on the top shelf and my manger (nativity) set on the lower shelf. I am glad the figures are made of sturdy plastic, as I am sure Penny will be knocking them down onto the bed.

This will be the first year since Christmas 1964 that the manger has been displayed the way it was during my childhood—on the mantelpiece—and I look forward to seeing it again, as it never looked right anyplace else. I may even hang my Christmas stocking from the top shelf; hanging it from a doorknob for the last 56 years has not been the same either.

I am also eager to put up one of the best buys I ever got on the top shelf—a woodsman Santa figure that should have cost about $50. I saw it sitting on the worktable at a nearby store one year in the weeks just before Christmas, and picked it up. The price tag read $8, and I thought “Who in the name of the Blue Jesus priced this...it can't be right.” Continuing to browse through the aisles, I noticed other Santa figures in various types of clothing, and the lowest price I saw was $50.

I realized what must have happened. The store paid $8 for a simple Santa figure, and would have jacked the price up as soon as their “Santa dresser” finished with it; it was completed, obviously, but had not been re-priced. I am an honest person by nature, and I did point out to the clerk at the cash register that I was not sure $8 was the correct price. She looked at the tag, and said, dismissively, “It's $8.”

As I left the store, I noticed another employee—apparently the aforesaid “Santa dresser”—looking all over the worktable's surface, and assumed she was looking for the Santa woodsman. She had a bunch of what I assumed were blank price tags in one hand and a marker in the other. Honesty tried to make me go over to her to explain what happened, but it lost the battle; I wanted that $8 Santa!

If anyone ever asks, yes, that is probably the worst thing I ever did in my life.