Welcome to Vintage Virgie

What year exactly is Vintage? I mean, I guess it depends on your age. My 20 something year old kids consider a Sony Walkman vintage, as I gasp, my cheeks redden, feeling extremely old, then my voice might raise or shriek in a very offended way as I tell them to,” just go away” LOL. They know I’m just kidding, but it makes me think, what exactly is Vintage? I am officially old enough to say objects from the decade of my birth are definitely vintage, even though my mom might not agree. The 1960’s absolutely had some very groovy pieces of furniture, clothing, dishes, and décor. But I think the style I am most drawn to is Art Deco or anything from about the 1920’s – 1940’s. Maybe because my Grandmother’s house had not been updated during my entire childhood, and everything from her kitchen to the bedrooms was just so comfy and homey. My mother always says I decorate like my Grandma Virgie, and that is a big complement. I loved her style and color choices. She wasn’t a wealthy woman, raising 5 children in a 2 bedroom 1 bath house with my Grandfather in Richmond, CA.  Working on the Shipyards during WWII, and making due with things she had, even peeling potatoes had to be done so thin, as to not waste a single serving. She had a big Hoosier cabinet in her pantry and it was full of flour that never seemed to go empty, despite all the biscuits, dumplings, pies, cookies and cakes that were made over the years. My Grandma Virgie had the coolest stove I had ever seen, I know now that it was a Wedgewood stove, it was the centerpiece of her kitchen, big sparkling white enamel piece of art, with chrome accents and trim, porcelain knobs, with a big exhaust pipe going up and out of the wall filling the neighborhood with the aromas of chicken and dumplings, fried green tomatoes, sausage, biscuits and gravy, or whatever was on the menu that day. I’m sure it made many a tummy growl when she was cooking. I grew up in the 70’s and my parents were building their home, with all the modern day colors of avocado, gold, brown, and burnt orange. I loved our new home, even though it was big, and all brand new with all of the modern conveniences, like a dishwasher, a trash compactor, a garbage disposal, and even a Microwave Oven. I loved my Grandma Virgie’s small vintage kitchen the best, it had red and white tile floors, red countertops and backsplash all trimmed in chrome, Outside the window beyond the two ceramic chickens near the kitchen sink was an enormous Hydrangea plant and it always seem to be in bloom with the most beautiful periwinkle blue flowers I had ever seen. Her Kitchen table was a small white laminate table with aluminum trim and the chairs were shiny stuffed red vinyl seats and backs with aluminum legs that matched the table, a non nonsense table that held a sugar bowl, butter dish, salt and pepper. The table had a leaf for when family came, and we needed a little more room for a card game or special dinner; usually for a card came though. The kitchen was small, and with the leaf in the table it would extend through the door and into the living room. But they all squeezed in and made it work, they spent many weekends visiting and laughing at that table. When the adults played cards, us kids shouldn’t hang around to hear the grown folks talk, so this gave us  lots of time to play and look or snoop at all the beautiful items Grandma had around her house, the spare room where we could play freely,  had a beautiful white chenille bedspread that begged you to drag your fingers across it and daydream, It had two big heavy overstuffed feather pillows and a fluffy mattress, the kind of bed where you could take a long cool nap and wake up with miles of chenille roadways on your face and arms.  The room had a few nic nacs, some old pipes with stinky tobacco residue inside and family pictures of people I didn’t know, up high on the wall was a picture of an ominous looking couple, who my Grandma Virgie said was her parents. “Why did they look so mad?” I often thought. The look on their faces was enough to keep all of us kids in line while we played in that room. I was told that they were a very nice and loving couple, but as a kid, I wasn’t too sure. There were also pictures lined up on the dresser of men I never met dressed in military uniforms, looking so serious.  One of the military men was said to be my Uncle Buck, although it looked nothing like him to me when I was a child, I took their word for it. He was always handsome and funny and I loved him dearly, but that picture taken at least 25 years earlier couldn’t have been him.  But the picture of my dad in his cap and gown at age 18, graduating from Richmond High School, I could see him clearly, He looked the same to me my whole life, handsome, strong, and oh so smart! Beautiful Green eyes that could sometimes tear up from a sappy movie or love song, and a head full of dark brown hair, always cut around his ears and combed to the side, like a business man, although he was a glazier by trade. He was a quiet man but, when he spoke he had something to say worth listening to. He gave great advice, only when asked for. He loved his family, especially my mother, and he instilled a very strong work ethic in all 3 of his kids.  He was my Grandma Virgie’s baby, born in 1942 in Arkansas, a few months after the attack on Pearl Harbor which was a catalyst that brought the US actively into World War II.  Shortly after his birth my grandparents moved their family of 7 to California for more opportunities and to help with the war effort, they settled in Richmond; an industrial town outside of San Francisco, neighboring Berkeley right on the Bay. My Grandparents both worked at the Naval Shipyards. My Grandmother did riveting and welding, and I always loved to hear the stories of that, I couldn’t imagine my petite 5’ tall Grandma Virgie welding the enormous vessels I’ve seen derelict in the waters around the Bay Area.  After the war my Grandfather became a police officer for a while, and My Grandmother stayed home and finished raising their 5 children. As time passed, all of their kids married and moved on with their lives, blessing my grandparents with many grandchildren and great grandchildren; but their house never really changed, with the exception of a big box TV with rabbit ears and two recliners, one for each of them.  When I was 14 my grandparents celebrated their 50^th wedding anniversary in that house, the house that never changed.  When I was 16, they both passed away, my Grandma Virgie from emphysema, just 9 months later; my grandfather from a broken heart. I cherish the time I had with them, hearing their stories that they so freely and eagerly shared every Sunday when we went to visit them. The childhood memories of my Grandma Virgie left a lasting impression on me, shaping the way I live and the things that remind me of her and bring me comfort. This blog is dedicated to her, and I look forward to sharing memories inspired by her and the San Francisco Bay Area that I grew up in and love.