my sentiments exactly

I've had the book I Like You by Sandol Stoddard Warburg for at least fifteen years.

(It was originally published in 1965)

I found it in high school at the Tattered Cover. The old Tattered Cover in Cherry Creek North.

I've always loved it- the sentiments, the layout, and the illustrations.

Plus, its size is adorable.

I never knew exactly who it was for. Or what led me to be so drawn to it.

When Marc and I spent our first Valentine's Day together, we'd been dating for about three months. But you have to understand, we took things really slow. At first at least. We were reserved on all counts, especially in expressing our feelings. We spent every weekend together, and our dates were always really long (Marc called them 'daytes') and we definitely didn't hide our contentment in being together. But, we left it at that.

We had really only shared our real feelings for about two weeks before Valentine's Day. It was on a Thursday that year, and we hadn't made advance plans to spend an evening out during the week. So it all happened pretty quickly. Marc made dinner reservations and I deliberated: were we at the point that we should exchange cards? gifts? And if so, how much? Would he give me a gift? (I certainly couldn't if he didn't, right??) Oh, the analytical sagas of dating!

I didn't want to do anything too friendly or too romantic- we were too early into it. I set to work making a really pretty card (lost in the junk- will post as a part 2 when I find it.) After much thought, I decided to give him this book. I fretted, thinking, 'if we don't end up together I'm losing my book!' But I told myself that I could just go get another one in that case. I didn't want to give him a new copy- mine is worn on the edges, and it's old, and I've held it so many times, and it's mine. That seemed more special to me for what it really meant.

It's so little I kept it in my purse. Marc gave me a card, so I gave him a card. He didn't give me a gift (let the record show, though, that he paid for all of the dinner) I didn't know if I should give him the book. I'm an old-fashioned girl who happens to think Valentine's is more about guys giving girls things than vice versa (that's probably bad of me to think, right?) So it stayed in my purse throughout dinner.

By the end, though, I was totally swept up in the whole evening's atmosphere. We were at Carmine's on Penn, and totally oblivious to every other person in the room. There was a giant red poppy on the wall, and I'd put red poppies on my card to him without knowing it- point being, everything seemed orchestrated together through no effort on our part. I had to give him the book.

I slid it over on the white tablecloth, and he took it all in. Read it page by page, and I was really amazed at how much it meant to him. He got really quiet, and I later learned that he was completely choked up by it. Good. It was exactly how I felt. And, it wasn't pushing us into anywhere we weren't at yet. Perfect.

This is a long post, but I want to share the words to this wonderful book.

Read on, if you wish.

i like you

and i know why

i like you

because you are a good person

to like

i like you because

when i tell you something special

you know it's special

and you remember it

a long long time

you say

remember when you told me

something special

and both of us remember

when i think something is important

you think it's important too

we have good ideas

when i say something funny

you laugh

i think i'm funny and

you think i'm funny too

hah-hah

i like you because

you know where i'm ticklish

and you don't tickle me there

except

just a little tiny bit

sometimes

stop

stop stop

help

help

but if you do then i know where to tickle you too

HELP

you know how to be silly

that's why i like you

boy are you ever silly

i never met anybody sillier than me

till i met you

i like you because

you know when it's time to stop being silly

maybe day after tomorrow

maybe never

oops too late

it's quarter past silly

we fool around the same way all the time

sometimes we don't say a word

we snurkle under fences

we spy secret places

if i am a goofus on the roofus

hollering my head off

you are one too

if i pretend i am drowning

you pretend you are saving me

if i am getting ready to pop a paper bag

then you are getting ready to jump

HOORAY

that's because

you really like me

you really like me

don't you

and i really like you back

and you like me back

and i like you back

and that's the way we keep going

every day

if you go away

then i go away too

or if i stay home

you send me a postcard

you don't just say

well see you around

some time

bye

i like you a lot

because of that

if i go away

i send you a postcard too

and i like you because

if we go away together

and if we are in grand central station

and if i get lost

then you are the one who is yelling for me

hey where are you

here i am

and i like you because

when i am feeling sad

you don't always cheer me up right away

sometimes it is better to be sad

you can't stand the others being so googly and gaggly

every single minute

you want to think about things

it takes time

i like you because if i am mad at you

then you are mad at me too

it's awful when the other person isn't

phooey

they are so nice and hoo-hoo you could just about

punch them in the nose

i like you because if you think i am going to

throw up then you are really sorry

you don't just pretend you are busy looking at

the birdies and all that

you say maybe it was something you ate

you say the same thing happened to me one time

and the same thing did

if you find two four-leaf clovers

you give me one

if i find four

i give you two

if we only find three

we keep on looking

sometimes we have good luck

and sometimes we don't

if i break my arm and

if you break your arm too

then it is fun to have a broken arm

i tell you about mine

you tell me about yours

we are both sorry

we write our names and draw pictures

we show everybody and they wish they had a broken arm too

i like you because

i don't know why but

everything that happens

is nicer with you

i can't remember when i didn't like you

it must have been lonesome then

i like you because because because

i forget why i like you

but i do

so many reasons

on the fourth of july i like you because

it's the fourth of july

on the fifth of july

i like you too

if you and i had some drums

and some horns and some horses

if we had some hats and some

flags and some fire-engines

we could be a HOLIDAY

we could be a CELEBRATION

we could be a WHOLE PARADE

see what i mean?

even if it was the

nine-hundred-and-ninety

night of july

even if it was august

even if it was way down at the bottom of november

even if it was no place particular in january

i would go on choosing you

and you would go on choosing me

over and over again

that's how it would happen every time

i don't know why

i guess i don't know why i like you really

why do i like you

i guess i just like you

i guess i just like you

because i like you

i will always love this book, even more now that it is part of our story. :)

Memoirs of a Geisha

I am so excited to tell today's story.

It is a perfect example of the reason I started this blog in the first place.

I have enjoyed my mom's piece for several years now, but never before did I know how much history it really has. Sit back, and enjoy- this one is gooood.

This piece, which my mom calls, The Geisha, sits in our little dining room.

It hung in my mom's dining room/hallway for my entire childhood, I think.

Then, when she repainted her walls, she gave it to me.

I visited my mom last Sunday for dinner and asked her to tell me the story about it.

My mom designed this piece in the mid-late 70's from a design she saw in a McCall's Needlework magazine. The entire piece is stitched using silk threads. It was originally intended to be hung in a master bedroom of a custom house up in the mountains. It would have been spectacular... adjacent to a beautiful mountain view. But, it turns out, my mom didn't live there.

This piece was an excellent vehicle for a class on techniques with silk, and so my mom offered it at the Needleworker boutique in Cherry Creek North. It would be a six week class, meeting once each week in the evenings.

One of the shop regulars at the Needleworker was a man named Walt. Walt was a really nice guy, known for being a great customer and an excellent stitcher. Walt really wanted to enroll in the class, but his partner, Mr. James, was distraught: they didn't often spend evenings apart. Now, Mr. James had no experience whatsoever, and should not have enrolled in the class. But, Walt assured the Needleworker staff that he would be completely responsible for helping Mr. James with whatever he needed during the class.

The first night of the class, Walt and his partner, Mr. James arrived. Mr. James owned a beauty salon in Denver, and perhaps that is why he showed up... in drag. Maybe you've never seen my mom handle a change of plans, but she is always as cool as a cucumber. Even though I wasn't there, I bet she handled it really well. (I mean, let's face it. There are a lot of places you could expect to see a man in drag, but a needlepoint boutique in Cherry Creek North in the late 70s/early 80s is not necessarily that place.) My mom went on with the class as usual, but neither she...nor the Geisha... were the center of attention anymore.

Mr. James was very frustrated by the class, as any beginner would be, and he did not handle his frustration well. He would start sweating when things became difficult, and it was all my mom could do to keep the class from dissolving. One evening, as things became particularly challenging, Mr. James leaned over, and sighed, "Waltie darling, I just can't do this!"

It was the fourth evening of class, and Walt and Mr. James never returned.

Later on that year (I think), my mom wrote an article for the National Embroiderer's Teachers Association. She titled it, "Needlework Can Be a Drag." It was an article all about dealing with problematic situations as a workshop teacher. Over the years since, I have heard a lot of my mom's stories about students who are in over their heads. I think what frustrates her the most is having to make the decision to assist one student over the others or leave that person hanging.

Meanwhile, my mom entered The Geisha in an ANG national exhibit in 1980. She took First Place and her first ever Judge's Choice award. (She scanned and sent me a picture of her ribbon when I told her I'd be writing about this piece... so cute!)

Because of these accolades, she attended the first Invitational Exhibit offered by Princess Grace of Monaco in 1982. The American Needlepoint Guild, which began in 1970, held its first convention in 1972 and its first trip to Monaco in 1973. ANG hosted trips to Monaco nearly every year after that. To my understanding, the exhibit took place in the spring of that year.

That following September, Grace Kelly died in a car accident.

This picture is absolutely one of my favorite pictures in my mom's house. It turns out it was taken by the palace photographer and sent to my mom later on. How perfect is that- this moment needed to be frozen in time. Now that I know the story, I think I'm going to see if I can get a professional-quality copy of this picture and frame it next to the Geisha.