A bounty

I was born in the early 1960's. That means that I was witness to the last gasp of the era of the club-woman. It is easy in these post feminist times to scoff at groups of women who get dressed up to meet together during the day-- because of course, they had no paying jobs. One of my old sewing books referred to a few categories of women, housewives  who mostly stay at home, working women who work in offices and club-women who attend lots of meetings.

However, before you turn up your nose at those women who put on hats and gloves and attended this or that tea or luncheon, you ought to remember that we drink milk untainted by tuberculosis because of luncheons long ago. Abolition of slavery was achieved partially through the charming efforts of bonneted women. You can add to the list of achievements of club-women fundraising for hospitals, the creation of settlement houses, funds to run houses of worship, care for wounded soldiers, money to run orphanages as well as money to fund the infrastructure of the not -yet Israel.

A few years ago I read a volume of minutes of the huge Jewish Orphanage on 135th street. The children who grew up in the orphanage all left that institution when they turned 18.  The women's association connected with the orphanage made sure that each girl who "graduated" left with  a dowry of linens and home goods and clothing-- just as she would if she had living parents. The women obtained donations of the materials or purchased those materials so those girls could enter marriage with their heads held high. Thinking about that always makes me a bit weepy.

Every charitable institution now has a development department with a paid staff. So much of that hard fundraising work had been done by women hosting events to raise serious money for organizations that have made our word a better place.

Last week, one of my readers, Penny, was touched by  last week's post about vintage gloves.  Penny's mother, Ruthie was one of those club -women. I know she was involved with our synagogue's Women's League which raised funds to help renovate our synagogue, and cover  annual capital expenses as well as helping to raise funds to maintain the Jewish Theological Seminary, I know she was involved with Hadassah. I assume that Ruthie was also involved with our local hospital because her husband was a big deal surgeon there and that was the kind of things that doctor's wives did in those years. There were probably other commitments that I am not aware of.

All of those activities which included planning meetings, business meetings, luncheons, teas, bridge afternoons and galas required the right clothes and of course the right gloves.

After reading my post, Penny asked me if I wanted her late mother's gloves.  Ruthie died tragically  young at 56 after a valiant fight with breast cancer. My parents both loved Ruthie. She was warm and generous. I did want her gloves.

I expected a small collection of gloves. Instead, on Friday, I got this,

which opened to reveal a treasure trove.

A box stuffed with gloves.

I wish Penny could have been by my side as I went through the box. There was much yelling and whooping as I uncovered pair after pair.

Ruthie was a woman of New England chic. She wore crisply tailored clothes. Ruthie was a physically fit fairly tall woman. I assumed that her gloves would fit me...and they do--like a glove.

I assume these two pairs with contrasting  pick-stitching were purchased at the same time from the same shop. These gloves made me long for a tan suede suit to wear with the beige gloves. The blue gloves would look amazing with a navy outfit with white pick-stitching.

There are more than a dozen pairs of little white cotton gloves all with pretty embellishments at the hem.  Penny reminded me that her mother would be just as likely to show up at services naked as she would glove-less. 

I yelped when I uncovered these gloves. 

I think I will have to build my Purim costume around these fabulous beaded evening gloves.

There are too many gloves for one post, but I want to share this clever pair.

Penny had made sure to pack a pair of cashmere lined short black leather gloves at the top. She hoped that I would wear them right away. I did. There is something very intimate about putting on a pair of leather gloves that have been worn a great deal by another person. The gloves take on the shape of the wearer's hand and putting on their gloves has the sensation of holding hands with the original wearer. I don't remember actually holding Ruthie's hand but I have no doubt that I did. I was a little kid and she was an adult in my orbit. I put on those gloves and felt my hand in Ruthie's-- a visit from my childhood.

I was struck at how this box

uncovered a world of memories of a particular place and time, and of a very particular woman and the life she lived.