For My Babcia: The Original Treasure Hunter

When I was a little girl, about twice a year my mother would load her five kids, and all of their suitcases, into our much-loved blue mini van and take off on a ten hour trip to Dayton, Ohio. Now, this endeavor alone says a lot about my mother. She happens to be one of the most capable people I know and her no fear approach to a trip that long, with a bunch of squabbling little kids in the back seat, makes me just that much more in awe of her.

One of my favorite parts about going to Ohio was visiting my darling Polish grandmother, known to her grand-kids as Babcia. This tiny, feisty, white-haired woman always opened the door with a cheery "hey everybody!" and I could hear the crazy squawking of her bird, who always tried to bite me, from inside. She usually had a soccer game on TV, or basketball, or baseball, or basically any sport would do, as long as it was sports.

Babcia with my friend's and I.

Babcia's house was always so exciting because in every nook and cranny were treasures. My sisters and I had endless fun exploring bins of Barbie clothes, funny toys, and random dress ups. It was for us, magical, because we just never knew what we'd find in Babcia's house and whenever she saw us with something she'd say, "Take it!" Babcia was definitely a gift-giver by nature. It was her love language, and her constant desire to give, reflected her generous, loving heart.

 I see so much of this spirit in my own mother, her daughter, whose house is always overflowing with gifts for every neighbor, and friend of a friend, or distant relative when Christmas rolls around.
My aunts, too,  have so much of Babcia's spirit within them and "treasure-hunting" has now become a regular part of their lives. Going to a thrift store, and walking out with the most random, awesome thing is pretty magical and my aunts are all fantastic magicians. I swear, it's like a superpower!

Babcia, and her six children. My mom's the one with the awesome yellow shoes.

So, recently, I realized that I have some of this spark within me, and that it's combined with my father, the ClockMaker's, entrepreneurial side. As a result, I decided to open an Etsy shop. With the help of my Mom, the expertise of my aunts, and the encouragement of my father, I recently took a leap and opened an online store called Honestly Ophelia Vintage, selling my own treasure-hunting finds.

And I just wanted to say thank you, to my Babcia, who started it all. I love her and I miss her, but I think she'd enjoy the fact that her love of unique, kitschy, awesome things is still very alive in her four daughters, and her granddaughter. So, thank you, Babcia! You're the best.


To take a look at my Etsy shop click here:
https://www.etsy.com/shop/HonestlyOphelia

To see my aunts' shops click here:
https://www.etsy.com/shop/Felcasattic
And here:
https://www.etsy.com/shop/QueenieBot

"Dear Virginia": A Soldier's Love Letters

A couple of weeks ago, I spent some time in Brimfield, Massachusetts with my mom, sister, and aunt at the Brimfield Antique Fair. My terrific aunt is a wheeling and dealing vendor at Brimfield and this was my second time joining her under a giant yellow and white striped canvas tent, amidst a wild array of vintage clothing and the most interesting assortment of people you could bring together in one place at one time.

After helping set up my aunt's boutique in the Mahogany Ridge Fashion Tent, I headed out to wander around the endless acres of antique-filled tents. If you haven't been to Brimfield, then it's hard to imagine because words can't really describe just how random, hilarious, and wonderful it is! It's essentially a jungle of everything from collectibles to items you could swear came straight from your Grandma's attic. The neat thing is there's something for everyone there, whether young or old and you just never can predict what treasures you'll find.Such as this Aussie looking vintage hat, which came home with me.

I scoped out various tents, and after purchasing a Victorian looking wristwatch, stumbled across a boutique with an assortment of old letters, tied with dark ribbon. I immediately snatched up the packet with the most letters and excitedly asked the vendor if the real letters were still intact. Clutching them to me when her answer came back affirmative, I paid the six dollars and headed back to my aunt's tent to read them.

To my excitement, I found that I had picked a stack of letters from the 1940's. They were written by a young soldier, Theodore Mayville, to his sweetheart, a girl named Virginia Watson, who was living in Grand Isle, Vermont. His letters were the only ones in the pile, but my romantic mind enjoyed imagining her replies.

For me, this somewhat deteriorated pile of papers was like a miniature time capsule and as I poured over each letter, it made me realize just how much has been lost in modern communication, whether it be through social media, texting, or other forms of dialogue. Once easily obtained, a message seems to be that much less precious and though convenient, the occasional text only conveys the bare minimum, making one's thoughts and emotions much less intimate. I pull out some stationary and write letters every month or so, but my absentminded scribblings can't compare to these letters, which conveyed every emotion this young man was feeling: sadness, longing, bitterness, joy, all conveyed in a few hundred words.

   Theodore was clearly stricken and wrote some overwhelmingly affectionate lines to "Ginny." But other moments have a grave tone to them, as Theodore must have been experiencing the suffering that only a soldier could understand, he tells her to keep her fingers crossed and pray that he might return to her side when the War is over.

After tearing through these letters, I wanted so badly to know what had happened to these two young people. He had begun writing to her from a training ground somewhere in the South Pacific, but in the last several letters, he'd been in Germany. I had to know. Did Theodore return to the states? Did he survive the war? What happened to Ginny?

A picture that fell out of one of the envelopes. I'd imagine one of these young women is "Ginny."

So I began to research, and sure enough, I found an obituary from just last year of one Theodore Mayville. As I scanned the obit, I became increasingly disappointed. It looked like Theodore's wife was not called Virginia. With a sinking heart, I realized they must have fallen apart. However, in the finishing paragraphs I saw that "Teddy," as he'd dubbed himself, had been preceded in death by his first wife and the mother of his children, Virginia. There it was! I triumphantly shouted, "THEY DID GET MARRIED!" And then realized, that I was slightly emotionally invested at this point. Virginia and Teddy married and had several children together. After her death, Teddy remarried.

My question now, is why would someone throw out these beautiful notes; this written testimony of a father's, or perhaps a grandfather's love?  Maybe I'm just more sentimental than most. In any case, I loved reading them and they gave much joy to a stranger decades after they were written. After all, who doesn't love a happy ending?