Baskets of Momsakes

Woven Vessels

This was supposed to be about two baskets, both belonging to my mother. The first was a gift to Mom from her best friend, Phyllis, in the 1970s. Mom stored her thread in it. If you had to mend something, you’d take down this basket, lift the lid, and find the perfect spool because I swear, Mom had every color in there. The thing is, Mom’s sewing basket is an outstanding piece of Alaskan basketry that wouldn’t be out of place in a museum.

This was a gift to Mom from her lifelong best friend, Phyllis. They met as single mothers enrolled in college. My sister and I babysat for her two-year-old daughter, who would swagger through their tiny apartment wearing only a diaper, taking swigs from a bottle of Catalina salad dressing. We found both mother and daughter wildly entertaining.

Phyllis married Mike of the impressive mustache, and they moved to Alaska to teach in village schools. They had two more children. They would call once or twice a year on radio phones, voices echoing, words delayed by radio signal. In the summers, they came down to Oregon to go to the teaching college in Monmouth, with a side trip to see us. No matter where we lived–Arkansas, Montana, Washington or Oregon–we saw them in the summer. 

Phyllis sent us plenty of Native art as gifts; beaded medallion necklaces, Eskimo yoyos, tiny mukluks for my baby brother when he was born, and dolls. But this basket was the best. When Mom died, Dad let me have it. I plan to pass it along to my own daughters with the story of its origin.

More baskets.

I think Mom found the second basket in an antique store. It’s a PNW grass basket. I took this one after Mom died, because it has a sweet little selection of things in it. 

Going clockwise from top; her disabled parking permit, Medicare card, and last driver’s license. There are two small ceramic plates, one of which commemorates something called “EIC”, the one on top with a flower. Next to that are two tiny books, one about palmistry ( ! ) and one below, a little notepad that I found in a box of Cracker Jack in my teens. It was mine, and I kept it with my miniatures, but there it was when I opened the basket (Mom had notoriously sticky fingers).

There’s a photo-booth pic of Mom that I’d put at age nine, so 1944 or so. The shamrock ribbon is a keepsake from our first dachshund–Mom loved that dog intensely. She would dog-nap her and take her up to Bainbridge now and then for a visit. She must have taken her to the groomer. The little gold notebook is the closest thing any of us four kids have to a baby book, with notes on our early years. 

I love this little trove. When I went to retrieve it from the top of the bookshelf to take a photo, I found another little grass basket from the PNW. As I picked it up, I remembered that this basket is also full of stuff. 

Sculpy pins, Cub Scout and Boy Scout charms and pins, satin pouches. The specifics of these items are unknown, but I do know that they were in the basket when it was given to me by one of my middle daughter’s best friends. She lives in NY, and her mother lived in Portland. After her mother’s death, she was here finding homes for her mother’s things. This came to me along with everything in it.

Maybe it’s funny to keep this small trove from a woman I only met once. But it seems that both of these little baskets are meant to contain Momsakes. Far be it from me to edit their contents.