I went to see a friend yesterday. She owns the antiques' shop where I used to have a booth. I haven't seen her in quite a while and we had a lovely visit.
She is the type of friend who really knows what it means to be friends: she would do anything for me, and knows she can count on me for the same. And, secure in that knowledge, we don't ask anything of each other. Just friendship.
I was in the shop to take her some things to sell. I have been collecting Stuff again, it would seem. Or perhaps more correctly, those treasures I couldn't part with before have been relegated to the stuff category. Whatever their designation, I took them to Sylvia.
Tall, thin, exuberant and topped with henna red hair, she is graceful and poised and very, very real. She loves to wear vintage clothing and hats. Yesterday, her outfit was quite conservative: denim gaucho pants and high-heeled boots. I didn't see her blouse: she was wearing a zipped-up leather jacket with a hood. Huge, dangling earrings completed the ensemble.
Sylvia is perhaps not the best educated woman I know, but she possesses more of the important life skills than most. She talks with her heart and listens with her mind. I have never heard her say a harsh word about anyone, ever. And she and I have talked.....a lot.
We talked about several of the dealers we both know, bringing each other up to date on what is happening with them. Elizabeth seems to be doing well. Karen still needs a knee replacement. Bonita has lung cancer, and this may very well be her last Christmas. And then, we talked about Jana Lee and her big Victorian house that she is remodeling. I have to laugh: Sylvia calls her Janet Leigh, as in the movie star, though I don't know why...
After more than an hour, I knew I had to get going. There was so much more that I needed to squeeze into my day. And Sylvia had to attend to the curious customers who had just walked into the store.
As we walked back toward the front of the store, she spied something in a display cabinet. She stepped in front of me, opened the cabinet door and pulled it out. After taking the price tag off, she handed it to me: a ceramic statue of The Infant Jesus of Prague.
Sylvia knows that that was something that I wanted. And she knows that I don't know why I wanted it, just that I did. I had asked her to keep an eye out for one and call me if she found one. And here, amidst all the pretty things in her shop, was exactly what I wanted.
He has peeling red paint on his long robes, touches of “gold” on his globe and cross, and a sweet, sincere face. And both of his hands. If you know the story of The Infant Jesus of Prague, having his hands is significant.
And now, he lives on top of the little box of drawers, hanging on a wall that needs to be painted, in my kitchen. At his feet is Feliz, the cat, who was purchased--from the artist who made him--many years ago by my son-in-law. The stories I have heard tell me that, if I take care of The Infant Jesus of Prague, and show him honor, he will give me whatever I ask for.
Since I don't need any more stuff, maybe He and Feliz can just watch over me....
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