A Woman's Place: A Novel by Barbara Delinsky Page A
Authors: Barbara Delinsky
Tags: Fiction, General, Popular American Fiction, Fiction - General, Contemporary Women, divorce, Businesswomen, Custody of children
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be back to see me?"
"I don't know."
"I feel better when you're here."
"I know. But I've been away from home for two weeks. I need to catch my breath and get things straightened out here before I rush back to the airport. Has Rona been in today?"
Connie's answer was broken by static. I left well enough alone.
"The reception's breaking up, Mom. I'd better go."
"Will you call me later?"
"I'll try. If not later today, then tomorrow."
"What are you doing later today?"
"I have--there are things--" I was desperate to tell her, desperate to have another voice tell me how wrong Dennis was. But I couldn't.
"You're breaking up, Claire. This is a terrible connection."
"I'll call again soon. Okay?"
"Okay. Bye-bye, baby." five.
At its simplest, the word "wicker" means woven. Common usage makes it a noun, referring to objects made by weaving pliant twigs and willow branches around a frame. Such objects are also called wickerwork. Baskets were the earliest form of wickerwork. According to folklore, the first wicker chair came into being when early Sumerians returning from market grew tired, removed empty baskets from their camels' sides, turned them upside-down, and sat.
The wicker chair that had inspired my love of the medium was quite different from that earlier, primitive one. It was a rocker from my childhood that had sat on the front porch of the house next to ours. The family living in that house was one of the few in the neighborhood that was intact, the rest having lost members either to death, as we had, or to war, marital breakdown, or economic separation. They were as poor as we were, but happier. Laughter came from that porch nearly every summer night. More kisses were thrown from it, more smiles and waves, and in the midst of it all sat the rocker. There was a delicacy, a lightness to it, and a strength. As an adult looking back, I saw that that family had problems of its own. Still, I clung to the image. That old wicker rocker became synonymous with life's joy.
When I studied interior design in college, my appreciation of wicker took on new dimensions. The primitive quality of it intrigued me, the fact that though thousands of years had passed since baby Moses was Page 52
Barbara Delinsky - A Woman's Place
placed in his basket of bulrushes and set afloat on the Nile, the technique of basket-making remained much the same. I knew that wicker had come to America with the Pilgrims, and that it was wildly popular in the late 1800s and early 1900s. I also knew that it had fallen out of vogue for a while, and I counted my blessings for that. At the time I was starting in the field, there were wonderful finds to be had for a song in old attics, at flea markets and estate sales. I even picked up a piece or two at the town dump. Many a weekend before and after my marriage saw me searching out antiques for my customers. Refinishing those antiques came naturally to me, particularly when I couldn't find anyone else to do it well. I had the patience, and I learned the skill. In time I could re cane a chair, replace broken weavers and spokes, and tighten scrollwork. And paint. Oh, could I paint. That took the greatest patience of all, working the brush back and forth, over and in and around every little thread of the weave for one coat, then a second and often a third. At first I barely charged for the work I did. I might find a matching wicker set--chair, love seat footstool --at an auction and earmark it for a customer, then repair it and finish it for the sheer joy of the process.
The joy never dimmed. During the years when I was a furniture buyer for a national chain and no longer advised individual customers, I spent my free time buying and refinishing antiques, then selling them on consignment. My world opened wide when I married Dennis and had access to the storage space in his parents' attic. Suddenly I could collect antiques at will. When Dennis and I finally bought our own home, it was filled with my finds.
Did
"I don't know."
"I feel better when you're here."
"I know. But I've been away from home for two weeks. I need to catch my breath and get things straightened out here before I rush back to the airport. Has Rona been in today?"
Connie's answer was broken by static. I left well enough alone.
"The reception's breaking up, Mom. I'd better go."
"Will you call me later?"
"I'll try. If not later today, then tomorrow."
"What are you doing later today?"
"I have--there are things--" I was desperate to tell her, desperate to have another voice tell me how wrong Dennis was. But I couldn't.
"You're breaking up, Claire. This is a terrible connection."
"I'll call again soon. Okay?"
"Okay. Bye-bye, baby." five.
At its simplest, the word "wicker" means woven. Common usage makes it a noun, referring to objects made by weaving pliant twigs and willow branches around a frame. Such objects are also called wickerwork. Baskets were the earliest form of wickerwork. According to folklore, the first wicker chair came into being when early Sumerians returning from market grew tired, removed empty baskets from their camels' sides, turned them upside-down, and sat.
The wicker chair that had inspired my love of the medium was quite different from that earlier, primitive one. It was a rocker from my childhood that had sat on the front porch of the house next to ours. The family living in that house was one of the few in the neighborhood that was intact, the rest having lost members either to death, as we had, or to war, marital breakdown, or economic separation. They were as poor as we were, but happier. Laughter came from that porch nearly every summer night. More kisses were thrown from it, more smiles and waves, and in the midst of it all sat the rocker. There was a delicacy, a lightness to it, and a strength. As an adult looking back, I saw that that family had problems of its own. Still, I clung to the image. That old wicker rocker became synonymous with life's joy.
When I studied interior design in college, my appreciation of wicker took on new dimensions. The primitive quality of it intrigued me, the fact that though thousands of years had passed since baby Moses was Page 52
Barbara Delinsky - A Woman's Place
placed in his basket of bulrushes and set afloat on the Nile, the technique of basket-making remained much the same. I knew that wicker had come to America with the Pilgrims, and that it was wildly popular in the late 1800s and early 1900s. I also knew that it had fallen out of vogue for a while, and I counted my blessings for that. At the time I was starting in the field, there were wonderful finds to be had for a song in old attics, at flea markets and estate sales. I even picked up a piece or two at the town dump. Many a weekend before and after my marriage saw me searching out antiques for my customers. Refinishing those antiques came naturally to me, particularly when I couldn't find anyone else to do it well. I had the patience, and I learned the skill. In time I could re cane a chair, replace broken weavers and spokes, and tighten scrollwork. And paint. Oh, could I paint. That took the greatest patience of all, working the brush back and forth, over and in and around every little thread of the weave for one coat, then a second and often a third. At first I barely charged for the work I did. I might find a matching wicker set--chair, love seat footstool --at an auction and earmark it for a customer, then repair it and finish it for the sheer joy of the process.
The joy never dimmed. During the years when I was a furniture buyer for a national chain and no longer advised individual customers, I spent my free time buying and refinishing antiques, then selling them on consignment. My world opened wide when I married Dennis and had access to the storage space in his parents' attic. Suddenly I could collect antiques at will. When Dennis and I finally bought our own home, it was filled with my finds.
Did
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