A Sister in my Heart

Shelley Bailey

Feb. 12, 1952 - Feb. 4, 2009

Shelley's ringtone on my cell phone is a song by Jimmy Buffett called "Fruitcakes." Part of the chorus goes like this:

"Fruitcakes in the kitchen, fruitcakes on the street.

Strutting naked in the crosswalk in the middle of the week."

First of all, we never strutted naked anywhere. But I'd bet the gray in Dan's beard is from the fear that we could have or might have.

Shelley was the fruitcake in my life. She was the fiber and spice that held those of us around her together and kept things interesting. She taught me not to sweat the small stuff and inspired me to laugh, smile and smell the flowers every single day.

Years ago, when Dan introduced John to Shelley, I still hadn't met all the people associated with John's job. John came home from a meeting in Medford and said, "Wait till you meet Bailey's wife." I said, why? He said, "You will have met your soul-mate." I've often wondered if John was surprised to find my clone, or if he just had a lot of empathy for Dan, whose wife was so much like his own. But John was right. Shelley was my soul-mate.

Our friendship was a never-ending conversation. We could talk for hours about anything and everything. If life got in the way and we didn't talk for a few days, we could pick up where we left off without skipping a beat. She showed me that life is an adventure, filled with humor and to enjoy each and every moment.

And we had plenty of moments -- depending on Devon to teach us the ways of an iPhone; bargain hunting at Nordstrom Rack with Debbie Stonebraker; and the joys of becoming grandmothers within months of each other.

There's an antique mall in Lincoln City, where I'm sure management groaned every time we walked in the door. Shelley and I knew enough about antiques to be dangerous, but we prided ourselves on giving the impression that we really knew what we were doing. A few years ago, we both took interest in a yellow Bauer mixing bowl. A discussion ensued over who saw it first. She said it matched her kitchen. I said it matched mine. She said it was a good buy. I told her that without me, she wouldn't have known it was a Bauer piece to begin with. We wandered that mall for a long time, but she never took her hands off the bowl. I think she thought I would steal it. She ended up buying it, but we spent months debating who it really belonged to.

Shelley loved the beach. It was where she found peace and the space to collect herself. Last summer, when Dan and John went to Ann Arbor, we took a road trip to Lincoln City with Devon. To this day, I'm still not sure if the purpose of that trip was to needle the antique mall owners, support the Indians or just get away. She was a wonderful traveling companion -- easy to play with and never flying with an agenda. My favorite part of that trip was sitting at the picnic table outside our hotel room in the morning, drinking coffee. At least that's what Shelley called it. She used two packages of grounds and brewed what could only be described as mud. I love my morning coffee, but that stuff curled my hair and left me shaky half the day.

Shelley was a fighter and one of the strongest people I have ever known. She was also independent and knew her own mind. The word "impossible" was not in her vocabulary. If something needed doing or fixing, she did it. If there was an issue in her family, her work or even her own health, she thought it through and forged ahead to resolve it. As a friend, she was fiercely loyal, non-judgmental and loved unconditionally. And she had style -- with her tiny purses and shoe fetish. She was one of the few people I knew who could wear a tank top with Bellagio in rhinestones across the front and wear it well.

Shelley never took life with much seriousness. In fact, she would consider our tears over her passing to be drivel. She would much rather see us telling stories about the times we shared with her and she would probably add her two cents about all of us as well.

Jimmy Buffett's song goes on to say:

"Fruitcakes in the oven, fruitcakes on the bus.

There's a little bit of fruitcake left in every one of us."

My life is richer because of that little bit of fruitcake.

Therapy

I first became smitten with arts and crafts when I learned how to make pot holders on a metal loom as a kid. My grandmother, bless her, was always delighted to get MORE pot holders for gifts and probably could have cloaked a small country with the numbers she had when she died.

When I got older, and my horizons expanded, few had any faith I would ever be able to do something like sew. My mom taught me the basics in middle school and I did make some worthwhile shirt dresses at the time. In Junior High, my best friend's mother was our Home Ec teacher. Our class project was a dress. God, I can still see that hideous green flowered fabric. I really had no business intending to wear said garment, since I was short and overweight for my size. I know how to sew, I thought at the time, so I paid little attention in class and did what I thought I already knew. The front of a dress is always placed on the fold of the fabric, so there is no seam. I promptly cut the dress up the front. Oh it got worse. I ended up putting in the zipper upside down, in the hem at the back of the dress.

So when John decided to buy me a sewing machine for Christmas the year I was pregnant with Megan, my mother recoiled in horror and tried to change his mind. Mostly self-taught from that point, I went on to make Halloween costumes for the kids (my favorites being Donald Duck and Snow White), summer jackets, holiday outfits and down vests from Daisy Kingdom for everybody I knew.

Then came scrapbooking. Quilting. Tole painting. Card manufacturing. I now have a room devoted to nothing but what I call my "therapy." I love creating something handmade. I wish I could say this passion is cheaper than somebody's couch in an office, but I fear it's not.

So I thought I would share what I've been doing with some of my "spare time" lately.

This is a recent birthday present for a friend. Your basic unpainted wooden cigar box, which I covered with vintage paper. The fan ornament on the outside of the box is an earring I picked up at the Goodwill for $2.00 for the pair. The stationary inside the box was also handmade, using just double-sided scrapbook paper cut to standard notecard size.

I'm working on one of these presently, which will also be a birthday present. This one was actually a bridal shower gift a couple years ago and contained a fussy, umm, "sweet nothing" for the bride.

I'd love to see what anybody else does!