The Avon lady

     Being a young girl in 1964 was a moment in time. I knew it, even as I lived it, but the reminders of it as an adult, watching the series, "Mad Men," brought the memories flooding back. My family did not live in the ritzy world of,  "Mad Men," but the Ads, commercials, jingles, and clothes of that time resonate deeply in me.

     We had so many magazine subscriptions. I remember McCall's, Redbook, Ladies home Journal and Time. They all arrived about the same time each month and I'd run to the mailbox eagerly anticipating them. Mom would always hand over the McCall's to me first, because inside, was Betsy. She was  a monthly paper doll who could be punched out of the pages along with her new clothes. I kept all the Betsy's and their wardrobes in a shoe box under my bed.     

     I  was the oldest of three girls, my two sisters, 3 and 5 years younger, were usually napping when the Avon lady knocked at the door every other Wed. afternoon, so it was I who followed she and Mother into the living room.

      I thought she was so sophisticated and beautiful. She always wore a fancy skirt suit, gloves and hat, and I remember watching her pull her gloves off, one finger at a time, and lay them gently down with feminine hands of polished shiny fingernails.  She would then remove her hat, and say, "Hi Mary, "How are you?", as she sat it down upon the sofa table. It was when she adjusted her fabulous big makeup cases at her feet, that I knelt beside it.  

      The case was full of everything a woman needed to be beautiful. Eye shadows, rouge, powders, tubes of lipstick. And in the bottom pull out tray lay the tiniest treasures, little white tubes of lipsticks and tiny vials of shiny polish. I sat starry eyed as she opened them and showed us all the newest colors. The ones most people hadn't even seen yet. 

     Then, she'd hand Mother a mirror, and I'd watch Mom slide the tiny tubes across her lips. She would pout them out a little, blot them with tissue, and then turn her head to the right and left while looking in the mirror.  "What do you think?" she would sometimes ask. 

     Then the Avon lady would give Mom a tissue with some cream on it and Mom would wipe that color off and try another one. Sometimes the Avon lady would make up Mom's whole face as I sat mesmerized. I don't remember her name for the life of me, but I remember the way she'd smile at me and wink as I watched her. 

     Then she would hand Mom the new colors of nail polish. The shiny color would glide across Mothers nails. Sometimes, Mom would put two colors on each hand to compare. I'd watch as she lowered her hand, looking deeply at the pops of color. Sometimes she'd asked me which ones I liked the best. Sometimes she placed an order, sometimes she didn't. But after the visits, the samples she used became mine.

     And so, before she closed her case and put back on her hat and gloves, the Avon lady dropped the samples into my open hands. My treasures. Tiny lipsticks and polishes for a little girls special drawer. And on these special days in the summers of 1964 and 1965, I learned how to look pretty like the ladies in the magazines. Like my Mom.