(In honor of Mary Pahlka, a stylish city girl homemaker and Philadelphia resident for 84 years)

When I was a little girl, growing up in our South Philadelphia row home on Marston Street, I loved to sneak into my mother’s bedroom and try on her “lady things.” I would then dance around the room all dressed up, donning the attention-getting style and sophistication my mom always portrayed before her homemaker days and on Sundays. One day, I happened to discover a hidden bag of colored dress gloves, worn in the formal days of the 40’s and 50’s, that fit my mom’s hands PERFECTLY. My then tiny hands flopped inside them as I twirled around her bedroom with matching bright yellow jewelry and a feathered hat, in rickety high heels. Years later, when my mother passed away, I found this single yellow glove tucked in the back of her drawer, where I must have shoved it one day upon fear of getting caught playing with her things. Only this time, it fit me perfectly. My hands are hers. And missing the way hers felt when she held my hand, feeling more love than any child could know.  I fondly share this Philadelphia girl’s glove with all of you, conveying a beautiful era, a beautiful woman, in a beautiful city.